┕━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ | Word Count: 1.5k // Summary: Maul's palpable stress leads you to a bath with him.
┕━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ | A/N: I'm trying to find my creative rhythm again, I feel like a lot of what I write feels objective now, not very symbolic or as 'flowery' as I'd like. So bear with me while I try to find my voice again. Also, EP 8 - 10 fucking killed me, so give me 4 - 5 business days to recover lmfao.
┕━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ | Rating: SFW // Content Warnings: A little bit of blood.
┕━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ | Tags: Oneshot, Slight Angst, AFAB Reader, Dyad Shenanigans, Fluff (to heal my soul after episode 8), Domestic Fluff, Casual Intimacy, Chronic Neck Pain, Canon-Divergent, Feral & Savage Live AU, Mandalore Era & No Beta We Die Like Half the Cast.
Sparkling moonlight filtered through the tall latticed windows, bathing the halls in iridescent light. You could feel him from across the palace, his slow, steady breaths, the gentle laps of water brushing against his shoulders. You followed the sensation like a string, pulling it taut and letting it guide you to him.
The doors to your shared private chambers slid open as you strode inside, kicking off your rugged boots and socks at the door and placing them neatly against the wall. You ran your fingers through your hair as you wandered fully into your bedroom, glancing over to the right.
He hadn’t bothered to shut the door to the bath, and you could smell something akin to amber and spice lingering in the air, soothing you. It was an open invitation that you accepted eagerly; you missed him dearly, even though you slept in the same bed and brushed against his presence in the halls; it wasn't enough. You needed to see him, to feel him, to fill the ravenous, empty pit that you felt when your other half wasn't around.
You peered into the bathroom, your fingers curled around the rough metal door frame. The entire room was covered from floor to ceiling in glossy black marble tile, a large, deep tub in the center of the room, and a tall, tinted window behind it that overlooked the courtyards below. It was elegant, ornate, and distinctly regal; never in your life could you have imagined residing in a place like this, with creature comforts that had never been afforded to either you or Maul. You were sitting in the pinnacle of luxury now, and you could've never dreamed of it.
Maul was sitting in the pristine porcelain tub, his eyes closed and his body fully submerged up to the bridge of his nose, the water still enough that his reflection was clear against it. His coloring noticeably stood out against the muted colors of the room, blood-red skin harshly contrasting against the ceramic. You waited for a moment, not quite entering his space, instead lingering right at the edge of it, almost toeing at the edge of his perception, waiting for permission.
You could hear the rasp of his voice curling into your mind like fog, then piercing through your thoughts as clear as a sharp-edged dagger.
“Enter.”
You didn’t wait, padding into the room, bare feet against the cool tile.
You shed your garments into a small pile on the damp marble floor, stretching your arms above your head as your gaze shifted over to the tub where he was sitting. He didn't move, didn't even bristle as you straddled the edge of the tub, carefully dipping your toes in. The water was lukewarm now, but soap suds still clung to the thin surface like film. You sank down into the water until it encompassed your shoulders, careful not to disturb him too much. When you settled in between his legs, the metal of his calves brushing against your thighs as you sat on your knees, the water steadying, he opened his eyes.
“It’s late.”
“We barely see each other during the day anymore.” You murmured back, running your fingers through your hair. His eyes almost seemed to glow, reflecting the minimal light in the room.
“I wanted to see you,” you added, leaning forward slightly. His gaze flickered, his shoulders tensed, his eyes narrowed. As gentle as your tone was, he still seemed to believe you were scolding him.
“It has not been by choice.” He replied briskly, a tinge of disappointment coloring the echo of his voice.
“I know.” You reassured.
His tattoos almost seemed to glisten in the low light, a thin sheen of water clinging to his skin and dripping off his shoulders in rivulets as he slowly sat up with a sigh, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, cracking his neck from side to side and rolling his shoulders. His muscular build blocked the moonlight cascading from the window behind him, casting a looming shadow over you.
“…Let me help you,” you gently offered, reaching out to him with one hand, fingertips brushing over the skin of his arm.
He was stiff and weary in a way that felt like his bones were aching from the inside out, emanating to you through your inexplicable bond. He let out a huff of air, scowling as your fingers grazed along his bicep.
“I’ll be fine.” He muttered, brushing you off gently, tugging your hand away from his arm before he simply glanced away, his hand falling back to his side as hurt flickered across your features. He was being resistant again, pushing you away when it was clear he was in pain. You frowned, scrunching your nose. You couldn’t push him far, but you knew how to drag him right back to you.
“Don’t push me away.” You leaned forward again, whispering into his ear, soft, pleading. You reach back out to him, dragging your nails up his chest before resting your hands firmly on his shoulders. He tensed on instinct, but slowly eased into your ministrations as the pads of your fingers prodded for the tight muscles of his shoulders. He leaned into it, even as your fingers inched up his neck, still rubbing deep, soothing circles into tight muscles and taut tendons.
His breathing grew heavier, quickened at the sensation, and you swore you could feel his skin heating up against your skin.
You prodded gently at the barriers he kept tightly wound over his mind, guarding himself. He was hesitant, but gave you reluctant entrance. Sheer stress oozed into your skin from his, dripping into your thoughts as you closed your eyes, navigating the familiar sense of darkness that connected you. On the surface level, hiding his truer thoughts was unbidden memories of years of training and war- the acrid tang of blood, smoke, and anything raw and unsavory filling your senses and taste. It was simply a mask, an obstacle that you dipped around. Because below it at all, in the depths, behind the layers and barriers, was more of his core, his worries, his stressors.
The stressors of training his brothers and the Empire’s forces slowly closing in on Mandalore were prominent. Then you felt… fear, pure creeping fear. Fear for your safety, fear for the safety of his brothers. Fear that all led right back to the root.
Sidious.
All encompassing, encroaching on his thoughts like a nightmare that neither of you could seem to truly run away from. You grimaced at the mere thought, but you knew how his mind went in circles. From the root of the past, to the present, to the endless future, constantly and without end. Sometimes you felt like your head might explode, sharing a mind with him like this when he was so deeply afraid.
But you gently coaxed him forward, until you were pressed chest to chest, damp skin squishing together, your hands drifting down to glide over the ridges of his spine. Maul’s apprehension was palpable, his fingers twitching below the water. You took each pulsing memory, each distressing, paranoid thought, and began to unravel them like a rusted, tangled chain. It was a gift, to have his trust in this way, to be entrusted with something so fragile as his very thoughts. He was so prone to shattering like glass, only to meld back together by the fires of his rage as something messy and new. But each time you were there, to bear witness to the change, to watch him rise and inevitably fall again. But each time you were there to pick the pieces of him back up again, to shelter him until he could recover.
“Things will be on our terms this time.” You whispered to him. Desire simmered in his gaze and drifted freely through your thoughts. It wrapped around you both, steady and certain. Forehead to forehead, his lips mere inches from yours. For a moment, the world narrowed to just this—just him. Your breath mingled in the narrow space, warm and unsteady. Neither of you dared to move, savoring the fragile moment and too scared to break the fragile moment.
“…Thank you.” He mumbled, calloused thumbs rubbing circles into your hips beneath the surface of the water. The words sounded rough, dragged out of him against his pride, yet there was something distinctly vulnerable about it, something carefully unguarded. But it meant everything to you. You returned the affection in kind, your hands drifting up to rub at the base of his horns. A low growl rumbled from his chest, but you didn’t mind. He was relaxed now, as much as he could bring himself to be.
Your nails dug into his back as he pressed messy kisses along the curve of your neck. He grabbed you more firmly by the hips, dragging you forward until you were sitting on his thighs. His teeth bared, blood beading up from the wound and dripping into the water below. He lapped up the remnants from your sin before muttering into your ear, mirroring your statement.
“Things will be different this time.” He echoed it softly, a vow meant only for you.
── .✦ thank you for reading! all comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated. ✦ .ᐟ
Maul lurches up, a scream ripping from his throat. He could still feel the flames and still hear the rats. Still hear them scurrying about. The metal clang and creak of his legs…he was still there…he never left! HE NEVER…
A cool hand presses onto his shoulder, “ You’re safe.” His starlight whispers. They carefully take hold of his hands. His nails aren’t mangled. There is no metal spider legs under the covers…beskar crafted into legs. He focused on his starlights touch…
Their hands on his. “We are on Mandalore, in Sundari. Your brother is a few doors down. I’ll put on a kettle for some tea..”
“Don’t” he mutters. The zabrak clings to them. He will not let go. “Not yet.”
His head pressed to their chest. Grounding himself in the touch, the warm. He had been found. He was…
“You’re safe. I promise.” His starlight assured.
He was not a child who had to be told such things…but he supposed it helped a little. Their hands moved to rub his back. Safe…
warnings -> HURT + COMFORT, blood, slight angst, cursing, injuries, medical equipment, mentions of violence, mentions of death, slight canon divergence
a.n. -> you can tell jesus that the bitch is back. anyway. first maul fic in years. hope y’all like it. i missed y’all so much. <3
“you’re an idiot.”
"i thought that i would be—"
he tsks, shaking his head.
"there it is. that word."
you huff, rolling your eyes ever so slightly.
"what word, my lord?"
his lower lip twitches, curling into a frown.
"you 'thought' that you would be able to handle the mission by yourself when you clearly you were not capable of doing so. you required reinforcements, yet did not dare ask for them. why?"
exhaling, your shoulders loosen, the tightness wound up in your chest dissipating. the adrenaline from hours prior is starting to wear off, the beat of your heart slowing as he settles beside you, almost perching in the chair to your right. before him lays your arm, resting on the sterile metal of the armrest.
there's a burning sensation that begins to creep in, searing throughout your hands, licking at your fingers. a scarlet stream trickles down, spilling onto your wrist. it plunges, gathering into a bead before it falls to the floor. your jaw clenches, the discomfort starting to make itself known.
your lip quivers, a shaky breath tumbling out.
"i-i don't know why."
his nostrils flare, eyes narrowing into slits.
swallowing thickly, your gaze flickers to the left, in a feeble attempt to avoid his probing stare.
it was no use, though.
resistance was futile.
he was already inside of your mind.
you could feel it. the sheer weight of his signature as it poked and prodded, infiltrating every corner and crevice. tearing cleanly through the walls you fought so desperately to keep intact.
"m-maul," a whine rises in your throat, the burning transitioning into fiery agony, "p-please. it hurts."
the zabrak shakes his head, putting up a finger.
"not yet. i'm not finished."
squeezing your eyes shut, you grit your teeth, shallow breaths tumbling from your lips, "h-hurry up. please. i'm begging."
he hums, a rumble thundering in his chest. the corners of his mouth twitch, curling into a smirk. in the low light, you catch the gleam of canines, the rumbling in his chest flowing into a chuckle.
"so, you deliberately avoided asking for reinforcements because you were afraid i would have thought you were weak?"
exhaling, you groan, heat billowing into your cheeks, "i-i mean, something like that, yeah."
the zabrak tsks, shifting his torso toward to his left. plucking a needle from the tray, fingers nimbly secure a thread to the needle, knotting it. he moves on to stimshot, inspecting the syringe. flicking a few drops from the tip, you can't help but feel the shame rise.
it wasn't like the mission went awry. if anything, it was a huge success. singlehandedly, you were able to fend off a group of smugglers and secure a port on nar shadaa, a remote moon in hutt space. since it was on the outer rim, it was not carefully surveilled by the empire. it would serve as a port for fuel, trade, and shipment.
sure, it was risky, as it was previously inhabited by some of the hutt's men. there were a couple of losses, but nothing worth future repayment. in your mind, the hutts actually benefited, as the men who ran the post were practically useless in gunfight.
sure, you probably did need a few reinforcements. scorn and icarus could have accompanied you. what was hours of your time could have been reduced to a few minutes. they could have loaded some spices and weapons onto the ship as future collateral. you could have returned with a few bumps and scrapes rather than the deep gouge in your hand.
but where was the satisfaction in that?
"i know your intentions were in the right place," your throat tightens as he speaks, the words barely audible, "but you need to learn there are times that you must rely on others. that mindset of yours is going to get you killed."
the syringe plunges into your arm, the zabrak's thumb unwavering as the fluid drains from the barrel. not a second passes before relief ripples in your veins. yet you remain still, head level with his.
"i understand, my lord."
he tuts, "do you?"
you nod, perhaps a little too fervently.
“i do.”
“good.”
there’s a beat of silence before he gets to work.
a tender hand, swathed in leather, wraps around your fingers, applying pressure. you assume it’s to keep you you from recoiling or fidgeting, although he had administered the stimshot moments ago. the other hand reaches for the needle and thread for the suture, his voice filling the room once again.
it was gentler that his normal cadence.
almost soft.
“are you ready? it may pinch you a little.”
dipping your head, you give him the signal to proceed. his head tilts a few degrees as he inspects the wound, tongue running along his lower lip. he pauses momentarily, grabbing a cloth and wetting it with an unknown liquid.
carefully, he sweeps the cloth over your wound, cleaning away bits and pieces of grit or sand. it’s endearing almost, how delicate he was being.
it was not often that he was like this.
if anything, it was rare.
“how did this even happen?”
you shrug, wincing as he inserts the needle, “don’t ask.”
the response earns a chuckle. one that you had never heard before.
it erupts from deep within his diaphragm, hearty and authentic, reverberating off the walls. it is almost boyish. like he was youngling once again, up to no good on dathomir, surrounded by his brothers, eyes glittering with amusement, devious smile plastered to his face.
your heart skips a beat.
as the air thickens, every movement becomes surgical, brimming with intention. he is almost finished with his work now, the stitching neat and precise. for a second, your mind wanders, pondering how many times he has done this before. not only to others, but himself.
fingers weave in and out, tying the final knot. the hand that once held yours tightens, lifting your wrist, bringing it to his mouth. lips wrap around the loose thread, teeth clamping down.
the thread snaps, your heart thudding against your rib-cage as his mouth envelops your palm, pressing a kiss to the heated skin.
“there. all done.”
the zabrak’s gaze floats up to you, and for the first time, you can make out the wispiness of eyelashes. the space between you dissipates as he inches closer, an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher swimming among his amber depths.
fingers caress your cheekbone, wandering down your jawline. he swallows, the apple of his throat bobbing.
“tell me something.”
“a-anything,” you stumble over the word, “anything you desire, my lord.”
“tell me there won’t be a next time.”
your eyes widen, a gasp bubbling up in your throat, “i-i, uhm, there won’t be a next time. w-why are you asking me to say this?”
he leans in, the flurry of his breath intermingling with yours. blood roars in your ears, the warmth spreading down into your neck. sweat clams up in your palms, the zabrak murmuring against your lips.
“you are making a promise to me that you will never go on another mission alone.”
Warnings; Canon-typical violence and threat, nightmare, bit of self hatred but comfort accompanying the hurt, Maul’s somewhat erratic/contradictory thought processes are a sign of his trauma
Pairings; Maul (Star Wars) x Reader (gender neutral as always)
More Maul… how would he comfort a partner (established relationship) after waking them up from a nightmare? What if the nightmare was about him..? I really enjoyed writing this one, let me know if you liked it 😁
Masterlist
-
You were beyond exhausted. Your legs were visibly shaking, your arms all but useless. Sweat dripped down your face, neck, back. Your mouth was parched, your heart thundering, panic stricken in your chest as you failed to draw breath into your aching lungs. You could barely speak.
“Maul, please,” you hissed, staggering.
You were forced to double over, to lean against your own knees for support. Your muscles trembled. You were barely capable of forcing yourself to remain standing. Across the darkened training room, illuminated only by the crimson glow of his ignited, double-bladed lightsaber, the Zabrak glared at you with an unmatched fury. His posture perfect, he closed the distance between you in just a couple of short strides. A snarl reverberated around the room and he brought one end of his deadly weapon down in a sharp arc towards your head.
A weak yell tore from your throat with the effort it took to lift your arms above your head, to block the attack with your own single blade. Its red glow was so much weaker than his, a visual taunt of just how outmatched you were.
There was so much strength behind Maul’s swing that you were thrown down face first onto the training mat. Your teeth rang from how hard they snapped together when your jaw met the ground. You tasted blood – you’d bitten your tongue. Without missing a beat, Maul drove his metal foot into your shoulder. The force of it sent your lightsaber flying from your hand, flipped you onto your back. You barely heard your own groan over the telltale white hot agony of a dislocated joint.
“You are weak,” Maul raged above you, uncaring of or perhaps even fuelled by the frightened tears now lining your eyes.
You clutched your damaged shoulder, planting your heels and trying to shove yourself back away from him. You were widening the gap between yourself and your weapon, but it had already landed somewhere behind Maul. You doubted your ability to even get to your feet; there was no chance you would manage to get past him to reach it.
Maul leapt towards you and his lightsaber missed your throat by an inch, because you had somehow found the strength to bodily throw yourself to the side. You scrabbled for purchase on the training mats with one hand, barely getting a knee beneath your body weight before Maul’s next kick collided with your ribs. More than one cracked under the impact. The pain was too much for you to even make a noise, stealing the oxygen straight from your lungs as you collapsed for a second time. You lay there gasping for air that wouldn’t come, completely and utterly vulnerable. Your body curled in on itself instinctively.
“You are worthless!” Maul roared.
He dragged you up towards him by the throat, far too easily, your head turning fuzzy as his grip constricted your air and blood flow. His face was quickly fading into a blur of black and crimson, even though his eyes blazed like twin flames. Somehow, losing your battle with consciousness, you managed to pick up on the second glint of colour from behind the fiery orange. It was bright and hard, a reflection of the light from his blade. The eyeshine of a predator.
Maul raised his weapon slowly, deliberately drawing out your fear. He brought the edge just close enough to your jaw to make your skin prickle from the heat.
“Maul,” you wheezed, a last ditch attempt as you clawed his wrist futilely. “Maul, please…”
Your blunt nails scratched weakly at his red and black skin, his attention never wavering from you for a moment. The room was going dark. You hadn’t even managed to hurt him. He paused, an ugly sneer twisting into a facsimile of a smile.
He raised the lightsaber above his head, making a show of how it cut through the air as he aimed for your throat –
“Maul, no!”
The shriek you gave when you finally woke up to find his face mere inches from yours, eyeshine glinting through the darkness exactly like in the dream, was unholy. You scrambled back from him, hands against his chest as you shoved away from the gentle – painful, deadly – grip he had on the back of your neck. He watched you silently. The Zabrak moved a single arm to click on the bedside lamp, otherwise staying perfectly still beneath you. The light revealed his brows to be slightly raised in what you could only describe as surprise. You drew in a deep, shuddering breath, your hands shaking violently against his skin, fingers splayed over his collar. You could still taste the blood, but after a moment you realised that it was real. You had actually bitten your tongue.
Another breath while you calmed down enough to understand that you were in bed. He had been holding you to him, his arms gentle and his touch reassuring. He now had one open palm raised in the space between you, a placation and a visual reassurance that he was unarmed. Your heart thundered and your breaths were frantic to match.
You were safe. He had you, he would only ever protect you – never hurt you. You were safe.
“Maul,” you whispered, relief crashing through you.
You all but collapsed on top of him, tucking yourself into his chest and holding onto him as best you could manage. His arms were around you instantly, his hand on the back of your head grounding, protective. He watched the way your whole body was shaking, how you curled around him like he was your only hope for survival.
“My love,” he murmured, his voice ever so soft. “It was a nightmare, nothing more. You are with me now, I have you.”
You swallowed, forced to quickly blink away an onslaught of senseless tears. It had seemed so real. But Maul had never once hurt you badly during all the time you had trained with him. He was a harsh teacher, and he consistently pushed you to your limits, but he was the best fighter you knew of by a long shot. And you knew the effort he put into teaching you fairly, how viciously he avoided renewing the cycle of trauma from his own training. You trusted him with the absolute certainty that all his hatred and capacity for violence would never be turned on you.
That still didn’t make the terror dissipate quickly. Maul was more than capable of dealing you far worse damage than his nightmare counterpart, especially with how completely he outmatched you in a fight. And his words from the dream were your own fears come to light, which made them so much harder to shake off. You were more afraid still of the possibility that Maul might think of you in the same way as you thought of yourself.
You realised belatedly that your nightmare had disturbed Maul’s rest as well as your own.
“Sorry for waking you,” you muttered, your words muffled where you were largely hiding your face against his collar.
You felt him shake his head.
“No, none of that. It does not matter.”
His voice was so steady, so assured, that you felt yourself relaxing against him. He gave you a moment to gather yourself before speaking again.
“Would you like to tell me what happened?”
You shook your head vehemently. You knew well enough how his mind worked, and the last thing you needed was for him to think this proved you were secretly terrified of him, or that you thought he might one day turn on the only person he’d ever decided he could afford to trust.
“No, it’s okay,” you told him instead, thoroughly unconvincing.
“No?” He parroted. “Well, given that it was my name you were calling, I think perhaps you should.”
Your blood turned icy cold in your veins. You’d been talking in your sleep?
“Did I say anything else?” You asked, dreading the answer and knowing he would have easily picked up on your increased heart rate and shortened breaths.
“Some. You seemed to be pleading – begging, really. I couldn’t quite understand why.”
You swallowed again to give yourself a second to think. Maul’s scrutiny, even from above your head, felt like a physical weight. His voice said you held his full attention, which meant there was no way he would simply let this go. But you were too shaken to figure out what you needed to say.
“It doesn’t matter, it was just a dream.”
“Dreams can be important. As you know, they can sometimes represent visions-”
“This one wasn’t.”
Maul paused, his patience starting to fray a little at the edges. He was going to the trouble of trying to help you and you were obstinately refusing to let him.
“You know I could just find out for myself,” he murmured gently, fingers tapping the back of your head as if to the beat of some death march. “You’re hardly shielding your thoughts from me.”
Kriff.
You panicked to pull up your fragile mental walls. But you were still learning how to control them, so instead of locking the images of the dream away, you focused in on them with all your might. In the process, you projected one out which was so vivid, it might as well have been a holopic. And Maul hadn’t intended to look inside your mind, truly he hadn’t. But when he saw himself, his weapon drawn and his fighting stance accurate to the finest detail, curiosity had overtaken him.
It was over in seconds. You knew he’d seen the whole thing and you felt the moment his presence retreated from your mind like the relative calm following a roiling wave. You reeled back, supporting yourself above him on your elbows so you could see his reaction – or non reaction, as it seemed then.
An apology was the first thing to come to your lips, as if you could be held accountable for something your subconscious had invented.
“For what?” He asked, voice rich as velvet. “For seeing me as you believe I am?”
The bitter tone cut through all your fear like a bucket of ice cold water. Maul shifted as if to try and create distance between you and you followed without hesitation. You pressed your weight down on top of him for what little good that would do, unafraid as his eyes narrowed to a glare and his brow furrowed.
“That is not how I see you,” said fiercely, holding his gaze even as he challenged you to back down.
“Perhaps it is not how you wish to see me,” he conceded, “but that does not change the facts.”
“The facts being that my subconscious invented a threat for me to be afraid of in my sleep.”
When you held your ground, the Zabrak snarled. Literally. It vibrated through his chest and into yours with all the threat of a predator about to tear apart a prey item limb from limb, but still you didn’t move.
“I am not afraid of you,” you growled, because for all Maul’s posturing you were absolutely certain you were safe with him. “And I do not believe for a second that you would intentionally hurt me.”
You closed your eyes and lightly rested your forehead against his to prove your point. You sensed the way he stilled, the disbelief that you would dare to take such a risk with him. Followed hotly by the anger that you would have the ignorance, the complacency to think him so weak, so enthralled by personal attachment that he wouldn’t –
You cupped his face with both hands and pressed your lips to his. You felt his downward spiral grind to a halt as he returned the kiss, as he laid a calculated hand on your back. He was studying you with a brutal efficiency when you pulled away, thoroughly analysing everything about you.
“I don’t believe any of what you’re thinking,” you told him, brave in the face of his scrutiny. Braver now that you could still feel the warmth of his hand through your nightshirt. “I… But I know what you must think of me.”
Saying it out loud made your mouth taste like ash. You were inviting him to bring your worst fears to light and consolidate them, to let yourself hear the words in the his voice. Maul slipped a finger beneath your chin to return your gaze to his. The lamp had turned his eyes into a beautiful contrast of amber light and darkness, and they were no longer piercing or angry. The creases around them were smoothed for once.
“You may be weaker than I wish you were,” he said softly, “but you are learning. That is what matters.”
Your eyes began to prickle against your will, and when he slipped a gentle hand around the back of your head, you took the opportunity to close them. The praise, coming from him, was almost too much to bear.
“Yeah, okay,” you muttered, hardly audible because that was all you could manage around the well of emotion lodged in your throat.
You tucked your face back into Maul’s neck, allowing yourself to even out. The Zabrak’s hands traced soothing paths along your ribs and spine. He took care to repeatedly run his touch over the imaginary injuries he had dealt you during the dream, to make sure you didn’t flinch as much as to provide you comfort. Sleep didn’t come back to you for a while, but Maul was quite willing to stay awake with you regardless, just in case you needed him.
Dating/Being intimate with Maul - NSFW gn!Reader Headcanons
Mauls desperate desire for an apprentice is apparent, but he also yearns for an equal. Not superior, nor inferior - Equal. Two halves of the same coin, similar yet so different.
He doesn't want to be the leader of his relationship, nor follow. Equal, you and him. Him and you. Together as one.
He's never expressed any of this, though. Why? What's the point? He's never met his match; plenty of apprentices, sure. But never a match, someone to not only ignite his passion, but also keep it burning.
Despite what people assume, Maul isn't some rough, forceful, vicious lover. He's not pushy. What is the point of being intimate, if it isn't reciprocated? He wants his partner to want him, just as much as he wants them.
Maul is a bold and forward character. He won't allow others to make him feel small or inferior. So, he expect his partner to be the same - lift him up, excite and arouse him, and sometimes, challenge him.
Maul is father flirtatious, with the right person. He's not raunchy, or crude. He can be cheeky at times, sure, but rarely when others can overhear his flirtatious remarks.
He wants you all for himself. No sharing. No wandering eyes. If you're going to commit to him, then you have to commit to him, and him alone, and he'll do the same with you.
Maul isn't one for riches and jewels. He's not going to spend thousands of credits on jewellery that you'll never wear. Maybe an odd item here or there, but he'd rather spend those credits on things you actually need/want; new clothes, repairs, etc.
Maul isn't one for a quickie, or making love in an uncomfortable place. You won't be hooking up in a storage cupboard with him!
Silk sheets, dim lighting, plenty of foreplay, safe word at the ready if either of you need it.
This man had a fantastic vocabulary range, is well-mannered, stands tall and proud… why would he rush things for a quickie in the cockpit? Or during a time when he can't relax, and enjoy you for hours on end?
To nobody's surprise, Maul can purr. It's not something he can do on demand, nor does he often notice that he's doing it. It's just a natural reaction that kicks in whenever he feels truly safe and content, usually as he's drifting off to sleep.
Maul is a giver. Yes, he likes receiving, but you're the one person who he feels this intimate bond with, so he's going to ensure that he keeps you happy, and satisfies all of your needs.
His main love language is physical touch. To go all these years alone, then finding you? He won't be too public about it, minus resting his hand on your lower back every so often, but behind closed doors, Maul is grabby and attentive.
His horns aren't as sensitive as people assume. They're just bone, after all. It's nice to run your fingertips around them, but please don't grab onto them like he's some kind of bull!
Markings are a sign of possession, which Maul enjoys. Not intense bruises or whip marks! Hickeys, light scratches from his horns or nails. You're more than welcome to leave them on him too, if you can find the space through his heavily tattooed body.
And he doesn't care if others notice them. It probably won't take long for others to realise that you two are an item, especially given how protective Maul is over you.
Protective, not possessive. You are your own person, after all, and Maul finds it amusing when someone steps out of line, and attempts to flirt with you.
Cut to a looming shadow over your shoulder with piercing orange eyes. Yeah, they're not going to attempt flirting with you ever again.
Maul is quite the cuddler, especially after sex. He's not clingy, but he enjoys having you in his arms, or vice versa. This is the time when he'll babble on about present things on his mind, usually 'work' related.
He's already quite open with you, but this is the open door for you to push ideas in his direction, and really assist him through his quiet pleas for support.
Overall, he's very patient and attentive. However, there's a high bar to reach if he's interested in you. He won't settle, especially for someone who doesn't meet his needs, or life goals.
In a life full of chaos, misery, desperation, hatred, Maul needs someone who can ground him. A firm, yet gentle word whenever he's going overboard, or a hand to cling onto when times are tough.
He won't play games. He won't string you along. If you aren't interested, then that's fine, but don't expect him to chase after you. Make your interest clear, flirt a little, and show him that you can be the safe space that he so desires.
3.1k words | M rated | Sexual themes (sfw), Threats of violence
Previous - Next
Summary: Your years on the run have made you abandon the Jedi code to survive, trading your skills for mercenary work. When you feel something hunting you on your way home, you assume the Empire has found you. It's much worse than that.
A/N: my puzzle pieces have all finally fallen into place! you guys deserved a win after this week ngl
Let me know if you’d like to be added to/removed from the taglist! 🫶
You straighten your posture and rotate in your seat when you hear Maul grunt for the fourth time since Spybot started working on him. The sound sets your teeth on edge. Pain is not a part of your life and it feels foreign to see Maul even register it. You must have done quite the number on him. The two of you had made it back to the ship without further harm after briefing Klessia on what to do with the body that laid below - burn it, and the shuttle that belonged to it - scrap it. A collected calm had fallen over you, your brain zeroing in on the task at hand as to not completely fall apart. You'd killed someone. Again. And it had been... justified, gratifying even. It had made you feel powerful for the first time in a long while.
But the adrenaline high is starting to wear off now, your body shaking as you try in vain to deconstruct your lightsaber. It is going to be difficult to break the news to Maul. Delays have already occurred and considering his reaction to the last one, he might just crush you like a bug. He will not take kindly to this haulcraft-sized wrench thrown in his grand plan. Still there is only so much fidgeting with your weapon that you can do before he realises you have no way of opening it to get him the kyber crystal he is after. And this is only the first part of the puzzle.
The difficulty lies in getting your hands back on its twin that you sold a year ago. It hadn't been an easy decision to let go of one half of your dual weapons.
On the bright side of things, you know exactly where it is and who possesses it. You are far from pleased to have to see that leech of a man again, but needs musts. You will swallow your pride and play the fool for this plan to go smoothly. For a chance to go home. Placing the lightsaber down on the table in front of you, you silently drift towards Maul. Your footsteps are light as to not pull him out of his deep concentration. Might as well do it while he is incapacitated. He will be less apt at chasing you if he does decide he has finally had enough of your antics. Your alliance remains fragile even if you have come to a mutual understanding. He might have admitted to your bond but he is capable of severing it when it no longer serves, of that you are well aware.
"What?", he mutters through gritted teeth, followed by a low whine.
"It's about the key."
There is no further acknowledgment until you decide to continue speaking. Maul has his eyes closed, head resting against the back of his seat as sweat beads along his brow. He looks utterly exhausted, on the verge of either passing out or losing his sanity entirely. You swallow thickly and kneel by his side, hoping the closeness will soothe him or at least be seen as grovelling for leniency. You have no healing abilities of your own but you can at least provide companionship if that's what he's after.
"I've sent out a call to my buyer... His ship is orbiting the Hosnian system. I know it's tricky but he will get us safe passage without any eyes on us."
"Let us hope your friend proves reliable.", Maul sighs.
"Dryden is not my friend."
His eyes snap open in an instant, pinning you in place harder than the Force ever could. The silence that passes between you is deafening, ringing in your ears. You can see the gears turning, the calculations taking place in the back of his mind. You've either made a complete fool of yourself, or this is a piece of information he is delighted to hear. You cannot tell yet. His hand finds your shoulder, fingers digging in deep in your muscle and you huff painfully. Another gesture you cannot place, either intimidation or simply trying to relieve the pain in his leg. The droid at his side makes a sound of satisfaction, a little 'tadaaa!' that signifies he has finished his task. Maul's next words do not make anything clearer, his tone measured and flat. He is giving you an out. A chance to redeem yourself, perhaps.
"You sold the key to a Jedi holocron to Dryden Vos."
"Well, actually I sold him a half of my lightsabers.", you mutter quietly.
"To Crimson Dawn... My operatives.", Maul continues, jaw set.
Realisation hits you at the same time it does him. You've both had the half of the solution this entire time, technically speaking. It's as if this had been planned by the Force itself all along. The laugh that comes out of him makes you think he has finally snapped, the pain has gotten to him and he has lost the plot entirely. It is a maniacal sound that builds from the bottom of his throat and spills out across the room. The droid backs away as Maul tests his leg and swings them both off the edge of the seat. His hands are atop his knees but he does not make to rise. Instead, he leans towards you, expecting you to explain yourself yet not giving you enough time to stumble around to find your clumsy words. His lips form a sinister grin as he stares down at you.
"I didn't know--", you stammer.
"Oh, this is playing out to be much better than expected, yes... And perhaps... We will have an answer as to why a lone Pyke could have been foolish enough to try to kill me."
"You think he sent that guy?"
"Crimson Dawn and the Pyke syndicate have a long history of mutual hatred... I would not be surprised if Dryden Vos was attempting to seize control for himself.", Maul muses.
"Then let's pay him a visit.", you say with a cold smile.
Better than expected, indeed. You would pay good credits to see Maul wipe the floor with your former client. The man is arrogant and overbearing, but until you have your hands on both your weapons, you will have to allow him to breath the same air as you. After that, who can say? If Maul is under the suspicion that Dryden is attempting a coup then it is all the more reason to make him regret having ever crossed your path.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The reaction you get as you come out of your room and into the main body of the ship is not one you would have expected. While Maul is doing his best to blend in the darkness again, hood drawn up over his horns, you know that your role aboard the First Light will be one you have played with Dryden before. Maul might be able to play his part as the puppet master of a vast crime operation, you on the other hand are nothing more than an arts dealer. You have kept your Jedi status hidden for a reason. And as such, the extravagant gown you had packed for the occasion must fit the bill. It is a façade but it feels good to look this exquisite. Especially when it's the former Sith's eyes on you.
They travel the length of your figure, all the way from your heeled shoes to the crown of your head. Your back is left completely exposed, the gown pooling down low and gathering tightly around your neck. It is another one of your relics, rescued from a Senator's estate sale. You had brought it with you on the off chance that opening the holocron required more than your half of the lightsaber. Thank the Stars for your foresight.
Maul cocks his head to the side, flexing his hands into fists. He seems to want to say something but does not relent on his stoic control. Whatever morsel of a compliment he might have wanted to pay you dies on route to his lips. You grin knowingly and prop a hand on your hip as you watch him. His posture is impeccable as always, only his eyes betray a certain unease. At least that will provide entertainment if Dryden decides to keep you on his ship longer than you intended to stay.
"Yes?", you hum as you bat your eyelashes at him innocently.
"I suppose that lightsaber fetched you a good price."
You stride towards the space between the two ships where you have docked, stepping inside the elevator that will take you up into the private section of the First Light. Maul follows you in, blocking your path to the door. He faces you as you gather your hair up into a loose hairstyle that clears your neck of curls. You catch his eyes following the motion. It's not quite curiosity or desire on his face, but something else. He disapproves. You want to roll your eyes at him for being so obtuse. In all your life, you have never met a man that seems to have so many opinions yet withholds them at the most crucial times.
"You know what he's like, I have to keep up appearances. If we go in blasters first he'll clam up.", you lament.
"Careful not to fall too deep into your role. We are here for one thing and one thing alone."
"Are you scared I'll run off with him or something?"
His only response is a snarl, teeth bared as he quietly seethes. You can't suppress the chuckle that escapes you. If you didn't know better, you would think him jealous. But you know it isn't right. Maul simply hates having to put up a front for someone he holds in as low a regard as Dryden. The deception feels beneath him when he knows he could take everything from that man with the snap of his fingers. This seductive method is foreign to him, and he does not enjoy having it applied by you. Someone Dryden has history with.
"Are you?", you press on.
"Enough.", Maul snaps back.
His eyes haven't left yours, head cocked to the side and hands clasped behind his back as he frowns in your general direction. The scrunch of his features is as delightfully amusing as it is frightening. You swallow thickly. From your point of view, you have won the argument so why does it feel like a loss? You have successfully riled him up and guessed at the source of his annoyance, but it has not brought you much pleasure. Things would be simpler if he admitted seeing you dressed up, and for another man at that, did something to him. Maul is as honest as he is secretive.
The elevator slowly creeps to a stop and the door slides open, revealing an empty corridor you recognise. The way to Dryden's private office is much like the rest of the ship, polished and clean. Falling into step with Maul, you let him usher you down the curved hallway. You can feel a reprimand brewing beneath his silence. It only helps in reigniting your anger and frustration. It does not seem fair that you would have to suffer yet another lecture when he is the one acting like a pissed off tooka, back arched and hissing and all.
"We all have a part to play in this, including you. I cannot waste time with petty fights."
"My most sincere apologies, my Lord.", you say with a sarcastically deep bow at the waist.
He rounds on you in the blink of an eye, seizing your arm and backing you into the corner of an alcove as you attempt to shuffle out of his grip. Unstoppable force meeting unmovable object. You have executed this dance poorly, tipping him over the edge from displeasure to potential rage. His voice is low, bearing irritation. Your mood remains light as you hold the brimming tension at bay.
"Must I discipline you?"
"I could take it."
Maul blinks at you, brows furrowed as he leans back a fraction. You don't allow yourself to look away as the corner of his lips twitches up in what approximates a smile. Something resembling amusement playing on his face. Ah, perhaps you are wrong after all and his feathers are not so easily ruffled by your teasing. He seems much more pliable and less easily riled now that you've settled on a status for what you are. His moods influence yours, and vice versa.
"This... affection, as flattering as I'm sure you intend it to be, is misguided."
"It's not flattery.", you counter.
You let the silence build between you. Tentatively, you rest the hand of the arm he isn't currently holding against his cheek. He allows it but does not lean into the touch. There are still too many walls, too many boundaries he will not cross for you. Or with you. His gaze is searing, searching yours for meaning.
"And yet it is not devotion either."
"Can't a girl have feelings?"
He rolls his eyes but does not pull away. As surprise as you are that he has allowed you to touch him, you find yourself dumbfounded that he lets you kiss him too. A slow caress that turns desperate as soon as it is reciprocated. You seek out more immediately, moaning into his mouth and pulling him closer by the front of his cloak. It is days of built up need all encompassed in the press of your lips against his, your tongue across his bottom lip, your fingers finding skin. You feel his gloved hand trace down the length of your bare spine, resting on the small of your back and pulling you in so that you're flush against his chest. As if he were stating a claim on you.
He is all teeth and carnage, making your head spin with need. Maul hasn't learnt to let go in a way that shows any restraint. Instead, he kisses you the same way he approaches any endeavour; confidently and without mercy. It leaves you gasping, chasing after him when his lips leave yours.
He is the first to pull away, letting go of your arm and removing your hand from his cheek all at once. There is no regret in his gaze, just a distant sadness bordering on a plea. It is as vulnerable as you are likely to see him. You're just as lost as he is when it comes to your feelings. All you know is that every time you act on them, your chest feels lighter and your mind is quiet. It feels like a long rest after a day of running.
"I cannot give you what you want."
"This is enough.", you reply assuredly.
"For now.", he murmurs with a doubtful look upon his face.
"It will be."
"And when it is not? Will you resent me, make me out to be your villain?"
"I'm not asking for your devotion either. Just this... whatever it is."
"We will revisit this conversation at a later time.", Maul says with finality as he pulls away from you completely and returns to the corridor.
It is with great difficulty that you attempt not to sulk behind him, but instead hold your head up high. You are aware that your skin is flushed and your lipstick might be smeared as you announce yourself at the door. A voiceless assistant directs you inside.
"Lord Maul, and... company?", a voice calls out, bewildered to see you both at the same time.
The place is just as you remember it, gold and black with relics and artefacts adorning the walls. You plaster on your most dazzling smile as Dryden Vos gets up from his circular seating area and strides towards you. The grin barely cracks as he brackets your arms in his palms and leans down to kiss both your cheeks. You do not recoil, instead letting him think you enjoy his attention.
"Dryden, hello.", you purr.
"Ah, always a delight to have you! Please, come sit."
He places your hand in the crook of his elbow as he leads you the long way around the room so that you may observe the many new acquisitions he has made. They range from all cultures across the Galaxy, masks and weapons scattered about the room on pedestals. While Dryden collects, you analyse. And you find that his tastes seem to be purely for aesthetic purposes. There is no rhyme or reason to the pieces before you. No real interest in any of them past their bloated price tag.
"I didn't know you knew him.", the man says under his breath with a tilt of his head back towards Maul.
He has remained standing by the desk, watching the two of you take a turn around the room with open hostility. His arms are crossed over his chest. If you didn't know better, you could almost think he was the one sulking now. He is clearly unhappy to let you test your method first, that he has to watch you at work when his way of doing things is simpler and twice as effective. You clear your throat and tear your eyes away from the Zabrak.
"Another client of mine, quite interested in that old laser sword I sold you last year."
"Really? Now that's interesting..."
You've stopped in front of a weapons cabinet and there it is. In plain sight amongst other Jedi and Sith weaponry. The other half of your lightsaber calls to you, its pull impossible to resist. You reach out for it but Dryden pulls you back, his fingers brushing your shoulder too gently. You freeze, looking up at him as you remind yourself to smile adoringly. Maul's annoyed energy flares up at your back.
"May I?"
It feels ugly to have to ask to take what is rightfully yours. You twitch to ram the blade down his throat. Dryden hums, his eyes on Maul. If he holds any suspicion, he does not show his hand. But you can tell the dynamic is unsettling to him, that he can read there is more to this that you let on. You can only hope this interaction will be short enough and he will not demand answers.
"Please, you're my guest. I'm sure there's quite a bit in here that will interest you."
"Indeed.", you breath out.
"We should do this more often, you know? Your brilliant expertise is sorely missed. If you're looking for more permanent employ I could--"
"Vos.", Maul cuts in.
"My apologies, my Lord."
Both men go to sit as you wrap your hand around the handle of your weapon. Its body fits perfectly in your hand. You feel balance finally returning to you. How could you ever have parted with it? And to give it to Dryden, of all people. Someone with no respect for your culture nor your history. You realise too late that your anger is misdirected. Your outrage is at yourself for that show of weakness, not at anyone else. If you hadn't been so scared and alone, this would never have happened.
You rejoin the two men slowly, each step calculated. There is a powerful ally to be had in Maul, regardless of your attraction to him. This will never have to happen again. He is right, you were soft. No longer.
"I was under the assumption that the matter with the Pykes had been settled.", Maul says calmly, each word a threat of its own.
"It has."
"Then explain to me how one of them found themself aboard my ship when passing through your system."
"We're in delicate company, perhaps I could...", Dryden begins before being interrupted.
"You are a busy man, it is therefore futile for me to reiterate the conditions of your tenure of Crimson Dawn, correct?"
"Yes, my Lord.", he mutters sycophantly.
"Excellent."
Maul reaches out his hand and you place the lightsaber in his grasp as you come to stand behind him. You watch Dryden for a reaction. His jaw is clenched, his eyes narrowed at the betrayal. But he is in no position to speak or to make comments, not if he wants to keep his head attached to his shoulders. The lines on his face turn red with fury for a blink before he settles his temper. Maul rises and turns away, already on his way to the door as if finished with the conversation.
"Everything you own belongs to Crimson Dawn, belongs to me. Do not forget that."
"A pleasure to do business with you, Dryden.", you smile coyly as you lean over to pat him on the arm.
"Let us be on our way.", Maul calls from the corridor.
- I’d love a 100 word Drabble, and the theme is comfort/fluff and perhaps a bit of angst if you’d like.
- Arkham Knight Edward
To where his S/O is lying beside him, gently bringing their hand up to his face, studying him like a piece of art, and whispers that he’s beautiful. Please feel free to make it as accurately vulnerable as you think it would be!
He laid beside you, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling with each gentle breath. The harsh overhead lights from Arkham crawled over your skin and his. It was late – late enough for you to bribe a few guards so you could make it into his cell. Now, silence settled over you two like a weighted blanket, suffocating, your head resting against his chest.
You studied every bit of him: the long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. The sharp edge of his nose, the strong firmness of his jaw. Your heart leapt into your throat at the sight. Quietly, you reached up, fingers trembling at the risky movement – but once your fingers connected with his cheek, his eyes snapped open.
“What are you doing?” he asked, blue eyes hazy, voice groggy with sleep.
“You’re beautiful.” The words slipped out of you against your own control.
You watched the breath catch in his throat, the subtle shock in his eyes that he quickly masked. The edge of his mouth twitched, but he turned his gaze back to the ceiling.
“Of course I am,” he finally said. “Took you long enough to notice.”
Eddie My Love (Arkham Origins! Edward x reader one shot)
To say Edward Nashton was antisocial would be an understatement. Seeing him at social events like the GCPD annual ball or fundraisers was a laughable notion as he sat back, did his work, and kept his head down. It wasn’t like he was bothered often by the other officers as most had learned to steer clear of his path after seeing just how egotistical the little shit could be given the chance. Commissioner Loeb had occasionally strolled down to the cybersecurity unit to drop off Eddie’s tasks for the day (though Edward almost always finished them within a few hours) and a few far too cheerful to be at the GCPD interns would stop by when their computers had given them trouble.
Edward had at first wanted to play a game, refusing to offer their simple minded selves assistance unless they’d successfully answer one of his riddles (a task he doubted they’d accomplish yet it brought him endless amusement to watch their stuttering selves furrow their brows in confusion). His rather pretentious behavior had earned a few warnings from the commissioner though as those degenerate fools had complained to gone to the higher ups about Edward’s mind games and shenanigans, so with much annoyance, Edward complied (not because he’d accept defeat but rather because he needed to remain on the pay role and had no doubt the GCPD wouldn’t hesitate to find some sloppy imbecile to replace him). With that though, Edward rarely got much attention other than some scorned glances or hushed whispers about his eccentric and off putting demeanor.
That was until you had arrived at the GCPD, right as the new head of homicide. Another bright eyed individual hoping to bring justice to the wronged souls of this damned city. Edward had begrudgingly agreed to attend the welcoming party in the break room, mostly to satisfy that itching curiosity in the back of his mind. He had of course anticipated that you’d approach him and want to strike up a conversation with him, not that he could blame you (who wouldn’t want to speak to a genius?). However, the regular impenetrable wall he held up to everyone that decided to waste his time with mindless pleasantries had seemed to be… ineffective for possible the first time in his life.
“You want to talk about coding algorithms with me? I hardly doubt a mind as … simplistic and empty in nature as yours could possibly grasp it,” he’d sneer in that far too confident tone of his, preparing for the onslaught of defensive retorts.
“Doesn’t matter if I understand it or not. Listening to you speak is enough to keep me entertained.”
That had been the first warning in Edward’s head. Your lax, entirely nonchalant response towards his cutting assumption regarding your intelligence. Edward had found himself perplexed by such a unbothered individual. He figured there had to be something wrong with your mind and your peculiar behavior. If only he could crack that thick skull of yours open and watch all the secrets and mysteries pour out, analyzing the millions of strings of code in your DNA to determine just what critical error made you so immune towards his bashful remarks.
Edward eventually came to the conclusion that you reminded him a crow. A quick glance at that disorganized, disaster workspace of yours — though who was he to talk considering he rarely had time for such mundane tasks like cleaning — made Edward instantly steer clear of your office space. All those trinkets and collectibles, as if you never threw away a single object in your life. From the collection of retro video game discs scattered about the ground of your office space to the marble miniature geek statues lining the mahogany desk, he knew peculiar wasn’t nearly enough to describe you.
Unfortunately for Edward, his egotistical rambling and snarky comments weren’t enough to deter you from pushing your luck. He was cursed with your presence during every break period no matter how standoffish he acted it was as if you couldn’t take the hint. With his fingers typing away lines of perfect code, he rarely expected interruption; however, you with your far too bright smile and your far too eager laugh you crept into the room once more.
“You free Friday after work?”
“If you’re considering inviting me to the GCPD ball-“
“Not about the ball. I figured you dislike crowds since you’re always hunched over that screen of yours like a lone sewer rat.”
Your playful remark paired with that teasing smile grated on Edward’s nerves especially as he considered opening his mouth to unleash a tirade of insults at your lackluster intelligence only for you to once more continue.
“I’ve got a surprised for you I’m cooking up. Leave your office right work ends and wait for me in the break room if you’re interested.”
You’d vanished right down the corridor before Edward had a chance to response. He hadn’t even been left with a chance to laugh at your assumption that he’d roll off like a dog at your invite. But perhaps he wasn’t looking at this right? Perhaps he wasn’t considering how this was the perfect opportunity to pick at that odd mind of yours, solve your mind like the riddle it was presenting itself to be. A groan left Edward’s lips as he buried his face in his hands, realizing he was seriously considering this invitation of yours.
Thick droplets of rain pattered gently on the window sill. The normally gloomy sky of Gotham dimmed to a dark grey with the oncoming storm howling in the distance. Absentmindedly, Edward’s blue eyes gazed off at the skyscrapers and buildings painting the horizon outside the break room. A week and a half to Christmas yet the wasn’t a speck of white present outside the window yet. By now the chatter in the halls had died down with the voices disappearing off towards the GCPD gala (an event Edward couldn’t possibly care less about). Squinting, he observed the barren halls plastered from head to toe in that tacky, garish green red and white decorate. From pesky garlands to those eyesores of lights, the walls were barely recognizable.
“Admiring the decor job? Or are you too busy thinking of new ways to gloat?”
Edward immediately recognized your teasing tone as his head whipped quickly in the direction of it. His eyebrows furrowed as they typically did when he was annoyed or rather on edge though you seemed to pay no mind as your arm linked around his with ease, yanking him forward towards your side.
“C’mon. Surprise is ready for you.”
“I should warn you in advance: the odds of you impressing me are exceedingly low.”
“Worth a shot regardless.”
There was that unserious, undeterred attitude of yours causing Edward’s jaw to clench tightly as he hesitantly followed after you down the tawdry tastelessness of the decor job. Edward was surprised to find himself retracing the steps back towards his office, assuredly working his mind to conjure up just what nightmare awaited him wherever you were mercilessly dragging him off to.
“Ta-da.”
To his utter horror, the doors of Edward’s office snapped open revealing a scene that vividly assaulted his senses. There in the corner was one of those miniature virescent Christmas trees covered in glittery ornaments with fairy lights.
“What’s the meaning of all this!?! This is a den of intellectual prowess not mindless holiday jubilation!”
As expected, Edward’s words were sharp and dismissive of the sudden festive makeover to his office. However, you seemed to be as calm as ever, almost as if you expected the retaliation from your sentiment. Your hands gently press against his chest, pulling lightly at his tie in a teasing manner to bring him ever so slightly closer to you.
“Lighten up… I promise I’ll return everything back to its place after the holidays….”
“It’s highly improbable that pea sized brain of yours is incapable of recalling the original intricate layout of my office.”
“Just… lose the insults this once and focus on the moment.”
“Focus on the moment? What kind of an idiotic-“
His words were roughly cut off by the sudden press of lips against his own. As if this entire night was filled with events that shocked him to his core, he now felt your soft, gentle mouth on his. His eyes remained momentarily open in utter disbelief mixed in with the slightest twinge of rage. Just who did you think you were to be pressing up against him like this and kissing him. Despite his inner turmoil, Edward didn’t find himself pulling away; he found his body settling, arms moving from a position of protest to ones of begrudging acceptance as your tongue gently moved to explore the caverns of his mouth, tasting the hint of leftover coffee on his tongue. It had to have been a full minute or so by the time you pulled away yet time felt as if it had stopped all together.
“Couldn’t help but notice you moved under the mistletoe. I’m sure a smart guy like you knows all about the tradition that calls for now.”
He want to scoff hotly at the remark regarding the utterly meaningless, simpleton tradition, but Edward’s mouth had shut for perhaps the first time in his life, his tongue remained still as if attempting to remember the way it engaged in a fiery tango with yours. Suddenly, his ears were assaulted with the gentle vintage tune of Eddie My Love by the Chordettes. Ah such clever world play for a feeble minded individual like yourself; perhaps that brain of yours can partially function when you actually tried (though he had to battle with the urge to bark at how inappropriate and demeaning it was for you to be playing such a song).
With a hand gently outstretched and that lopsided grin once more painted on your face, Edward knew exactly what horrors you were beckoning him into now: a dance. The utter pointless ritual of flesh to flesh contact paired rocking your body to the rhythm of a song never failed to make Edward sneer at how menial society was. As if you couldn’t take the hint, you simply invited yourself into his bubble and joined your hands in a meaningful embrace that spoke louder than any words could at that moment.
A/N: THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING RIDDLER!!! I hope it wasn’t too bad for a no beta read one shot involving Riddler especially since I’m nowhere near intelligence enough to portray the peculiar question mark man the way I want (but I really do love his character in arkhamverse). I'm aware it is really short I got inspired by this scenario after the song Eddie My Love came on my vintage songs playlist
Summary: This is meant to be a continuation of my previous Riddler fic [which you can read here]. After the downfall of the Asylum, your life– once again– falls into utter shambles. Now jobless and in an even more destructive environment than before, a sudden hope for change drives you back into the depths of Arkham– this time, to the City…
Vicki Vale’s dolled-up face and cropped blonde hair board into your very soul from behind the glass of the tv screen. Completely immune and unaware of your (and practically everyone else watching) existence, she opened her mouth and flashed the camera man her most flattering smile. Some often called her the “Lois Lane of Gotham City”, with her extensive and successful reporter career and die-hard obsession with exploring the corruption of public officials– but in truth, you’d always felt that the woman was obtuse at best.
Still, you like every other Gothamite continued to watch her as she delivered her statement to the camera.
“This is Vicki Vale reporting live from Arkham City; the controversial super-prison built right here in the heart of Gotham,” Vicki’s sparkling white teeth peaked out from between her berry-red lips. “In a few moments, Bruce Wayne will be live on stage to explain his sudden interest in Gotham politics…”
‘The infamous play-boy billionaire has balls,’ you absentmindedly thought to yourself, continuing to stand within the center of your apartment living space– arms crossed and focus zeroed in on the slightly out-dated tv that was mounted to your wall.
18 months. 18 months and 34 days is exactly how long it has been since that fateful night at Arkham Asylum. The night that the Joker unleashed hell on earth upon the nonviolent inmates and staff members of the facility.
You could remember that night like it had happened yesterday. The days leading up to the attack had been normal, excluding some personal drama in your own life that might’ve distracted you from noticing any real signs of danger— everything had been normal. Of course, before the assault on Arkham, you hadn’t been in the employment of Arkham long.
Your thoughts came to a sudden and violent halt before you could go spiraling too far down memory lane as Bruce Wayne himself came on screen– passing Vicki by and making some sort of witty comment that you were too far gone to have noticed until it was too late. He was on the podium now, speaking to the crowd of reporters as they fought their way to get the best view of Gotham’s most eligible bachelor.
“Thank you! Thank you, Gotham,” Bruce cheesed the camera. By that point you were just about fed up with the news and stepped away from your brooding position and made your way to the kitchen where you had a pot of boiling water and a box of pasta noodles ready to be cooked.
The TV served as an ideal background noise to your raging mind as you served yourself dinner. A lot has changed for you in your life in the past several months after Arkham. After that night.
You remained in the same unit that you had initially rented out when you first got to Gotham– your original intentions were to temporarily stay in the place, but after that night and losing your job, the circumstances forced you to stay put.
You got by from the workers compensation you received from your former employers, and you were half tempted to hire an attorney and drop an actual lawsuit on the facility– but with everything going on in Gotham right now, money was the furthest thing from you mind. Naturally, once news got out about Arkham being overrun by its inmates, your persistent and overbearing family had once more reached out and demanded that you return to Metropolis and the life that you had so long had desired to get away from– as like the fool you were, you returned. Einstein once said that “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”
So when you had returned to your home and your ex-husband, it should’ve been obvious to you from the start that things hadn’t changed– that the two months you had been apart wouldn’t have made a difference. You were a fool for thinking otherwise. Luckily for you, you had kept your apartment in Gotham and had stayed true to your own word that you would not put up with the neglect anymore.
So you left your life in Metropolis once more, this time for good. This time, severing all connections you had previously made the mistake of keeping when you left for the first time.
Arkham City was freezing no thanks to a certain cryogenesis. Gotham was always cold this time of year– with its constant downpour of rain and icy cold winds that bounced off the walls of the skyscraping buildings– but Arkham City was doubled in the amount of suffering by Mr. Freeze. No doubt his reasoning for doing so was directly related to something to do with his frozen wife, like all his crimes seemed to be motivated by.
Edward, in all his doom and gloom, watched from the comfort of his desk as his minions carried out his bidding across the screen in front of him. He, always the smartest man in the room, got out of Arkham just hours before the Joker released his attack on the Asylum. His freedom didn’t last long, however, as he was quickly apprehended by Strange’s men and shipped off to what the media has now dubbed Arkham City.
Naturally, Edward was quick to adjust to his environment and within the first week of being dropped off in the dilapidated environment he was up and running with a full operation and a scheme for The Bat; because sooner or later, he was bound to arrive in the City and stir up trouble.
The letter haunted you the moment you received it. You thought little of it, naturally, when you had received it among the piles of junk mail and slow increase of bills piling up (your workers comp only could get you so far before you would eventually need an actual job again). The letter was that of employment– a job request to be more specific, and it came to you from none other than Dr. Hugo Strange himself.
You dropped the letter before you could even finish reading it. You waited an entire day before picking it back up and rereading what the doctor had offered you. Dr. Strange promised to pay you double the amount that you had made at Arkham for your services as a psychiatrist, and he did so with the sole intention of you providing care to one particular inmate.
Edward Nigma.
Edward had never met Hugo Strange in person, but thanks to his spies and resources, knew enough about the man to know he was just as pathetic and shallow as any other villain wanna-be. The Riddler had first spoken to Dr. Strange a month or two into his relocation into the City. Unbeknownst to the Psychologist, Edward had paid one of the inmates off to install a small camera and speaker device within his office whilst they visited under the guise of having a session with the doctor.
Since then, The Riddler would on occasion pop in to “pay a visit” to the doctor. Edward took great enjoyment in mocking the professor during these brief encounters, and relished in the fact that, though he himself was a resident within the city, he was here on his own volition and that Strange and his Tiger Guards had no sway over him.
Tonight was one such night that the infamous criminal decided to pay a small visit to said doctor.
Old coffee cup in hand, steaming with the cheap ground coffee he had managed to acquire within the city; Edward stood tall and proud in front of his monitors. His lair was dark to conserve power at this time, thus the only light that was currently present was from the 7 monitors mounted all around him, each displaying different scenes within the city from his hundred of different camera feeds. His main monitor, that was the largest of the screens and centers right in front of his work station flickered to that of Dr. Hugo Strange– sitting at his desk within his office.
The camera that Edward had set up gave him an upper narrow view of this office as it was mounted on the ceiling in the far right corner. In Edward’s perspective, it appeared to him that the doctor was reading over a file– most likely from one of his brain-dead patients he’d experimented on. Due to the grainy image that the feed presented Edward on his computer monitor, he could not make out any details of said file, but knew as much that it was currently none of his concern.
Edward, taking a big gulp of his slowly cooling coffee, straightened up his posture before checking to make sure his mic was properly connected and switching on the audio.
“Knock, knock, Professor. Guess who?” Edward smugly grinned through his words.
Dr. Strange, not in the least bit shocked or surprised, heaved a heavy sigh. Edward watched in amusement as the image of the large bald man lifted leaned back in his leather chair and steepled his fingers in front of him.
“I grow tired of these insipid games, Mr. Nigma. If you wish to speak to me, my guards will escort you safely to my tower.”
Edward nearly laughed.
“Please, Hugo. If you're going to set a trap, at least pretend to try harder than that.”
Dr. Strange’s response was immediate.
“No traps, Edward. I simply wish to grant you safe passage through Arkham City. I think the time has come for us to meet as equals… and besides, I believe I will make it worth your while.”
Edward raised a brow at this, tilting his head and rubbing his gloved knuckles across the stubble on his chin. ‘What are you planning this time, Strange?’ He thought to himself before speaking.
“You, Strange? My equal? I am the man whose cunning will soon have Batman lying at his feet, bloodied and broken.”
The image was as clear as day to Edward.
“Really?” Strange didn’t sound the least bit convinced, but Edward ignored him as he continued babbling on, lost in his own ingenious fantasy.
“Then I will pull off his mask and look into his dull, dying eyes. In that last instance he will know that I have finally beaten him and I will know who he really is.”
“My apologies, Edward,” Strange’s voice finally broke through Edward’s mind. “I see now we are nowhere near equals.”
Edward snapped his previously roaming gaze back to the monitors in front of him. Back to the fuzzy image of Dr. Strange.
“Finally.”
“You see, like me, you are obsessed with Batman, but unlike me, you don’t know who he really is. Do you?”
“What?” Edward’s gaze hardened upon this revelation.
“And thus I must conclude this meeting, Edward. Though it was interesting, I see now that I have nothing to gain from you.”
Edward’s mind was buzzing with questions. ‘Was Strange bluffing? Did he really know who Batman was? If so, how? And why him and not me, The Smartest Man in Gotham!’
So enraptured in his own racing mind, Edward only took notice of the 2nd person entering Strange’s office when Strange spoke up. Dr. Strange called her by her name- a name that Edward hadn’t thought about since that night, and soon that name was followed by a voice– a voice he didn’t think he’d hear again.
“You call, Doctor?” You asked; stepping into Strange’s office. You could’ve sworn that you had heard him talking to someone before entering, but looking around the office- it was clear that he was alone.
Hugo Strange straightened up at his desk. A taunt smile pulling his thin lips across his face.
Hugo Strange was an older man. How old is it? You weren’t quite sure, but if you have to guess; judging by his extremely receding hair line, and physical health— he surely had to have been hitting his 50s, and hitting them pretty hard.
“Down in Park Row, there is a Church in which the City Police along with a number of other first responders are holed up in. Go there and be of assistance to them…”
Your brows furrowed in confusion. Was he asking you to spy?
“Sir. I don’t understand– I thought I was here to give some insight on Edward Nig–”
Strange cut you off with a wave of his hand.
“Just do it! I will have my Tiger guards escort you.”
Edward was stumped. His mouth agape and his eyes still glued wide. He couldn’t believe it– he couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed on the screen in front of him
‘You were here! At Arkham City! And working for… Strange?’
Edward sat for a long while, even after he’d long since disconnected the channel to Dr. Strange’s office. He asked himself repeatedly why you would be here, and why you would want to be working for Dr. Strange of all people. But more importantly, Edward wanted to know what exactly was Strange’s play in all this.
Surely Strange was aware that you were a previous employee at Arkham– maybe that may have even been the reason for your hire, but he called you into his office specifically to show Edward that you were there and under his wing. But was he aware of the relationship that you had with Edward? Surely he must’ve, why else would he go out of his way to hire you out of all of the other therapists that he had had over the years.
Edward furrowed his brows in thought. He remembered the last time that he had seen you, that night at Arkham before the breakout. The way you had held him, looked at him in that dark cramped room and kissed him–
–Edward rubbed his temples. He really shouldn’t be thinking about that night, especially right now with all that’s going on in Arkham City; but he just couldn’t help it. He needed answers and he needed them right now!
Strange to begin with was already and incredibly shady character, and Edward would’ve been content with letting him be so long as he didn’t interfere with his plots for Batman– but now’s he’s crossed the line, he’s brought you into this which means he must want Edward for something enough to manipulate him using you. But where exactly did that leave you in all this? Had he forced you to come to Arkham City?
Edward figured that after the events of Arkham Asylum you’d want nothing to do with Gotham after that and he’d never hear from you again. But he was wrong, as much as Edward typically despised being so, because you hadn’t left. For one reason or another, you had chosen to stay and had jumped from the pan directly into the fire.
Edward rubbed his eyes. He was tired and didn’t have the brain capacity to focus on this right now.
Grabbing the rolling desk chair, Edward plopped down on its cushiony surface and changed the channel feed back to the general channels he normally would have it on.
‘Well, it appears the Bat had finally made it to the City.’ Edward thought to himself as his tired eyes watched the Dark Knight scurry across the screen. ‘Maybe a short nap will do me some good…’
(A/N: Meant to make this part A LOT longer, but due to me getting sick yesterday evening, I felt that I would break this part of the story up into two little parts. As always, if you all would like to read my fics an entire month in advance, please consider becoming a member of my Patreon: https://linktr.ee/starrstuder. This link will also take you to all of my other social media's in case you all wanted to see some of the other content I made. I am I cosplayer and sell professional prints on Shopify, I also am currently selling some of my costumes on Depop, so be sure to check that out if you are interested <3 until next time~)
Summary: Dating The Birds of Prey headcannons, featuring my girl Babs, Dinah, and Helena <3
Dating The Huntress (Helena Bertinelli) would include…
-How you met.
You found her hunched over in the pews. at first, you assumed she was praying, but as you walked past, it quickly became apparent that she was unconscious and bleeding pretty heavily. Searching around and finding no help in the Church (why would anyone be hanging around a church this late at night?) You were about to call 911 for help when she suddenly shot up and begged you not to before dropping down to the floor. Concerned for her safety, you brought her to your apartment, which was conveniently right next door to said Church, and patched her up.
When the mysterious dark-haired woman finally came to, you explained who you were and why you brought her to your home. You told her that you found her nearly on the verge of death in the church, and worried that she was in some kind of legal trouble, you brought her to your home for care. At the time of your first encounter with Helena, you were a med student at Gotham University and would often go to the cathedral to study, as your neighbors weren’t exactly the most considerate when it came to noise.
This is really where the relationship the two of you had sprouted from. You never pried into her life, and as such, she never told you why she was hurt that day and why she urged you not to contact the authorities.
-Finding out her alternate identity.
It was not but a few nights after you met with Helena at the old church that you were subsequently pulled into a nearby alley and mugged. Being a resident in Gotham, this is typical to occur on the occasion, but tonight was different– because tonight, the muggers weren’t just satisfied with your wallet, maybe you had unknowingly done something to offend them, or perhaps they just didn’t like the way you looked; either way, the perpetrator intended to take your life.
Call it fate or divine intervention– or even pure coincidence– because you were saved by one of the famed vigilantes of the city. You had seen some blurred photos of her in the media once or twice, and recognized the purple costuming immediately as that of The Huntress.
When the criminal was properly dealt with and the authorities were notified, The Huntress offered to stay with you until they arrived– and that’s when you realized who she was.
When you called her out on her identity, surprisingly, she didn’t deny it and instead smiled and explained to you why she’d been at that church that night. The two of you didn’t have much time to discuss it, as not too long after the cops arrived, Helena was forced back into the shadows of the night.
-When the two of you start dating.
Later that same night of the mugging, after the questioning by the police, you were released to head back home– and, surprisingly, were greeted by the sight of Helena (in full Huntress Gear) waiting for you via the fire escape window. Despite the exhaustion of the day and the trauma from the events prior, you were more than eager to allow her into your living space. That’s when Helena kicked back off where she last left the conversation before the police arrived.
Helena Bertinelli told you that the reasoning for her being at that church that night was because she thought she was going to die after stopping a bank robbery that went wrong. She explained her somewhat love-hate relationship with religion and how she felt it was the only place she could find peace. When asked why and how she became the vigilante known as “The Huntress”, Helena started by explaining how she was originally from a mob family, and at a young age, her family was brutally murdered– an incident she barely survived.
Later, as an adult, she sought vengeance on the killers who took her family’s lives.. Only to discover that her very own mother was the culprit who orchestrated the whole affair. The tale was very long and full of juicy drama– you even made a joke about it, which brought out a smile on Helena’s otherwise somber face.
As if Helena couldn’t have given you any more surprises, she offers to take you out for coffee that weekend to get to know you a little better. You’re heart fluttered at the thought, how could you resist? So you accepted.
The cute little coffee date went over well, and before you knew it, the two of you were official.
Dating Black Canary (Dinah Lance) would include…
-How you met...
Everyone who had a decent taste in music in Gotham knew of the Black Canary band— so when you’re best friend, Kara, came up from out of town to visit you, you just knew you had to celebrate things by dropping in at one of the band’s shows. Admittedly, you, despite being an avid fan (and an active Dinah Lance fan girl/boy) you had never ACTUALLY seen the band perform live before. Gotham was a violent enough city, and if what Rolling Stones had to say was true about the bad, Black Canary is the most dangerous band in America right now.
It was in between acts that you got a chance to meet Dinah Lance herself– funny enough, via complete accident rather than a premeditated fan. You see, although you’d always harbored a small crush for the bottled blonde, you were never the type to obsess and craze over celebrities. In your eyes, they were just people– people with incredible talents who got lucky, but still people nonetheless.
You had left Kara at the bar where the band was performing live at, promising her that you’d be back soon and that you just had to use the bathroom (it wasn’t a lie); and as if fate decided to play a cruel joke on you, you were pulled into the opposite gendered bathroom by the rough hands of a stranger. The perpetrator, someone whom you’ve never seen a day in your life before, pressed a small sharp object into your lower stomach and murmured obscene words into your ear. In any other situation, you’re confident that you could’ve easily defended yourself against them, but in this particular instance, with the heavy music and alcohol you had consumed earlier, you were more than disoriented.
Before things could take a turn for the worse, however, a pair of hands came out of nowhere and yanked the opponent off of you with such strength and force that you swore you saw their eyes practically pop out of their sockets. It was all over before it even started, and there, standing above you with her hands on her exposed hips, was Dinah Lance, THE Black Canary. Ever since then, the two of you have been nearly inseparable.
You told Dinah all about your boring old life and she’d often stop by when she was in town to visit and vise versa with her telling you and keeping you updated on her adventures with The Justice League and (when you were able to take time off from work) travel with her when she went on tour with the band. She’d even brought you to Paris one time with the Birds of Prey.
-When you two started dating…
It was right after a Birds of Prey operation in Paris when you, Helena, Barbara, and Dinah were tracking down Calculator. Somehow, someway, you ended up getting roped into the entire affair, and it was just as Noah Kuttler was being arrested at the top of the Eiffel Tower that you and Dinah shared your small moment of passion. The scene itself could’ve cut a movie, but in truth, it was an incredibly sudden moment for both of you.
Sure, you’d always had a thing for her— but truthfully, you’d never anticipated the possibility of her reciprocating them. A day or two would go by without any word from Dinah until she stopped by your apartment (back in Gotham, of course) and wanted to make the relationship official.
Dating Batgirl (Barbara Gordon) would include…
-How you two met…
You had known Barbara for most of your life. She was the pretty girl next door to you that you were never cool enough to hang out with— so when you finally left for college, expecting to never see her again, one could imagine your surprise when you ran into her at a party you were attending at Gotham University in Burnside. The two of you hit it off immediately (not that you guys didn’t know each other before or have ever hung out in the past, just that you both lived very different lives and weren’t exactly close enough to be considered “friends”).
One thing led to another that night, and you found yourself waking up in her bed.
You were never the type for one-night stands, and you certainly didn’t think Barbara was either— but things felt different now that you two bridged the gap between being acquaintances to… whatever it was that the two of you were now. Regardless, you wanted more from being just a one-time ordeal for her and gathered the confidence to ask her out on a date.
-Finding out her secret identity…
You had suspected that something was up with Barbara for a few weeks now, so when she spontaneously invited you out for lunch one day, you dreaded the possibility of her breaking up with you. Several weeks prior, you had gotten a strange phone call in the middle of the night from Barbara— it had startled you awake, and you almost would’ve been angry if it weren’t for the pure vulnerability in her voice. She had told you things that you had never known about her— things like her mother walking out on her on Christmas and all the mental issues her younger brother James (who you had never even known) had as a result.
You knew in your heart that Barbara loved you, but with the distance she’d been at lately and the walls she was seemingly putting up, you began to worry that she was suffering from some kind of burnout. You felt like a caged animal during lunch, circling each other but never directly confronting the very obvious elephant in the room. At least, not until after you had finished your club sandwich in the most awkward silence of your life, awaiting and dreading the moment she’d say something along the lines of “it’s not you, it’s me!” But those words never came, and instead what came out of her mouth was something far more shocking— so shocking your brain had to take a moment to reload itself.
Okay, well, it wasn’t THAT shocking, but it was still a huge surprise!
“I’m Batgirl,” she had sheepishly stated, much like a child confronting their parents after they had just broken a very expensive vase. You blinked, and then blinked again at her, and when she had decided that she could no longer take your staring anymore, she began to explain why she had been at a distance lately as well as why she had chosen a life of crime-fighting. The latter, you suppose you understood as Barbara’s father was somewhat of a “helicopter parent”, and who could blame him?
You imagined that being the Police Commissioner of the most dangerous city in America wasn’t exactly an easy feat. It certainly would’ve put any parent on edge when their child confronts them about wanting to join the police force. It took time for you to forgive Barbara for keeping this secret from you, especially after the weeks of torment you had gone through, stressing about whether or not she was planning on breaking up with you. Still, you were never one to hold a grudge, especially not towards Barbara.
(A/N: Thank you all so much for taking the time to read this weird little scenarios/head cannon fic thingy. If you enjoyed this fic and would like to read my stuff an entire month in advance, please consider checking out my Patreon here:
Thanks for clicking the link! Here are my other socials!
Like me know some other fic ideas that you all have down below, as well as don't forget to like/reshare and be sure to follow for more related fics).
North Star- Daredevil: (Bullseye) Benjamin Poindexter x Reader
(Note: Originally this was to be an Arkham Knight x Reader, but with the new episodes of Daredevil, I couldn't help myself <3 I think the next story I write will be a Scarecrow x Reader [Cillian Murphy, of course, bc he's dreamy]. Also, sorry not sorry if this one-shot kinda sucks, I lost motivation in wiriting it about a quarter of the way through, but enjoy!)
Summary: Dex takes a cute girl out on a date. She’s a shy rookie FBI agent naive to his psychopathic nature. Charmed by his grandeur, she falls victim to his desire for her to be his “north star.”
In the 30 something years that Dex had been alive he’d not felt much– call it a result of his trauma from his abusive foster parents, or the psychological disorder he’d been diagnosed with in his early years; but Benjamin “Dex” Poindexter had liked to think he was immune to the weaknesses of normal human emotions. He knew what sadness was, of course, he’d gotten a nasty taste of that in his late teens when Dr. Mercer had passed on– as well as anger, like when his promotion had been delayed at his job.
But there was one thing that Dex had not felt, or at least experienced, in a long, long time– and it was the feeling of jealousy. He knew jealousy, of course, he’d remembered all too well how he felt when his baseball coach had made him sit out in favor of giving the other kids a turn. He also remembered how he felt nothing but resentment towards his coach, and later apathy once he’d thrown the ball to crack his previous mentor’s skull.
Jealousy, to say the least, was something the tall, blonde, handsome FBI agent did not usually feel as a full-grown man. Jealousy was for the weak-minded, for those who lacked the inner peace and structure he’d created carefully in his mind for himself. You see, structure was the key to everything for Dex– it was the essence of his sanity, carefully curated for him with the help of his late doctor.
It was why he followed the same routines in his day-to-day life, it was the sole purpose of the reason why he’d sought out a job in law enforcement. So when Dex awoke this morning and headed into work, one could imagine why he’d felt entirely off put when you weren’t there to greet him with a shy smile and an awkwardly cute little wave. Perhaps his attraction to you was purely from the unspoken routine that the two of you shared, or perhaps it was because of the slightly too tight, slightly see-through, white button-up shirts you had seemed to love to adorn– but if there was one thing that the blonde was fore-sure of, it was the stirrings of the unwelcoming jealousy that boiled within his gut when you weren’t there to greet him by the coffee machine and instead were found to be hold-up in conversation with Agent Nadeem.
Dex didn’t care and paid no mind to the fact that the Agent in question was married with a kid– the sight of him stealing your attention away from the morning greeting that Poindexter looked forward to every day made him grind his teeth and clench his fists in rage. Briefly, though Dex immediately pushed the thought aside, he imagined what it would be like if he threw the pen in his pocket into the back of Nadeem’s head.
Would his skull explode upon impact? Would his brains go spattering all across your pretty smile? Would you scream and cry?
A shiver of excitement ran up his spine.
Nadeem, as if sensing Dex’s concentrated hatred, turned around to face him. His eyes widened upon contact with Dex’s, but only briefly, and just as quickly as he’d come, Nadeem was quickly moving away from you with his head bowed and over to his private cubicle. That’s when Benjamin’s gaze snapped over to yours.
You smiled kindly, as if not seeing or sensing the tension from the two men in the room, before gliding over to where Dex stood near the coffee machine.
“Rough night?” You asked, ever so kindly. Dex couldn’t help but immediately forgive you at that moment.
It wasn’t your fault that the world was full of predators out to steal you away. You were goodness incarnate, pure, and everything that Dex needed to be.
“Not really, why do you ask?”
“You just seem a little tired today, thought I’d ask.” Your smile widened a little as you said this. “It’s not because of the whole Fisk case, is it?”
Dex’s stomach turned. He did not like you saying his name, or just being reminded of the Kingpin in general, for that matter.
“No. Not at all… let’s change the subject– you, me, dinner at my place?” Dex’s lips moved faster than his brain could process, and by the time he’d realized just what he’d asked you, it was a little too late.
Your smile dropped, eyes going wide, but only for the briefest of moments before the light in your face came right back and you were grinning again.
“Sure! That sounds fun. Have you already decided on the meal, or are you open to suggestions? Because, honestly, I’ve been craving Pizza like crazy!”
Internally, a sigh of relief echoed in the FBI agent’s mind.
“Pizza it is!” He smiled and laughed, mimicking your expression with intent.
The remainder of the day followed without incident. Dex even found himself with a little more skip in his step as the day neared the end. He’d been dreaming of when he could take you home for himself for quite some time now– he just never fathomed he’d ever work up the proper amount of courage to ask you out.
When the Agent had arrived home, he immediately started to put his plan into motion. The two of you agreed to have dinner at around 7– a little late in the evening, but you both decided it would be enough time for both of you to finish up and work from the day, as well as to clean up a bit for the evening. It was never flat-out stated, but tonight was a date– casual, but still a date nonetheless.
Dex showered, changed into a button-down shirt and dark jeans, and ordered the food. He already knew exactly what you liked from his observation of you from the past year, but asked you through text anyhow, just so he would come off all the more casual. While waiting for you and the food to arrive, the dexterous man straightened his apartment up a bit.
There was not much to clean or move around. Dex lived in a simple one-bedroom apartment. The entrance into his home was a small kitchen that was only divided from the living room by a countertop, and to the left of the living room, was a simple wall and door that divided his bedroom and bathroom from the main part of his home.
His walls were a plain cream color, the only photo to be seen was that of a group photo from his old job, and a few childhood drawings pinned to the fridge for memorabilia’s sake. Dex had no family or close friends to have captured memories of. Nor any real interests outside of his job.
Although on the bed of his bedroom door, he did keep a small dart board hung up, just for those late nights he couldn’t fall asleep.
It took you longer than you would have liked to get ready for your dinner date with Dex. Nerves, you supposed, fluttered in your stomach wildly throughout the day. The conversation you had had with Nadeem that morning was the root cause of the anxiety that forced your heart to do jumping jacks in your rib cage.
You had suspected for a while that Fisk was using the FBI as a means to get rid of the competition to his illegal business, and you knew damn well that his lawyers were likely the culprits handling his business affairs while he sits pretty in that damn penthouse. But when Nadeem came to you with a concerning theory that one of your own was working alongside Fisk, you couldn’t help but feel a little on edge, especially after he told you to watch yourself around Dex.
You liked Dex, you did, you had ever since the first day in office when you accidentally spilt coffee on his shirt and he charmed you with a corny (yet somewhat morbid) joke about having worse spilt on him (or… perhaps he was trying to make a dirty joke? You weren’t sure, but laughed anyways). So when Dex came up towards you this morning, after the shocking revelation that Nadeem dropped on you, you jumped at the opportunity to agree to go on a date. You wanted so badly for Dex to be innocent and this itself presented the perfect opportunity in understanding the mysterious agent more.
That, and you did like him and hoped he did too.
So, with the plan in motion and your determination set, you gave yourself a once-over in the mirror before calling a cab and heading to the address he texted you.
Dex answered the door with the first knock, startling you within the hall of his apartment complex. He lived a little further downtown, but in a relatively quiet neighborhood. Not the best apartments you’ve visited in Hell’s Kitchen, he could probably afford nicer if he wanted, but nice nonetheless, and clean.
Bashfully, the opposing Agent in question smiled and apologized for the abrupt answer to your knocks, before inviting into his abode. You laughed it off, and for a second, the doubts of what Nadeem told you earlier bounced around in your skull.
“You arrived just in time!” Dex said, smiling, guiding you over towards the small kitchen that led into the even smaller living room. “Pizza just arrived.”
You smiled back, allowing him to take the leather jacket you had decided to wear over the dress of the evening. Briefly, you felt his eyes flutter over your figure as you turned and pretended not to notice whilst taking a seat at one of the two bar stools he had set up. Dex hung your jacket next to his FBI jumper on a coat rack next to the door.
“So handsome. What kind of movie are we watching tonight?”
Flirtation was never your strong suit, but you played it off well tonight.
A sheepish smile spread coyly across his face, and you watched as Dex’s cool demeanor suddenly stopped, and a fresh flush blush adorned his face.
“Uh-I- ha,” he laughed bashfully, scratching the back of his neat little hair cut. “I was so focused on ordering the food and waiting for you that I forgot all about selecting a movie.”
You moved from your spot on the bar stool to the front of the couch in his living room– which, really, was more of a slightly longer loveseat than an actual couch, before snatching up the remote that lay on the coffee table in front of it and switching on the tv. From behind you, you heard Dex move closer.
“Would you believe me if I told you that I don’t watch tv? Well, besides keeping up with the Red Sox during baseball season.”
“You like sports?” You asked, turning to face him briefly.
“Only baseball, and not as much as when I was a kid. Really I keep up with it to pass time and to make conversation. You?”
“Not particularly. I just didn’t take you as the competitive type.” With your attention turned back to the TV screen ahead, you watched as it flickered to life seamlessly.
Oddly, Dex’s apartment felt cold– not exactly in a literal sense, the room was at a comfortable temperature, rather, the place didn’t feel very “lived in” as some would say. It was clean and minimal, and somehow his home felt more like a hotel room rather than someone’s actual living space. All of this dawned on you when the smart TV’s option screen came to life before you.
He had no apps downloaded from the menu screen– normally people would at the very least have some sort of channel subscription service like Netflix or Disney Plus to choose from, but all that greeted you were the basic free channel services that almost all tv’s nowadays had predownloaded.
‘I supposed he really wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t watch TV,’ you thought to yourself; pulling up one of the free channels available and looking through some free movies.
“How do you feel about horror?” You asked, breaking the silence that briefly enveloped the room during your search.
“It’s… okay,” he hesitated, as if he were testing the waters for your reaction. Was he trying to gauge what kind of movies you liked? How sweet.
“This channel seems to mostly have those kinds of movies on it– and you’re not really giving me exactly a selection here. I tell you what,” you made eye contact with him again, “I’ll put an older one on, and if you decide that you don’t like it– we’ll turn it off and try to find something else.”
Dex smiled and agreed.
The featured film for this evening was titled “Psycho”, naturally, if you were going to put on an old black and white film, you’d rather it be a classic, and Psycho was a grand as they came in American films of this era and genre. The film revolved around a woman stealing money from her job and skipping town to go meet up with a man. During her travels she stops and rests at a hotel where she is then brutally murdered by the owner who plays dress-up by night as his deceased mother.
It was an eerie plot, but by today’s standards, it was nothing in comparison to what is commonly shown.
Dex was silent throughout the movie, and you stole glances from him when you could, trying to understand whether or not it was boring him or if he was actually entertained. The pizza he ordered was fantastic— it was actually from one of your favorite takeout places in town, and you enjoyed it with a soda beverage.
As the film neared the end, you now finished eating and were sitting crossed legged on one end of the couch, felt an ever-so so shift beside you. You ignored it, assuming of course that Dex was just readjusting, until his arm came to wrap around your shoulders.
Shock was the first reaction you had to his boldness, and then came ease. You eased into Dex’s side, allowing him to envelope you.
It’d been too long since you had the pleasure of being in the company of a man, and despite the slight dwellings of doubt that flickered from your mind– you liked Dex, and so far, he’d given you no reasons to suspect him of the suggestions Nadeem had made earlier about him.
No words were passed between the two of you when the credits began to roll, there was no need. As if possessed, you turned your face up at him and leaned up to capture his lips in a chastening kiss. You meant it only to be an innocent peak; a sorta thank you, for the relaxing night, but when the opposing agent reciprocated, it turned heated.
Dex’s lips were cold and possessive and they moved faster than yours could to keep up. The bite and sucked on your lower lip before trailing to the corner of your jaw, down your neck, where they then made perch on a particularly sensitive spot.
You gasped and shuddered beneath him, slightly taken aback by his behavior and fully turned on from it. You allowed yourself, however, to be dragged down beneath him on the couch. You allowed him to slide a space in between your legs, and you revealed him in the moment.
Your hands, shaky and unsteady, grabbed on to anything within reach to gain some level of control– the couch, Dex’s hair, his shoulder blades– but no matter what, you felt yourself spiraling, drowning in him.
His hands, just like his lips, were ravenous and everywhere. You couldn’t even fathom what all was transpiring until your dress slipped over your head and you were left shivering on his couch in your undergarments and heels.
Dex, ever the sadist, laughed at your reaction before scooping you up into his arms and whisking you to his room. Almost cruelly, he tossed you onto the bed and stood above you as he began undressing. Sluggish, you tried sitting up and undoing the strap on your heels to kick them off, but like a natural predator, he was on top of you before you could be successful.
Dex forced you into a somewhat awkward position, with your knees to your chest, practically folding you in half. You gasped and squirmed in the uncomfortable, compromising angle, but made no real efforts to stop him as he shimmed out of his pants and tossed his shirt to the side. You were in awe for a moment as the agent presented himself in all his glory to you.
You knew Dex was fit, it was a requirement to maintain your health as an FBI agent, but you supposed you never knew just how athletic his build way under those button-down shirts.
Dex’s room was dark, the only source of lighting coming from the kitchen that peeked out from the half-open bedroom door, but it was just enough for you to take in all the details of the man before you.
Dex smiled down at you, noticing your stare, but said nothing as he swooped down on you, stealing your lips in a shockingly more tender kiss. It didn’t last long as a moment later the heat between the two of you reignited and he was back to devouring you while you were left helpless but to grasp onto his shoulders and neck. Dex was a wild animal.
You awoke sometime in the night to a bump in the dark. Norepinephrine and histamine are not quite yet doing their job on your brain as you struggled to comprehend where you were and the events that lead you there— until everything, just like a switch, flipped in your brain and you were hit with a bus full of memories.
Dex…
You struggled to pull yourself up from the comfort of the thick covers that embraced you in their safety. Eyes bleary from sleep and crusted over; you could hardly make anything out in the dark, and as a result, found yourself fumbling about. Miraculously, you manage to regain enough mobility to flop yourself over onto your stomach, where you then army-crawl over to the nightstand.
You were still at Dex’s apartment, that much was for sure— but where Dex was at this time was beyond you. Snatching up your phone from the bedside table and unlocking the screen, you squinted at the time.
6:41 am.
‘Damn, it’s early!’ Your subconscious screamed at you.’Where the hell is Dex?’
You glanced over where he’d once slept— the memory of what the two of you did just hours prior floating through your mind. You squeezed your thighs together and reveled in the soreness that followed.
‘Focus!’ The more logical side of your brain complained. With aching muscles, you followed its instructions and moved from the comfort of the bed to the cold hard wood flooring.
A chill shuddered your nude body and you made it a point to cover yourself with the nearest article of constructed clothing— conveniently this being the dress you wore earlier… though, where you’re underwear went, you had no ounce of an idea.
Now arguably more decent than you were before, you ventured forth into the main living space that was Dex’s apartment. It was empty, you found, as your tired gaze swept across the kitchen and living room.
‘Is he in the bathroom?’ The question briefly flickered in your mind, the possibility being highly likely as you turned back into the bedroom… and that’s when your stare caught it.
Next to the front door, Dex’s coat closet stood ajar— of course, nothing about that per say would be strange— except for the large safe that lay within. Said safe, just like the closet, was also pulled open— and that’s where you found a box racked full of cassette tapes. You didn’t mean to pry— hell! You didn’t want to be the one digging through his stuff, but something uncomfortable stirred within your gut and compelled you to reach forward.
“What’re you doing up, darling?”
Dex’s voice startled a yelp out of you and you spun around to face him.
“It’s late, my love. Let’s go back to bed,” he urged you with gentle words. You choked out an embarrassed excuse, allowing him (albeit begrudgingly) to guide you back to bed.
(A/N: If you enjoyed this fic and would like to read my fics an entire month in advanced, please consider becoming a member of my Patreon: https://linktr.ee/starrstuder
Let me know what all you thought of this fic down below, as well as be sure to leave a like and reshare for other <3 and as always, stick around for more content!)
omg i’m so sorry for being late with this ( it’s 20 mins to midnight for me ) could i do a 🌹 💋
with a roles reversed C&M where y/n is transferred into the GCPD from arkham asylum and Arkham origins eddie is assigned her handler.
( ps i cannot wait for the next arc of C&M !! )
Switched
Summary: When a new patient from Arkham is released on probation, Edward finds himself as her handler at the GCPD. A role-reversed AU where Detective is the criminal and Ed is the hero.
Word Count: 3.0k
Content Warning: Some nonconsensual touching, grinding, Reader being a bit of a sexual menace.
A/N: Anon I need you to know that I got this request and screamed. It has had me in a chokehold since I got it and I really think this could be a fun AU to write one of these days, but I hope you enjoy!
Edward Nashton was a man of many talents.
He could code at an exhilarating rate, solve equations well beyond the means of other people’s intellectual capabilities, and calculate pi to the trillionth digit. However, what Edward Nashton could not do, was be someone’s babysitter.
And that’s exactly what he felt like now as he looked at you, studying you from head to toe as Commissioner Loeb introduced you to him. Normally, Edward wouldn’t normally care about a new hire at the GCPD – but this was different. You were different.
And that was because you weren’t just any new hire.
You were a released patient from the newly refurbished Arkham Asylum that had been opened last year, a thoughtless attempt to rehabilitate Gotham’s most insane of criminals. Your file sat on Loeb’s desk, a thick stack of all of your crimes: arson, armed robbery, murder, extortion – the list went on and on. And Edward was absolutely appalled that you would be allowed out of Arkham and given a second chance at rehabilitation.
“Nashton,” Loeb said. “I’m assigning you to be her handler.”
Edward’s eyes flickered to you. “Her…handler?” More like babysitter, he thought, anger churning wildly in his stomach. He couldn’t believe this – and not only this, but he didn’t like the way you were leaning back in your seat, one leg folded across the other, a seductive smirk plastered across your face. The kind of smirk that made his skin crawl. Edward couldn’t help but notice that you were wearing a low skirt just above the knees, and a white blouse that was more low-cut for his liking, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows. There was an air about you, one filled with a seductiveness and superiority that he did not like.
Oh, he did not like this one bit.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Nashton,” you said, not bothering to stand, gazing at him with a heavy gaze, a thin line of eyeliner swiped across your shimmery eyelids.
“Pleasure,” Edward muttered, but he was less than pleased at all. A criminal inside the GCPD, where you could steal secrets and feed inside information to other criminals? Not exactly something he’d like to be dealing with right about now. But he, found, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you, couldn’t stop the pull as he inhaled a sexy scent of sweet salt and caramel radiating off of your body and through your hair.
“She’ll be acting as an assistant for the department,” Loeb continued. “Make sure she gets settled in and has whatever she needs.”
“Very well,” Edward said, even though a lump formed in his throat. He glanced at you again, and Loeb’s brows furrowed as he stared at him, before nodding in dismissal, waving his hand lazily.
“Well,” Edward said again, clearing his throat. “I’ll show you around.”
“Oh, and Nashton,” Loeb said, catching his attention again. “We don’t have the space around the department, so she’ll be sharing your office with you.”
That made Edward still. His skin crawled at the thought of letting you into his private space, his stomach twisting in knots, but he nodded, gritting his teeth; the very prospect of being forced to share his sacred space with you irritated him to no end. But, he clenched his jaw and swallowed down his words of anger as his fists curled into hands, digging into his palms, into the thin leather of his fingerless gloves.
You can deal with this, Edward, he told himself. He’d dealt with a lot worse in his time here already, and in his life in general. Babysitting you would be nothing he couldn’t handle. All he had to do was show you around, ignore you, and that would be that. Right?
As Edward made his way out of Loeb’s office, you followed close behind, that scent of your perfume still tickling his nose. You shut the office door behind you and turned to him, before flashing him that tricky, seductive smile. Your lips were pink and glossy, your cheeks flushed pink, and when you blinked, the shimmer across your eyelids caught in the light. There was something about you that made his heart clench in his chest, his loins stir in a way they hadn’t in a long time, but he clenched his teeth and curled his fists tighter.
“Well,” Edward said, clearing his throat. “I suppose I’ll be showing you around.” He jerked his chin for you to follow him, as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
You certainly didn’t look like a criminal. He’d seen his fair share of criminals come in and out of the GCPD, and Edward was good at reading people – but you? You didn’t give off the aura of a criminal at all. Not even your eyes held that same coldness other psychopaths and murderers and degenerates held. There was something different about you, but he couldn’t place it, as much as he maybe shouldn’t bother trying.
“Thank you,” you said, your voice smooth, full of confidence.
He glanced at you again, but he couldn’t help the way his eyes dipped to look at the way your blouse was open just enough for him to get a nice peek at your cleavage. Quickly, he looked back up, his cheeks heating to the billionth degree.
“See something you like?” you asked, smirking.
Shit. You’d noticed. His cheeks burned even harder, and he swallowed the lump in his throat, averting his eyes from the way your own gaze burned holes in his skin.
“This is my office,” he said instead, opening the door and flicking on the light. Crappy, yellow overhead lightning flickered on inside his Cybercrimes Division office – which wasn’t much of a department at all. Just a couple of desks, all of them empty except his own, stacked with computer monitors and his hefty CPU he’d built from scratch with painstaking care. Perhaps against GCPD protocol, but he didn’t care much. Much better than the archaic machines that were in the precinct anyways.
“Take whatever desk you want,” Edward murmured, shoving his hands into his pockets.
You glanced around, frowning, before you looked back at him. “This room is a dump,” you said, wandering over to one desk with a gentle sway of your hips. You reached down, swiping your finger across the thin layer of dust that had coated everything.
That made Edward snort. “Apologies, your highness. I didn’t realize I needed to do a deep cleaning before your arrival.” The sarcastic words dripped out of him like venom.
You glanced back at him, smirking, rubbing your finger against your thumb in an attempt to rub off the dust. “I don’t mind things getting a little dirty,” you replied, but there was something in your tone that made Edward’s stomach do a thousand flips.
He shifted on his feet, gazing at you as his cheeks continued to burn. But you only turned around fully and smiled, before hoisting yourself onto the desk and crossing one slender leg over the other, placing your hands behind you to prop yourself up as you leaned back. Edward’s eyes widened at how brazen and bold the movement was, and he took a step back, clearing his throat.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to be on the desk,” he said, his words level.
“You could join me, if you want?” you asked, raising your brows, your tone suggestive.
Edward felt excitement shoot all the way down to his cock. Excitement that he hadn’t felt in years – as if his cock had a mind of it’s own, coming to life, desperate for attention and stimulation. He shifted back and forth on his feet and swallowed the lump in his throat.
“I don’t think so,” he said. But the words were strained, his cock pulsating.
You rolled your eyes. “You’re no fun.” You jumped off the desk, before wandering past him, pausing to reach up and pat his shoulder. “I’m sure I can change that.”
Edward’s eyes went so wide he was surprised they didn’t pop right out of his head. He blinked, trying to process everything you were saying, but he only stepped back and cleared his throat once more. This couldn’t be happening – he needed to remain at his utmost professional behavior. He could not allow himself to fall into this…trap. Whatever trap you were laying for him, like a black widow spinning her web of lies and deceit.
He took a wide step back from you, ensuring there was enough distance between the both of you, clearing his throat again as words lodged there, swollen and hollow. Finally, he said, “I’m going to show you around the department now.”
Before you could say more, he turned on his heels and headed back through the halls, determined to keep his eyes forward and his cock from growing in his pants. But the continuous sweet smell of your perfume only continued to invade his nose, and his heart thumped wildly in his chest, each heavy beat only worsening inside of him. He swallowed the lump in his throat, but continued showing you around the GCPD. You were quiet, your eyes forward, nodding along as he introduced you to several department heads. But the entire time, he couldn’t help but notice that any man you passed by, you flashed the same flirty smile, the same bedroom eyes, batting your lashes, wielding your sexuality like a weapon.
A true black widow, indeed.
By the time he finished showing you around, Commissioner Loeb pulled you back into his office to fill out some paperwork, giving Edward a moment to breathe. Wiping the sweat from his temple, he hurried into his office and quickly shut the door, sliding into his seat, fingers racing across the keys as he looked up your new employee file and everything he could find about you: apparently, you’d been in Arkham for six months, receiving extensive rehabilitation before being deemed to fit to return to society. It didn’t take him long to learn that you were living in a halfway house for convicted female felons, and that you were being forced to work here at the GCPD as part of your parole. But as he dug deeper, he found a laundry list of your crimes: from murder, to extortion, to theft. Apparently, you used to be work for your parents at the Cresthelm Foundation, but something – something Edward couldn’t quite find – made you have a psychotic break and turn to life of crime.
He tapped his fingertips against the desk, a gentle thrumming as curiosity brewed in his veins. You came from an affluent family, had a myriad of wealth at your disposal, you were well-educated…so what made you snap? That was the question he found eating away at him for the next hour, until the door to his office opened. He sat up, quickly clicking off your file and hiding it away, sitting up straighter as you entered the office.
He swiveled around in his chair to look at you. “Everything all right?” he asked, trying to maintain some sense of professional politeness, though he couldn’t care less.
“Everything’s fine, Mr. Nashton,” you replied. But your gaze was hardened like stone.
Edward lifted his chin slightly, his curiosity stirring, but he only turned away, glancing once more at his computer screen. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with you being in his office, or apparently, the assistant to the department. You crossed your arms over your chest, and looked around, gazing at his empty office, before your eyes settled on him again.
“You don’t like to decorate,” you finally said.
Well, you were right about that. He had nothing: no family photos, no little knickknacks, nothing on his desk that gave any indication that his office was like his second home.
“I find it a foolish waste of time,” was all he said.
You smirked. “Smart man.”
His heart pounded deep in his chest. That lump in his throat formed again, heat rising across his throat, but he looked away and focused back on the computer screen before him, at a random document he’d pulled up to make himself look like he was busy.
“What’s a matter, Mr. Nashton?” you asked, your voice oddly smooth and quiet as you shut the door behind you, your hands trailing down to lock it.
The sound of the lock turning made him sit up straighter and turn to you. He blinked once. Twice. A third time as he noticed the way you approached his chair with slow steps, like you were the predator and he the prey, a gentle sway to your hips. Your eyes were narrowed, heavy-lidded bedroom eyes that made his insides do a thousand flips.
“Cat got your tongue?” you asked, the corners of your lips twitching upwards.
Edward cleared his throat again, trying desperately to find the words to ask what the hell you were doing, but they caught in his mouth and died on his tongue. Finally, he prepared to stand, his hands resting on the armrests of his chair to propel himself upwards, when your hand suddenly shot out, long-nailed fingers splaying out on his chest, pushing him back down.
“Here’s how this is going to work,” you said before he could even protest. “You might be my assigned handler here, but I’m not interested in having a babysitter. Understand?”
His cheeks burned, the touch of your fingers across his sweater vest practically radiating your warmth all the way through the fabric and onto his skin. No one had ever touched him like this before – spoken to him like this before – and it was irritating and exhilarating all at the same time, excitement shooting all the way down to his neglected cock. He couldn’t help himself – couldn’t help the rush of heat pooling in his bloodstream and down to his loins. It’d been ages since he’d touched himself, nonetheless, let someone else touch him, and he felt his cock rise at attention, the sound of your dominating voice stirring desire deep in his belly. Slowly, your eyes dropped down to the growing bulge in his pants, and when you looked back up, you smiled.
“Miss—” he started to say, your name rolling off his tongue.
Your smile only grew, a wickedness filling your eyes. “What’s wrong, Mr. Nashton?”
“This is highly inappropriate,” he said, his words stumbling out of his mouth. The heat radiating across his skin and pulsating all the way down to his cock only worsened, as if he’d been dunked in a boiling vat of lava.
“I’ve always like the inappropriate,” you replied. “And I can tell you do, too.” As you spoke, you pressed your hand harder into his chest, forcing him to sit back down.
Edward’s knees buckled underneath him. The force of your hand was hardly anything strong – he was sure he could overpower you in an instant – but his knees gave out against his control, and he sank back into his chair, gazing up at you as you quietly straddled him, your thighs coming to rest on either side of him. Your skirt hiked up a little, revealing a lacy little thong, and your center brushed against the bulge in his pants. He gasped, a shark intake of breath, and shuddered as your hands settled on his shoulders.
“Have you never had a woman touch you?” you asked, laughing lightly. “How pathetic. For a man as handsome as you, I’d think you’d get all kinds of action.”
“Miss…” he said again, your name rolling off his tongue. “I don’t even know you. I’m supposed to be your handler. Not—”
“Not what? My new plaything?” you asked, rolling your hips once.
Edward shuddered again as your core rocked against his hard on. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, the sensation like nothing he’d felt before. He had every urge to grab onto your hips, rip your thong right off, and impale you on his cock right then and there. But this was highly inappropriate – he could lose his job if you were caught straddling him like this, if…
“I’m no one’s plaything,” he muttered.
“See, Mr. Nashton, that’s where you’re wrong,” you whispered, leaning forward to gently brush your lips against his earlobes. “Because you’re my plaything now. And unless you’re willing to march in there and demand the Commissioner send me away, well, go for it. But if you do that, you’ll miss all the fun we’d have together. And right now, I think you could use a bit of fun.” In response, you rolled your hips once more.
Edward could’ve cum right then and there. Your body was pressed tight against his, your smell intoxicating, the feeling of your hot core so close to his throbbing cock – it was all too much, and Edward had never been in this position before. He didn’t know whether or not to push you off or bend you over his desk right here and now.
“I bet you say that to all the guys,” he muttered again, rolling his eyes.
“Only the ones I like,” you said with a light laugh, your breath tickling his cheek. “And I quite like you, Edward Nashton.”
“You’re insane,” he whispered, a low groan escaping his lips.
And then you pulled away and slid off of him, rising back to your feet and smoothing down your skirt and adjusting your blouse as if nothing had happened at all. He blinked, the heat continuing to pulse through him, his eyes going wide as you turned and unlocked the door, grabbing onto the handle, before turning back and shooting him a look.
“Sometimes insanity needs a little bit of company,” you said. “Think about what I said.”
And you were out the door without another word, shutting the door to his office behind you, leaving him all alone, breathless, his cock aching with desperate need. He smoothed back the sweaty hair from his head, wondering just what the hell happened and how he was ever going to survive the next few days, weeks, if not months, with you working here in the GCPD – but a soft smirk twitched at the edge of his lips. He’d been looking for a challenge. Someone to keep him on his toes – and maybe that’s exactly what you presented to him.
Summary: Edward and Jonathan attempt to get David Payne fired when they think he's getting too close to you. A sequel to my other fic, Payne & Suffering.
Word Count: 6.6k
Content Warning: Angst, jealousy, possessive behavior. Spoilers for the end of Arc I of Cat & Mouse.
A/N: In honor of my dearest friend and fandom bestie's birthday, @synocence requested a sequel to my other fic! I really hope you enjoy, friend, and have a wonderful birthday!
There were many things in his life that Edward did not like.
And one of them was standing right in front of him at this very moment: the man named David Payne, who had been assigned to be his new handler at the GCPD. It’d been two weeks since Payne joined the GCPD, and he was certainly living up to the nickname that Edward had pegged for David that very first day: a pain in his ass.
And oh, that’s exactly what David had become.
Now, Edward would say he wasn’t a stickler for the rules. In fact, he rather enjoyed breaking them when it was to his own benefit, when others weren’t a part of his own game, which was a different matter entirely – but Edward was determined not to let David bother him, not to let the man get under his skin.
Even though that was exactly what he was doing now.
Edward frowned, signing in at David’s desk as he was required to do every morning upon his arrival into the GCPD, as if punching in with a timecard. David was busy hunched over his desk, scribbling away at a stack of papers; his brows were furrowed, a look of frustration written across his face that Edward couldn’t help but notice. The sign-in sheet David had printed for him was resting across the edge of the desk, and Edward scribbled in his name at the bottom. Two more sign-ins and outs and he’d need to flip the page over.
“Good morning, Mr. Nigma,” Payne greeted without looking up at him.
“Good morning,” Edward muttered, barely sparing Payne a glance. As he finished signing in, he looked back up and around at the department bullpen: it was busy today, with officers and detectives mulling about. You were already heading to your desk and taking off your jacket, draping it across the back of your chair.
Edward’s heart ballooned in his chest as he took note of the way you moved, the way you walked, how you carried yourself and settled into your seat for the workday. His heart leapt into his throat, as it always did when he watched you, but he finally pulled his eyes away and headed into the Cybercrimes Division office. As he flicked on the light and began booting up the computers and monitors for the day, he couldn’t help the stirring of annoyance bundling deep within his gut. Ever since he learned about your past relationship with David Payne, he couldn’t help the jealousy rumbling deep within his bones. Edward wasn’t an idiot. He knew you weren’t a virgin – far from it, in fact – but still, having your ex-paramour here, and acting as his handler, bothered Edward more than he cared to admit to you. Especially when he watched David saunter over to your desk like he was doing now, with a cup of coffee—
Coffee?
Oh, absolutely not. Edward’s eyes immediately narrowed into slits as he watched David approach your desk, coffee in hand, as he set it down in front of you, a soft mist steaming from the mug’s opening. Rage rushed through Edward’s veins, and he clenched his teeth, grinding them together so hard they might as well shattered to dust.
Absolutely not.
Coffee was his thing with you. Not David Payne!!!
With a furious huff, Edward tore off his jacket and draped it across his chair haphazardly, instead of with the careful precision he always took, and headed back out of his office and over to your desk just in time to hear a snippet of conversation.
“David, you really didn’t have to go through the trouble of getting me coffee,” you were saying, looking between David and the mug with wide, concerned eyes.
David waved his hand nonchalantly. “I thought you’d like the pick me up. You always were a coffee fiend, princess.”
Princess. There was that nickname for you David seemed so content to use. A nickname which made the hairs on Edward’s body stand straight on end with a prickling heat. Just before you could open your mouth, you noticed him standing there and swiveled in your chair to face him, forcing a smile onto your face, but it was one of your fake smiles, the kind Edward knew meant you were trying to hide your real feelings.
“Something wrong here?” Edward asked, his tone like ice.
“Actually,” David said, looking between you and Edward, before his gaze slid to you once more. But he shut his mouth and shifted, before saying, “No. No problem here.”
And then he turned on his heels and walked back towards his desk. Edward smirked, triumph and satisfaction racing through his bloodstream. Take that, Payne, he thought. Getting David to back down was one thing, and it was clear who the winner was here.
“So,” Edward said, his gaze sliding to you. “Coffee, hm?”
“David’s just being nice,” you mumbled, but looked down at the mug, wrapping your fingers around the handle. You brought it to your lips and sipped slowly.
Edward’s smirk quickly vanished when he realized you were, in fact, not dumping out David’s coffee into the break room sink and forgetting about it entirely. The triumph in his chest fizzled to cold ash, deflating his heart like a popped balloon as it sank to his empty gut.
“Too nice,” Edward murmured.
You shot him a look. “He’s fine, Edward.”
Edward knew that look well: you were telling him to back off. To not be jealous. But he couldn’t help himself. He did not like someone else encroaching on you, trying to stake a claim over you, marking you as their own – not when you were his and his alone. Even if he was sharing you with Crane, you were still his only. And Edward would not let anyone take you from him, as long as he lived on this damn Earth.
“Just…be careful, all right?” Edward asked.
You nodded, but Edward frowned, turned on his heels, and headed back into his office to get to work for the day. But as he soon discovered, he found he couldn’t focus. His gaze continued to stray to you, and to Payne, wondering just when the man would come over and invade your personal space again. He wasn’t normally so distracted, but he was finding it harder and harder to concentrate with each passing minute. Not only that, but Edward couldn’t help but compare himself to the man – his achievements, his medals, his accomplishments. Could David Payne calculate pi to the trillionth digit? Could he build a robot army from scratch, engineering, designing and programming them all himself? No, Edward did not think he could, and that was why he had the upper hand against Payne and always would.
At least, so he thought.
It was around lunch time when Edward made his way out of his office, ready to join you in the break room, when he discovered you weren’t at your desk. Edward frowned, looking back and forth, wondering just where you could’ve gone. He made his way to the break room next, but he peeked inside and found it empty, besides two officers eating a very smelly lunch that reeked of tuna casserole. Turning away, Edward frowned, trying to find out where you might’ve gone. You’d never mentioned you were leaving to go check out a case. So where were you now? Worry bundled in his belly, and he hurried through the bullpen, checking around each corridor and nook and cranny that he could find for any sign of you, but he saw nothing. His brows furrowed, and he returned to his office, quickly pulling up the GCPD security cameras. A dozen screens appeared before him, and he searched each one, desperately wondering where you’d gone – when he finally spotted you: you were down on the lower level, where the firing range was.
But you weren’t alone. Because David Payne was with you.
Edward’s eyes narrowed into slits, his heart beating heavy against his chest. Heat prickled along his skin as he shook his head and forced himself back to his feet. You’d never mentioned going with David to the firing range – and he wasn’t going to let you stay there alone any longer with him. Edward hurried back through the bullpen, took the elevator down, and made his way to the lower level, stepping out onto the floor. The firing range was divided into two sections: the armory, where other officers were busy cleaning and putting together guns, and the firing range itself, where he could hear the echoing pop pop of guns being shot against a backdrop. But you and David were standing nearby, around one corner where Edward had seen you on the monitors. As he approached, words hanging on his tongue, he paused as he caught snippets of the conversation the two of you were having.
“I’d really like to take you out to dinner,” David was saying.
“David…” you said, quietly.
Edward paused, the breath catching in his throat. He stood there, hands curling into fists, as he listened for your next response – your rejection, anything.
“I have a boyfriend,” you finally said. “And Edward – he wouldn’t like it if he found out I was down here talking to you about dinner.”
David scoffed. “You really let him control you, don’t you?”
You sighed. “He’s not controlling me, David. He’s—”
“Then what is it? He hovers around you constantly. I can’t even bring you a damn cup of coffee without him coming to see what’s wrong, for Christ’s sake,” David said, his voice growing exasperated and breathless. “And now you’re worried about being caught with me.”
“Well, yes. You dragged me down here so he wouldn’t hear us.”
“Because I know he’s going to hover,” David replied.
Hover? Is that what Edward did? Was he guilty of hovering? No, of course he wasn’t. He was simply worried for your wellbeing, for making sure you were being safe and protected. There was nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong with Edward keeping an eye out for you.
Was there?
“Please,” David said. “I just…dinner. As friends. That’s all I’m asking.”
Say no, detective, Edward thought, desperately.
But another word slipped from your lips instead.
“All right,” you said. “Dinner. As friends.”
“Thank you,” he replied.
Edward’s heart deflated, popped like a balloon. He immediately turned on his heels and stormed back through the armory, taking the elevator, but instead of heading upstairs, he took it down two floors to forensics. His heart hammered in his ribcage, each beat driving him mad, as anger churned hot like a wildfire in his belly. How dare David ask you to dinner. How dare David even try to butt his way into your relationship with him. David was nothing but a nuisance, a bug that needed squashing – something to be destroyed and ruined. The man couldn’t be as perfect as everyone thought he was, could he?
The doors opened, and Edward stormed down the dimly lit hall into the morgue, where he quickly found Jonathan working at his desk, surrounded by vials and beakers and chemicals, all with an acrid smell that filled Edward’s nose. As he quickly noticed, Dr. Collins wasn’t in the room, which Edward was grateful for – which meant he didn’t need to hold back.
“He asked her to dinner. Dinner! With him!” Edward cried, throwing his hands into the air in frustration. “In secret! Can you believe that?”
“Are we speaking of David Payne, or some other tiring imbecile?” Jonathan sighed.
“Payne. That – that idiotic brute,” Edward hissed through his teeth. He was trembling, hands shaking at his sides, fingers tucked into a white-knuckled grip.
“And I assume she said yes?” Jonathan asked.
“Yes. She said yes. Why would she say yes?” Edward asked, exasperated. He didn’t understand why you would say yes to David – why you would bother. Why you would want to pay the man any attention at all. Wasn’t Edward good enough for you? Was he not paying you enough attention? Was the sex not good enough? Was David offering you something more, some need that Edward was failing to meet? His mind was spinning with a thousand questions, picking apart each one, trying to find some semblance of an answer for your behavior.
“You know the simple answer is to ask her,” Jonathan said. He finally perked up from his desk of chemicals and swirled around in his chair to face Edward. His eyes were narrowed into slits, the thin scars on his face reflecting white in the light.
“But I—” Edward opened his mouth. Shut it. Jonathan was right. The simple thing to do was ask you – but there was another solution, too. He turned away, bristling, as he rubbed a hand across his jaw in consideration as a new plan began to form in his mind.
“I know that look, Edward,” Jonathan said. “What are you thinking?”
Edward turned back to him and smirked. “I have the perfect plan, Crane.”
“And what’s that, Edward?” Jonathan raised his brows, smirking.
“We’re going to get Payne fired.”
______
Edward was a believer that everyone had secrets. Everyone. Small or big, it didn’t matter what, but everyone had them in some capacity. And a man like David Payne – a man who grew up in Gotham – had to have a few secrets of his own. It didn’t matter how illustrious his career was, or how many medals he’d received – he was too perfect. So perfect, in fact, that he had to be hiding something – and Edward was determined to find it.
Edward soon found himself looking into Payne’s past. Deeper than the surface level stuff. He looked into Payne’s family history, his heritage, his school transcripts. He found old social media of Payne when he was younger, but even in high school, it seemed Payne was a rockstar: not only was he captain of the football team, the debate team, and volunteered his time at a local animal shelter in high school, but he got a free ride to Gotham University on a football scholarship, where he majored in Criminal Justice, before joining the police academy. By all accounts, all transcripts and records of David from his teachers and peers were flying colors: he was a remarkable student, well-mannered and well-liked. There was absolutely nothing Edward could find about David’s history in Gotham that sent alarm bells off on his head.
Later, when he returned to the forensics lab to find Jonathan, Edward slumped into the nearby seat and leaned back, letting out an exasperated sigh.
“The man is perfect,” Edward muttered.
“No man is perfect,” Jonathan said, shooting him a look. “Every man has a weakness of his own. Something to exploit and bend to your will. Payne will be no different if you look hard enough.”
“I have been looking,” Edward sighed, cupping his hands over his eyes to block out the blinding white lights overhead. And dammit, he’d been looking hard. But maybe…maybe the truth was that David really was perfect. Maybe there was nothing wrong with him at all.
“Have you looked into his time in Metropolis?” Jonathan asked.
That made Edward perk up. He’d been so focused on David’s history in Gotham that his missing years in Metropolis had slipped Edward’s mind. He’d been so determined to find something in David’s younger years, that the most obvious thing was escaping him now.
“Not yet,” Edward said, because he didn’t want Crane to know he hadn’t looked into it.
But Jonathan only shot him a look that said he didn’t quite believe him. The way his eyes bore holes into Edward’s skin made his own skin crawl. At least Jonathan didn’t look as scary as he did when he had that God-forsaken mask grafted onto his face.
“All men have secrets,” Jonathan said. “Don’t let him fool you, Edward.”
Edward nodded, letting Jonathan’s words sink in. David might claim he didn’t have any skeletons in his closet, but Edward wasn’t inclined to believe him. There had to be something he was missing – something David was hiding. But what was it? No man was as self-righteous and self-sacrificing as a man like David Payne seemed to be.
“I’m not easily fooled, Crane,” Edward mumbled, looking away from Jonathan’s piercing stare that could drill holes right into his skin.
“Well, you’re certainly letting him make a fool out of you,” Jonathan replied.
That made Edward’s stomach roll with anger, churning like a tidal wave. “And he’s not making a fool out of you, too, Crane?”
Jonathan blinked once. Twice. Lifted his chin slightly as his eyes narrowed into slits, before he said, “David Payne’s intentions with our little pet does not go unnoticed to my eyes, Edward. But unlike you, I’m not so easily riled up by the competition.”
Edward lifted his chin in return. “That sounds like a challenge, Crane. How about this: the first one of us to find something on Payne that can get him fired, gets, oh…a whole week with our little mouse? No sharing.”
A sparkle filled Jonathan’s eyes then, and his lips curved upwards into a smile. “Very well then, Edward. If you insist on a silly game, I’ll indulge you for now.”
Edward grinned. Oh, he had no intention of losing this one, not at all.
______
It was later that day when Edward returned to his office and soon began digging further into Payne’s past, only this time he focused his efforts on the MCPD – the Metropolis City Police Department. A cursory search only concluded that, as he’d discovered before, Payne was well-liked amongst his fellow officers and had a laundry list of five-star recommendations from his superiors. Edward supposed the only skeleton in Payne’s closet he could find at this moment of time was that he slept with a student (you) at the academy when he shouldn’t have, but it’d been so many years ago now and he no longer worked for the academy, that Edward doubted anything would come of it if he unveiled the truth to Cash.
No, he had to dig deeper.
It was a good thing Edward was good at finding people’s dirty little secrets.
And so, Edward dove deeper. Against, perhaps unsanctioned methods, he found himself hacking into the MCPD’s database, pulling up Payne’s old file and reading through it with care. There was an extensive backlog of Payne’s activities before leaving the department, but nothing that stood out or raised any alarm bells in Edward’s mind.
There was absolutely nothing.
“Dammit,” he muttered, curling his hands atop his fists in frustration. There had to be something – something Edward could use. But what was it? But the longer time passed, the more Edward was beginning to believe he just might not find anything at all.
?
There were three things Jonathan Crane was absolutely sure of: one, all men had secrets; two, there were no innocent men, and three, David Payne was keeping skeletons in his closet. Jonathan knew enough about human psychology to know that everyone – no matter how squeaky clean their record – that people always had something to hide. Some kind of moral failing or secret that they locked tightly away for no one else to find.
But find it, he would.
Jonathan was not the competitive sort, but if it meant getting to have you all to himself for one week and not having Edward breathing down his neck, he’d gladly win this little competition he and Edward had arranged.
As he left the GCPD, claiming to stay behind to do some paperwork, Jonathan waited until Payne was preparing to leave as well. As he’d come to learn, Payne stayed later than his assigned shift, often into the wee hours of the evening. That was fine with Jonathan – he had plenty of work to do, anyways, and time ticked by quickly. But as soon as he saw Payne getting ready to leave, Jonathan followed him out of the precinct. You and Edward had already left for the evening, which was good; he wanted the moment to look into Payne himself. He was certain a man like Payne would let his guard down when he believed he wasn’t being followed.
And follow him, Jonathan did.
Payne got into his car and took it out of the precinct. Jonathan called a cab, instructing the driver to remain on Payne’s tail, to which the driver only shot him a look and puffed a waft of smoke into his face from the cigarette in his hand. Jonathan waved it away, frowning deeply, the stench of nicotine filling his nose. Jonathan offered the man a thick wad of cash if he followed Payne, and as he suspected, the driver was quickly inclined to agree without question.
Typical, Jonathan thought. People were so easy to read.
Payne took his car through Gotham, weaving in and out of traffic, careful, yet with the controlled precision of a practiced driver. Jonathan’s gaze remained peeled on him, the cab careful not to be too close or too far (as if the man had done this before), before Payne pulled over to a small business downtown in Otisburg. A club named The Moonshine, with blinding white lights overhead, sparkling in hues of yellow and pearlescent, the symbol of a moon their logo, hanging above the tiled sidewalk. Payne parked out front, got out, and headed inside.
“Don’t wait for me,” Jonathan said to the driver and got out of the car. He slammed the door behind him, tucking his brown coat tighter around himself, and shoved his hands into his pockets as he followed Payne inside. The cab peeled away, tires roaring against the pavement.
Jonathan made his way into the club and looked around. It seemed Payne hadn’t noticed him. His head was held high as Payne made his way through the central lobby of the club, filled with a relaxing jazz music that Jonathan quite enjoyed. The club had dark blue walls with paintings of the moon and stars sprawled across, and black leather booths scattered about. The scent of wine and perfume and tobacco filled Jonathan’s nose, but he kept his eyes glued to Payne as he made his way to one singular booth in the back corner of the room and sat down beside another man, one with dark hair and beady eyes like a sharks.
Oh? Jonathan wondered, quickly finding an empty seat to take where he could keep an eye on Payne. True, Jonathan didn’t know the ins and outs of Payne’s personal life, but he found himself curious as to what the man was doing here and who he was meeting with. The more Jonathan could learn, the better. He had every intention of weeding out the competition.
Besides, any time he got alone with you was worth it.
A waitress came by, and Jonathan ordered a simple glass of Pinot Noir. From here, and with the sound of the music, he couldn’t hear the conversation Payne and the other man were saying. But what he did notice was how close they were sitting, the low conversation it appeared they were having. Jonathan’s eyes narrowed as he stared, curiosity swirling in his stomach. He leaned back slightly in his seat, eyes focused as he watched for a long time, long enough for his wine to arrive and for him to down half the glass with slow, careful sips. By the time he finished his glass, he noticed Payne and the man exchange a few words – before the man suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled something out: a wadded up brown paper bag, and he slid it Payne’s way. Payne grabbed the bag and opened it, glancing inside, before looking back up and nodding, a smirk twitching at the edge of his lips. And then he stuffed the bag into his coat pocket, before shaking the man’s hand and standing, heading out of the club.
Jonathan watched him go as his mind swirled with questions. There was plenty that could be in a brown paper bag that size: money, drugs, perhaps? Certainly it wasn’t big enough to conceal a gun, but it was big enough to conceal numerous other things – things that, clearly, Payne did not want anyone to see. Jonathan’s eyes narrowed as he grabbed his wine stem and sipped the rest, downing it in one swallow, even though it burned on the way down. He didn’t mind the burn, didn’t mind the taste of alcohol on his tongue. He didn’t drink often, but when he did, he preferred the good stuff, top shelf.
Licking his lips, Jonathan got up and headed out of the club. He couldn’t be sure what the man had given Payne, but he certainly had a feeling that the man was hiding something from everyone – including you. And Jonathan was determined to find out what it was.
?
Edward had spent all night diving into Payne’s bank accounts. He’d stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, looking into everything he could find, including the transactional history of the MCPD – but what he soon discovered was something he hadn’t expected: a series of unauthorized transfers into an offshore bank account owned by Payne himself. The money was taken from the MCPD and deposited into Payne’s account, and there was quite a hefty amount of money involved – numerous funds in large amounts sent to the account itself. From what Edward could tell, the transfers seemed to be hidden deep within the MCPD – buried away from anyone who gave a simple glance. But for someone like Edward, who knew how to dig deep, it wasn’t hard to find. But he couldn’t help but wonder what the money was from or who it was for – but he was determined to figure out why David Payne was getting it at all.
Frowning, he rubbed at his tired, exhausted eyes. He’d been up for hours, and he was regretting it; he’d been getting far too comfortable developing a normal “sleep schedule”, and his body was growing too used to it. The printer roared to life beside him, as he printed off all of the documents he’d so far discovered. As he waited patiently for the stack to finish, he leaned back in his seat and sighed. He hoped this wasn’t a wild goose chase and would be worth it. Seeing Payne get fired, winning a challenge against Crane, and having you all to himself for a week, well…that was certainly something he was looking forward to.
All he’d need to do know was present the evidence to Cash – these shady deposits into an offshore account – and then Payne could be fired on suspicion of taking internal bribery. Yes, that’s exactly what it had to be. Why else would these transfers be hidden?
A knock on the door suddenly got his attention, and he looked up to find Mack standing there, leaning slightly into his office. He raised his brows and asked, “Hey, Nigma. I need you for something, mind giving me a hand?”
Edward glanced at the stack of papers continuing to print, but nodded, and said, “Very well. What do you need, Detective Rollins?”
And he followed him out of the office, leaving the stack to continue printing.
______
It was sometime later when Edward finished helping consult on a case for Mack when he returned to his office to find the stack of papers still where he’d left them. Frowning, he took a quick look over at them before thumbing them, curiosity lingering in his belly. It still wasn’t enough – but he’d need something more secure, more proof. Perhaps he could get Payne to fall for a trap – something to prove he was taking bribery and taking money under the table. If he had a history of this at the MCPD, he’d have to have a history of it here in the GCPD now, too. If only Edward had an opening…and that was when the idea struck him.
He slid back into his seat, fingers flying across the keyboard, as he quickly made a false program in the GCPD’s serves and set it up to be sent to Payne’s email. It would only take a few moments, just a basic question: Looking for an officer who knows the benefits of discreet. Anyone know any blues up for the job? Got myself in a situation.
The email would be sent to Payne and Payne only. No one else would get it, and if Payne responded, Edward would know almost immediately. But he’d made sure to hide the email amongst layers of encryption, so Payne wouldn’t be able to tell who it came from. If Payne responded, taking up the offer to do some dirty work, Edward knew he’d have him then. Edward smirked; oh, yes, his plan was bound to go smoothly indeed.
And as he suspected, Payne responded within minutes: I can handle it. Time and place?
Edward’s smirk returned, and he shot off a meeting location and time. This was perfect – he was going to nail Payne for this! All he had to do now was show it to the Commissioner, that Payne was willing to take bribes for anything. Once he met with Payne and proved it, it’d be over, and he’d win.
Oh, yes. It was all going to go according to plan.
Later that night, Edward told you he was staying late to do some work and waited until you left for the night. When he was certain you were gone, he headed down to the basement level to find Crane still working, hunched over his desk, scribbling on a pad of paper.
“Care to join me in seeing Payne make a fool of himself?” Edward asked.
Jonathan perked his head up and turned around. “I take it you have a plan.”
“A plan which is much greater than whatever you were doing,” he said. “And what exactly have you been doing, Jonathan?”
“I followed Payne to a club last night,” Jonathan replied. “Someone gave him something in a brown paper bag. Drugs? Money? Either way, the man is not up to anything good.”
“Then come see for yourself what happens when I catch him red-handed,” Edward said.
Jonathan smirked.
Together, Edward and Jonathan made their way out of the GCPD and headed to the Stacked Deck, a small bar. The cab dropped them off out front, and the both of them headed inside – but neither of them saw Payne anywhere. Sharing a glance with each other, they slid into one of the booths in the back, keeping their heads down and eyes open for any sign of Payne.
Except, when the door opened, it wasn’t Payne who walked in at all.
Because it was you.
“Oh shit,” Edward muttered, heat crawling up his throat.
Almost immediately, your gaze seemed to narrow in right at them – hardening when you found both of them sitting in the back, and you frowned, storming over. Edward knew the look on your face: you were mad. More than mad.
“Ah, detective,” Edward said, forcing a fake smile onto his face.
“Cut the crap,” you muttered. “Sorry, am I not the one you wanted to see? Or were you hoping David would show up instead?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Edward said in a sickeningly sweet voice.
You shot him a look, before reaching into your purse and slamming several emails down on the table in between them – the stack of files Edward had been printing earlier. Edward blinked, heat continuing to crawl up his throat as he stared long and hard at that.
“Care to tell me what you were doing digging into David’s bank accounts?” you demanded, your brows furrowing, lips pursing into a thin line.
“We believe he’s not who he says he is, pet,” Jonathan said, his voice cool and collected. “As Edward has proven, he has accepted the invitation to—”
“To catch you two being idiots?” you muttered. “He showed me the email. I know it was you who sent it, Edward. And don’t play dumb, because you’re too smart for that.”
Edward blinked. “How did you know?”
You raised your brows, your head tilting slightly to the side. “Because I heard you and Jonathan talking yesterday. I came down to surprise you both and heard you talking. Did you two really think you were going to get away with this?”
“Oh.” Edward’s gaze slid to Jonathan, who was staring at you long and hard, as if he was trying to recall when you might’ve been listening in.
But finally, Jonathan leaned back and smirked, lips twitching upwards. “Well, well, it seems you’ve played us both, pet. I’m surprised by you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly thrilled by this, you know,” you said.
“But he asked you to dinner,” Edward muttered, as if that would somehow make this better, as if it was a good enough reason for his behavior.
“So that gives you free reign to get him fired?” you asked.
“Well, I…” Edward didn’t know what to say.
“Well, for starters, we’re going back to the GCPD and you’re both telling Cash everything. And then apologizing to David. Are we clear?” you asked.
Edward groaned, throwing his head back like he was a small child. He felt Jonathan’s glare on his skin, burning holes into him, drilling all the way down into his soul.
“But how do you explain all of this?” Edward asked, gesturing to the stack.
“Cash will explain all of it to you when we get back to the precinct,” you muttered, before spinning on your heels and heading out of the bar without another word.
Edward sighed, looking back at Jonathan, but the two of them followed you out of the bar. Together, the three of you returned to the precinct, and you led the way into Cash’s office – where David Payne was already waiting.
“Well, well,” Cash said, smirking. “My two trouble makers are here. Care to tell me what’s been going on?”
“Why, yes, if David here explains first,” Edward muttered.
David looked between everyone, before shaking his head and laughing. “The offshore bank account payments were from an undercover operation,” he said. “I was working on an under-the-radar case. The head of the precinct didn’t want the funds to be known in case someone went digging into the MCPD bank accounts. You can call him if you want and ask. Cash has the file about the operation right here.”
In response, Cash slid a case file closer to Edward across the desk.
Edward frowned, snatching it up – and sure enough, David was right: he’d once been involved in an undercover operation, taking down a series of gangs within Metropolis. As a result, the funds he was given to continue his undercover case had been placed in an offshore account, out of the view of most prying eyes.
“Then how do you explain what that man gave you in the bar?” Jonathan asked.
David threw his head back and laughed. “He’s an old friend of mine. We met up for a drink. He said if we ever met up again, he’d owe me this.” From his seat, he pulled out the brown paper bag and handed it over to Jonathan.
Jonathan shot him a curious look, before opening the bag and peering inside. Edward raised a brow, leaning over slightly to attempt to glimpse a better look, before Jonathan turned the bag towards him fully – but as soon as Edward looked inside, his insides deflated.
Because staring at him was a pair of google eyes attached to glasses to a large, fake bulbous nose. The kind of googly eyes that bounced out and wiggled with movements. Edward blinked once. Twice. A third time. Tried very hard to wrap his head around the ridiculousness staring at him in the face. This was the bag Jonathan thought that was so suspicious? He raised his hand, his gaze sliding to him, narrowing into slits, but Jonathan only looked just as perplexed.
“I lost a bet a few years ago,” David said by way of explanation. “He said if I ever returned to Gotham, I’d have to wear that the next time I volunteer at the hospital. I volunteer and read to the children there who are sick. The kids will get a kick out of it.”
Of course David Payne volunteered at the hospital and read to the children. What else didn’t the man do that was so spectacular and made him the golden boy of the precinct? Edward frowned, grinding his teeth together, as he looked around the room, before his gaze finally landed on Cash’s smug smirk, the self-satisfied smile across his lips. Heat crawled up Edward’s throat and he turned to you next, but all he saw was the fire burning in your eyes. Your arms were crossed, your brows furrowed, looking less than pleased with him.
Shit, Edward thought. This was not good.
“Well?” Cash asked, leaning back in his seat. “I think you two owe Payne an apology. What were you even hoping to achieve?”
“Well, we, I—” Edward stumbled over his words. How was he supposed to explain what his master plan was? A master plan that had spectacularly failed.
Payne smirked at him, crossing his arms over his chest. “I told you: I have no skeletons in my closet, Nigma. Dig all you want, but you won’t find anything. Maybe that I got a C on a math test in high school, but that’s about it.”
Edward’s frown deepened as embarrassment flooded all throughout his bloodstream. It ignited like a wildfire in his veins, and he clenched his fists together, the brown paper bag balling in his hands. He grinded his teeth together and felt his cheeks burn with deep crimson. Jonathan looked back at him, but Edward swore he saw the same redness crawling up his throat, too.
“Actually,” Cash said, pulling back Edward’s attention. “I want to thank you for bringing David’s brave heroics to my attention. I think I’m gonna offer you a promotion, David. You’ve earned it.”
“What.” The word slipped out of Edward’s mouth.
What?!?
No – this was the complete opposite of what Edward wanted. Payne was supposed to get fired, supposed to be packing his desk up right about now and be on his way out of here. Not this! Anger churned in his belly, and he watched the way you smirked at the new development.
“Now, you two get out of my office while I discuss David’s promotion with him,” Cash said. “And don’t let me find you pulling this kind of BS again.”
Like a dog with its tail tucked between his legs, Edward turned around on his heels and headed out of the office, Jonathan close on his heels. But when Edward looked back, he found you following, shutting the door behind yourself. As soon as the door was shut, you turned to both of them, an enraged look crossing your face.
“You two have a lot of nerve trying to get David fired,” you hissed. “I can’t believe you would do this – that you would try to get him fired!”
“Detective, I—” Edward started.
“No,” you snapped, shaking your head. “I don’t want to hear it. You two are both on my shit list right now. And I’m not speaking to either of you.”
With a huff, you sauntered past them and headed through the department, a swish to your hips that Edward figured was very purposeful, and you disappeared around the corner, out of view. Edward’s skin heated to the millionth degree, embarrassment and shame burning him from the inside out, and he looked back at Jonathan.
“Well,” Jonathan said. “That did not go as planned.”
“No,” Edward muttered. “No it did not.”
Absolutely nothing had gone according to plan, and Edward knew he was going to feel the full brunt of your anger for the next few weeks to come.
Content Warning: fanfiction about fanfiction, riddler experiences his own fanfiction, dramatic readings of smut, fangirl terrorism, reader is unwell
Pairing: Edward Nigma X fem reader
Setting: Arkhamverse
Edward Nigma was a man who required 24/7, undivided, single-minded devotion.
Not affection. Not partnership. Devotion. The kind that demanded you rearrange your entire schedule, moral compass, and internal monologue around the gravitational pull of his ego. The kind of loyalty that bordered on spiritual.
And you? You gave it freely. Willingly. Obsessively. Your admiration for him wasn’t subtle. It was a public service announcement. A one-woman private fan club with no shame and no filter. If he so much as quoted Fibonacci at breakfast, you clapped. If he ranted about subpar encryption algorithms over dinner, you swooned. You had once compared the cadence of his voice to an aria composed by artificial intelligence and rage.
Lucky for you, he hadn’t kicked you out for it.
In fact, your absolute, shameless worship of him was probably the only reason he tolerated you at all. No—that wasn’t fair. He didn’t just tolerate you. You were useful. Amusing, even. A well-trained audience with the occasional flash of insight. A little mascot who threw yourself at his feet and begged for the privilege of watching him monologue about zero-knowledge proofs or his latest grudge against the GCPD and Batman and whoever poor bastard that crossed him. You doted. You applauded. You followed him around with bright eyes and a notebook. You were—forgive the crude term—a groupie. A fangirl. A living, breathing ego boost in sneakers.
You loved him. Not in some vague, innocent, fluttery-hearted way. No, you loved Edward Nigma the way a forest fire loves droughts. You adored his mind. His charisma. His cruelty. You memorized the lines of his face, tracked the rhythm of his speech, catalogued his temper tantrums like weather patterns. You found poetry in the way he cursed at his bots when they failed. You once described his smile as “visceral.” And meant it.
You were content—almost content—with knowing it would never be returned. You weren’t delusional. Not entirely. You understood who he was. The kind of man he was. What made him tick. The psych profiles were public domain by now—Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Borderline, High-functioning sociopath. Obsessive-Compulsive Traits, God Complex, take your pick of the DSM-5.
Love wasn’t in his code. You knew that. You accepted it. So you didn’t ask for affection. You didn’t need it. You just needed the privilege of being near him.
And he? Well. He let you stay. Because deep down, maybe, just maybe, there was a part of him that liked being loved this loudly.
Even if he’d rather die than admit it.
Of course, that never stopped you. Not really. Your love wasn’t the sort that shriveled without reciprocation. No, your affections were self-sustaining—thriving on scraps, on glances, on that rare moment when Edward let his guard down long enough to forget you were watching. Still, even your depraved little heart had limits. You could only bottle up so many fantasies before the pressure built, before your mind—bless it—needed an outlet.
So, naturally, you turned to the only coping mechanism you trusted: fanfiction.
Yes. Fanfiction.
Not just yours. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no…
There was an entire underground fandom dedicated to Gotham’s infamous Rogues Gallery, an entire internet ecosystem of anonymity and madness. Forums, blogs, private Discord servers, locked taglists. Digital shrines built to the city’s most wanted. People who didn’t just fear the rogues—they loved them. Obsessively. Passionately. Erotically.
And you? Well, you fit right in.
You picked the best following, obviously.
Each rogue had their own little cult: Joker with his chaos-worshippers. Ivy and her eco-feminist simps. Two-Face and his yin-yang kink crowd. Scarecrow and his masochists. Even fucking Condiment King had a niche following—mostly ironic, you assumed. But The Riddler? The Riddler had an audience. A devoted one. Hundreds of writers, artists, and degenerates bleeding their admiration into every piece of horny prose they uploaded.
So yes, you indulged. You let yourself get pulled into the filth. You read late into the night, one hand buried between your thighs and the other scrolling. And if you happened to print out your favorites? Keep a few copies stashed for emergencies? Well, who was going to stop you?
He was your heart. Your gloriously brilliant, narcissistic, sociopathic, riddle-wielding megalomaniac of a man. You scrolled endlessly through his tag, heart pounding every time you found a fic that got the voice just right. Every time someone described his hands the way you imagined them—precise, elegant, cruel. You had favorites bookmarked. You had headcanons. You had opinions about his stamina. You knew exactly how you wanted him, and the internet—God bless America—gave you content.
...Yet.
Certainly not Edward.
He had no idea.
But then—you slipped up.
You weren’t paying attention. Which, ironically, was exactly the sort of thing that got you in trouble. Not just with him. With yourself. With the universe. But in your defense, this piece was so good—hot enough to short-circuit your brain. The kind of smut that made your thighs shift and your fingers twitch, your mouth parted just slightly as you reread the same paragraph for the third time, breath catching with every line...
“You’re really pushing it today,” he rasps, voice taut with suppressed fury. His empty hand catches your other wrist, keeping you close to his body. His thumbs rub little circles on your palms, but the look in his eyes is anything but soft. It’s a warning. “Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you?”
“Something hot, I hope.”
Edward’s eyes narrow. “You think you’re cute, don’t you?” He walks you backward, step by step, deep into the bedroom, your low fairy lights luminating the pathway. “That smart mouth. Running away from me. Acting like a petulant child just to see how far you can push me.”
“Is it working?”
“Oh, it’s working.”
You were just reaching the clash—already squirming a little where you sat, lip caught between your teeth—when it was ripped away from you. Not emotionally. Not metaphorically. Physically. Yanked.
A startled whine burst out of you, unfiltered and immediate, something sharp and needy and too genuine to fake. You clutched at the air, blinking in disoriented horror as the page disappeared from your hands.
And then you heard him.
“What,” Edward drawled, dangerously calm, “could possibly be so important that it prevents you from listening when I’m talking to you?”
Your blood ran cold.
Your face ran hot.
Your body made a whiplash attempt to do both at once, because there he was—looming, frowning, one hand pinched around the paper you’d just been drooling over. It hung limply in his grasp, crinkled from your fingers, the print still fresh enough to read with ease if he so much as tilted his head.
Which he did.
Which he was doing now.
You were fucked. So fucked.
The page crackled softly as he adjusted his grip, fingers twitching with faint disdain. You weren’t sure if it was because of the content or the formatting—Edward had opinions about both. And yet… he still hadn’t looked at you. Still hadn’t handed it back. Still hadn’t burned it, ripped it, made a scene.
Edward Nigma, The Riddler, was reading it.
Your stomach dropped through the floor. “Edward,” you tried, voice too high, too quick, “that’s not—I mean, it’s just—"
His brows twitched. His eyes narrowed. His mouth moved—just slightly, silently—and you knew exactly what line he’d hit.
And then he read it. Aloud.
“‘You think you’re cute, don’t you?’” His tone was flat. Curious. Calculating.
Your soul detached from your body.
Edward blinked. Once. Then again. And then slowly, like he was solving a riddle carved into an ancient tomb, he tilted his head and looked at you. Something flickered behind his eyes. Confusion, sure. Offense? Probably. But also… amusement. Or horror. Maybe both. He was short-circuiting in real time.
“This is…” He flipped the page, scanning more. “This is me. This is fictional pornography of me. You’re reading… your own filth about me.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “I mean—not mine mine. I didn’t write it—”
“Illiteracy would be the least concerning factor here,” he muttered, eyes flicking down again, brow furrowing deeper. He was blushing now. You could see it. High on his cheeks, creeping toward the tips of his ears. His gaze darted, flicked across a line that made his nostrils flare and his lips part slightly, and oh no, he was still reading.
“Edward,” you croaked, reaching for the paper. “Please—”
But he stepped back. Out of reach. He held it high, a hostage negotiator clutching a ticking bomb.
“Do you have any idea what kind of psychological implications are buried in this text?” he asked, the voice of a man drowning in disbelief. “Do you have any idea what this says about your obsessive tendencies, your compulsive emotional projection, your frankly unrealistic expectations of my—” He paused. His mouth moved. You saw his pupils dilate. “Oh my God, there’s a line about my hands—”
That was your moment. You lunged. Snatched the page right from his distracted grasp.
“Hey—!”
You didn’t run. No. You stood your ground, smoothed the page, cleared your throat, and read it aloud.
“‘That smart mouth. Running away from me. Acting like a petulant child just to see how far you can push me—’”
“STOP READING THAT IN FRONT OF ME,” Edward barked, voice an octave too high, already retreating like a spooked alley cat.
“‘Oh, it’s working,’” you purred, walking after him with the slow, deliberate menace of someone with nothing to lose.
“You’re unwell!” he snapped, backpedaling toward the hallway.
“Thank you,” you chirped sweetly, flipping the page.
“Do not follow me with that—”
You did.
You absolutely did.
You pressed forward, drunk on the power of watching Gotham’s most arrogant man literally run from your voice.
“‘In one swift, fluid motion, he spins you around—’”
“Do not say the dresser line—”
“‘The way he shoves you into the dresser, the mirror rattling against the wall—’” you called after him, voice sing-song. “—is almost reckless, and it makes you giggle.’”
Edward made a sound—half choke, half high-pitched snarl—and whipped around with wide eyes. “That never happened.”
You flipped the page like a weapon, eyes sparkling. “No,” you purred, grinning, “but you’re thinking about it now.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Color flared in his cheeks, high and hot. “You are—” His voice broke again, and he pointed at you, trembling slightly with indignation. “—deranged. You have a condition. You need to be sedated.”
“Oh, I’m just getting started,” you chirped, flipping to a fresh page. “Let’s see… ‘his grip tightens on your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze—’”
“No.”
“‘Gone is the teasing smirk, replaced by raw, unfiltered need—’”
“STOP!”
“‘You know sometimes you can push him too far, but the sight of him like this, utterly consumed by desire—’”
“OH MY GOD.”
“You don’t remember this one?” You paused, feigning confusion. “You wanted me to call you Mister Nigma, sir—”
Edward’s entire soul left his body. You could see it. The exact moment he ascended into another realm. He staggered back like he’d been hit by a tranquilizer dart, one hand flailing for balance against the nearest wall.
“Where did you even get these?” he croaked.
A theatrical gasp was inhaled sharply through your lips, a hand to your chest. “Oh, Eddie…” You gave him a wicked, sympathetic smile. “Baby, you’ve got fans.”
He looked like he was about to vomit.
Then you stepped forward, shaking the next page out with reverence. “You want to hear the one with the wet thong line? It’s a favorite.”
“No!” he cried, a man on the edge. “You’re sick! You’re feral! You need a leash and—wait, don’t read another word—”
“‘And as if he can read your mind, Edward’s hand shifts between your legs—’”
Reaching a fever pitch, he let out an honest-to-god shriek and bolted back down the hall, muttering curses about arson and selective amnesia.
And you? You followed. Smiling. Reading.
Because if you were going to go to hell, you were dragging him with you.
You pursued him with the unrelenting focus of someone with absolutely no shame and nothing to lose. Edward was retreating fast now, his boots scuffing the concrete as he moved like the hallway might grow a trapdoor to swallow him if he just ran hard enough.
“You’re embarrassing yourself!” he called over his shoulder, breathless, one hand gesturing frantically while the other waved in an attempt to swat away your voice like a fly. “Do you want me to have a stroke?! Is that your plan?!”
“I’m just trying to support your legacy!” you beamed.
He disappeared around the corner.
You took a deep breath and turned the page.
“‘M-Mister Nigma…’ you gasp, your voice breathy and needy as you rock on his fingers—’”
“NOOOOOO!”
You rounded the bend just in time to see him stumble against the far wall, his hands braced like he was trying to physically hold his soul inside his body. His ears were crimson. His hair was a disaster. His breathing was not okay.
“‘Please, please, Mister Nigma, sir, please make me cum—’”
“SHUT! UP!” he howled, hands flying to his head. “I’M GOING TO FLING MYSELF INTO THE GOTHAM BAY.”
“Eddie,” you purred sweetly, slowing your pace now, savoring the kill. “You should be flattered. Not everyone gets literary tribute written to the exact way they touch cunt.”
“IT’S FICTION!” he screamed, voice cracking. “IT’S LITERARY DEFAMATION!”
You stopped a few feet away, grinning down at him where he had slumped dramatically against the wall like a man in mourning.
“Oh,” you cooed, folding the papers with exaggerated care, tucking the chaos under an arm. “If you think this is bad, wait until you see the fanart.”
His whole body shuddered. “There’s pictures?”
“Full color,” you cooed. “Shading and everything.”
Edward groaned—loud, full-body, forehead-to-wall groaned.
And you, victorious and still high off the chase, just patted his shoulder as he tried to reboot.
“Let me know if you want me to have the author write a sequel,” you added helpfully. “I was thinking next time, maybe in your workshop. Tools involved. Bit of a dom!Riddler callback…”
He wheezed like a dying cat as he slid to the floor. Your eyes followed, watching bemused, lips pursing to the side.
“...I’ll take that as a yes.”
AN: Shameless plug of my fic Candy referenced in this. :3
Did you like this? Check out the rest of the PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE RIDDLER series!
Doggystyle. Edward craves control, and this expands heavily into the bedroom. He needs to be 100% in control at all times. Any position where he’s in control is his favorite, particularly when it comes to taking his partner from behind. He likes how dominating it feels to control the pacing and thrusts, that he can grab his partner’s hips or ass or hair and force their face into the bed/nearby surface.
Really, any position where he can maintain eye contact, control the way he fucks his partner and keep them submissive, is what he gravitates towards.
Least Favorite Position:
Edward isn’t a huge fan of missionary. He finds it to be too intimate and too close. His chest pressed against his partner’s, with barely any space in between, makes him feel too vulnerable and like every part of him can be seen, and he hates that.
Edward may only engage in missionary with a partner who he feels deeply for, or when he’s trying to use the position to maintain more control over his partner. Essentially, anything where he’s physically close enough to touch noses is uncomfortable for him.
Oral – Giving or Receiving or Both:
Edward loves to both give and receive oral. He definitely enjoys burying his face in his partner’s cunt; he loves the taste, the smell, and the way he can bring his partner to tears through overstimulation with just the use of his tongue. He already has a Silver Tongue, and putting it to another use is a huge turn on for him.
Likewise, he enjoys receiving it as much as the next man. Having his partner’s lips wrapped around his length, pleasuring him while he looks down from above, is sure enough to make him mentally unravel.
Anal:
Edward is into it. He doesn’t mind getting in there and using his mouth, either. He quite enjoys the way his partner submits to him and allows him to have complete control and trust. He see’s it as a sign of his partner’s true submission.
Turn-Ons:
Anything where he’s in control is a turn on. His partner being actively submissive is enough to immediately make his cock hard. He won’t admit it out loud, but he’s also particualry a fan of a bratty partner – someone who will push his buttons and toe the line of his patience. Having a partner who flares him up is a turn on.
Of course, he also depends greatly on praise and ego-stroking. Mentioning how genius and amazing he is, how handsome and skilled – it’s all a recipe to get him going.
Intelligence is a must. Edward doesn’t have time for a partner he deems to be “stupid”. Which, unfortunately, is how he considers most people. However, if he were to find a partner who he found some value in, he’d be interested.
Someone who has the same interests as him, such as a knack for computers or anything mechanical, will catch his attention. It’s much easier for him to engage in conversation with someone who actually knows what he’s talking about rather than give him a deer in the headlights look.
A partner who knows what they want. Edward doesn’t have time for someone who’s indecisive or uncertain. He appreciates someone who takes charge, makes decision, and sticks to them.
Cleverness is also a big turn on. Someone who can match his wit, or engage in a verbal sparring match with him will catch his interest. He needs someone who can keep him on his toes and challenge him, not bore him.
Turn-Offs:
Humiliation is a huge no-no when it’s directed at him. While he doesn’t mind humiliating his partner, if it’s turned back on him in any way, he won’t be happy. He also hates feeling out of control, unless it’s calculated and a planned part of the intimate game, so to speak.
Disrespect and disloyalty. He doesn’t appreciate a partner who’s going to disrespect him, and any blow to his ego is going to make him crumble into pieces, even if he won’t show it. He also doesn’t have time for someone who doesn’t want to make time for him. If someone decides someone, or something else, is more important, he’s quick to lose patience and interest.
Stupidity. If a partner is too dimwitted or has what he deems is a low IQ, he’s going to quickly be turned off. Especially if this person has no willingness to learn, he’s not going to waste his time.
Anyone who’s overly pompous. Edward is allowed to have an ego, but if his partner acts too high and mighty with their nose up in the air, he’s going to be disgusted.
Kinks:
Praise Kink – he depends on his partner singing his praises. If his partner tells him how wonderful he is, especially while in the middle of the deed, he won’t be able to control himself.
Breeding Kink – while Edward has no interest in being a dad, he can’t help but feel like Gotham and the rest of the humanity would benefit from him passing on his outstanding genetics. He gets off on the idea of breeding his partner and having offspring.
Cane Play – Edward definitely enjoys using his cane in the bedroom. He likes to use the question-mark end for spanking, or the staff end to tilt his partner’s chin up or run it down his partner’s body.
Light Bondage/Spanking/Control - He’s into light bondage and spanking, including the use of cuffs or restraints, or using collars on his partner. He’ll never allow it on himself, but with his partner, he enjoys the control and seeing them vulnerable.
Speech Control – “Yes, sir. No, sir.” Edward greatly values respect, and having a partner who address him as such – or even as “Mr. Nigma, sir” is sure enough to turn him on and drive him wild.
Objectification – Treating his partner like a toy. Really, anything that allows him control is a big kink.
Experience Level:
Eddie doesn’t have too much physical experience. He’s quite picky and selective when choosing a partner, so his experience level is little to none. But you can be damn sure that this man has read every book, article, sex guide, and manual available to ensure he’s properly prepared to give and receive pleasure. His need for control masks his inexperience, but he’s a quick learner, and it doesn’t take him long to figure out what he’s doing.
His photographic memory also makes it easy for him to remember porn and techniques he’s seen that he can then utilize in the act. Once he gets started, he’s going to dedicate himself to being Edward Nigma, the Greatest Lover You’ve Ever Had.
Pace Preference:
Maintaining control, above all things, is his first priority. Edward greatly prefers to take things at his own pace. He loves to drag things out, to enjoy the game of back and forth with his partner. But when he loses himself in the moment, he’s prone to becoming intense, possessive, and dominating.
Anything too slow makes him uncomfortable. If the sex is too slow, almost on the verge of making love, than he feels too vulnerable, as if you’re looking at every part of him. He needs to maintain a moderate to rough pace to keep himself from feeling like he’s tipping over the edge into something more.
Aftercare:
Since Eddie resents vulnerability, his aftercare is very minimal. He’s quick to return to whatever he was doing and put on the mask of control, snark, and cockiness. He refuses anything from his partner – like water or a tissue to clean up and will get what he needs himself.
However, he is quick to get his partner a towel or some water if the session was particularly intense. He won’t show vulnerability during this time, but uses this a way to ensure his partner is still taken care of and depends on him.
Dirty Talk:
This man loves dirty talk. He playfully disguises it behind clever word play, superiority, riddles, and double meanings. He gets off on making his partner squirm. This man is not above talking filth, and enjoys watching his partner flush from his words. He’s quite a fan of degrading his partner, and anything that makes him feel like he’s “winning” is a plus.
Public vs Private:
While the thrill of getting caught is tempting, Edward would despise actually being caught in such a vulnerable position with his pants down. He also would refuse to allow his partner to be seen that way, either. Secret trysts where they could almost be caught still gives him the edge he wants without the actual danger.
Doing the deed behind closed doors where someone might hear you is a huge turn on. The knowledge that someone might walk in at any moment or one of his goons might hear it will thrill him.
Control Preference:
Control is a 100% a must. He only allows his partner to take perceived control. When he does, it’s a calculated move, and he never truly gives up total control. He refuses to budge an inch and show any ounce of vulnerability.
Clothing Preference:
Edward is quite insecure about his body. The act of fully undressing feels far too intimate for his liking. He’s usually willing to unbutton his shirt or shrug off a jacket, and usually just slips his cock out of his pants instead of taking them off fully.
He truly has to like his partner and trust them to feel vulnerable enough to undress fully, but that trust needs to be well-earned.
As for his partner, Edward doesn’t care what they wear or how they dress on a day-to-day basis. He doesn’t have time to notice such things – however, he is a bit of a fan of seeing his partner dress up for him. Whether it to be a nice dress or suit and tie, he’s going to notice if something is different.
However, he is desperate to see his partner in green. If you go out of your way to wear something green for him – green clothes, green lingerie, etc – he won’t be able to take his eyes off of you.
During the deed, he prefers his partner to be fully naked, or at least partially unclothed. He gets off on the power dynamic of being mostly dressed while his partner isn’t.
How to Fluster Them:
Genuine praise from his partner that isn’t part of the game is sure to fluster Edward. Anything that catches him off guard emotionally, such as a tender moment from his partner, can make Edward lose focus on the task at hand. Especially if his partner manages to surprise or outwit him.
Edward relies so heavily on control, and is so traumatized from years of abuse, that anything from his partner that feels real is sure enough to make him squirm. A random compliment that isn’t part of the game or is thrown his way will catch him off guard.
Actually engaging with him. Edward might not admit it out loud, but he’s used to people ignoring him because he talks so much. If you actually keep your attention on him and what he says, and engaged in conversation with him, he’s going to notice.
Favorite Time of the Day:
Late at night. Edward prefers the quiet solitude that night time brings. He loves the quiet sounds of the city, and how it feels he can be with his partner uninterrupted. Having a moment where he no longer has to put on a show and can somewhat relax is something he craves.
Favorite Place to Have Sex:
Edward isn’t particularly picky about the location – though he does quite enjoy bending his partner over his work bench or hoisting them on top of it. He likes the control of having his partner in his space.
Edward is hesitant to invite a partner into his bedroom. He’ll only do so if he truly cares about his partner and is willing to show that level of vulnerability with them.
Secret Soft Spot:
His scalp. Preferably if his partner has long nails and can scratch and massage through his hair. It’s enough to make him melt, even if he won’t show it.
Favorite Place to Be Touched:
His hands, wrists, and forearms. He works so much with his hands, and having them be touched and massaged is a huge relaxation for him.
Least Favorite Place to Be Touched:
Definitely his neck. He has far too much trauma from being choked out by Batman to ever let a partner touch or kiss him there. If he did eventually, it’d be a huge level of trust and commitment to his partner to let his guard down like that.
Jealousy/Possessive Level:
Extremely possessive, and easily jealous. Anyone who so much looks in his partner’s direction or shows them an ounce of affection, and he’s already plotting their demise in his head. He hates competition, and the thought of losing what he considers “his” is quick to make him angry and territorial.
Edward is a master planner, and he’ll be quick to rid himself of any competition. Whether it be murder, blackmail, or a bribe – he’s sure to eliminate anyone who gets in his way.
Favorite Compliments During Sex:
Anything that praises his ego – especially his intellect – but he’s not picky about his physical appearance being complimented, too. Really, this man’s praise kink and desperate need for attention is through the roof. He’s sure to soak up any compliment at all.
Stamina:
High. This man might not be the most physically capable, but he has spent years doing manual labor by working with machines and engineering traps. He can last quite long ad push himself far, but he’s not usually going to go multiple rounds without some time in between. If he does manage to get it up quickly soon after the first round, it’s usually do to him being very turned on or feeling the need to continue punishing (or rewarding) his partner. If it’s just a quickie, don’t count on him to get it up again so soon after, especially if he’s distracted or feels like he has too much work to do.
Marking Preference:
Edward absolutely loves marking his partner. Bruises, hickeys, a collar or jewelry with a hidden meaning – he wants the world to know who his partner belongs to, and he isn’t afraid to show it. Bites and scratches are a plus, too.
Edward desperately needs the world to know who you belong to. He’ll parade you around in all green, especially an outfit with his question mark motif on it, just for people to know he has a claim over you.
Tits, Ass, or Both:
Edward enjoys both, but he prefers the grip and hold a nice ass gives him. He’s particualry fond of spanking. Of course, he loves burying his face in a nice pair of tits and sucking and squeezing them to his content.
Length:
About 6 inches flaccid, 7 when erect. Bigger than people expect.
Circumcised, slightly angled upwards and a little to the left. Several noticeable veins running through the shaft.
Mess Preference:
This man is not above making a mess. Blood, Sweat, Saliva, Cum – it doesn’t bother him. In fact, he gets off on seeing how ruined his partner is. Seeing his partner lying there, sweaty or their eyes glassy as cum pools out of them – it’s definitely a sight he won’t forget anytime soon.
In fact, if his partner doesn’t look ruined afterwards, he’s going to consider that a failure. He needs you to look like you’ve just been thoroughly fucked or he won’t feel accomplished in the act.
Grooming Preference:
When he’s in a better mental state, he prefers to keep himself neat and tidy. But when Edward’s not in a good mental state, he lets himself go, since personal hygiene and grooming go out the window.
It’s not uncommon for Edward to be wearing dirty, oil-stained clothes and to have greasy hair or dirty fingernails if he’s been working long hours.
He prefers his partner to keep themselves neat and tidy, but he’s not too picky. He doesn’t care much if his partner is in the same state as him or immaculately groomed, as long as it doesn’t get in the way of sex.
Love Language (In Bed):
Words of Affirmation. This man is starved for attention. Worshipping his mind and moaning his name like he’s the last man on Earth is going to completely unravel him.
Acts of Service is secondary. He won’t say it out loud, but knowing you’re taking the extra effort to take care of him – feed him, remind him to rest, keep his workspace neat and tidy – are all things he’ll appreciate more than he’ll ever say aloud.
Sexual Insecurities:
As much as he masks it with arrogance, Edward has incredibly low self-esteem. He’ll hide it behind tricky words of grandeur, but deep down, he’s terrified that he’s not enough – not strong enough, not handsome enough, too loud, too annoying, too controlling and too desperate for your attention. He’s afraid that if he slips up, let’s the real him through, that you’ll realize he’s a waste of space and that you’ll leave him.
This ties into his ability to please you in bed. He won’t show it, but deep down, he’s worried he’s not man enough to please you, and that you’ll be so unsatisfied that you’ll look for someone else instead. His lack of experience makes him feel not worthy enough for your attention and like he’s not going to prove himself in bed.
Post-Sex Behavior:
Edward switches between two modes: overly talkative or unusually quiet. If he’s engaged in a quickie, he’ll usually go right back to what he was doing and dismiss you without saying much. If the sex was intense, he spends much of his time afterwards analyzing what the sex meant and what it means to him, and to you. He’ll fall quiet while he’s overanalyzing, but try to mask his concern by being talkative and putting back on his mask of arrogance. Edward hates to show vulnerability during sex, and unless he truly cares about his partner, he won’t cuddle with them. Cuddling is too intimate – and his partner truly needs to be special to show that side of himself.
Edward definitely pretends not to let the intimacy bother him, but deep down, it does. He refuses to show any ounce of vulnerability and tenderness if he can help it. Sex is not something he takes lightly. The very act of choosing a partner, being intimate, and allowing himself to be one with someone is not something he decides to do without much thought taken when it comes to the risks and rewards.
Edward is not the type of man to find a partner for a one-night stand. If he chooses someone, he expects them to be a long-term partner – and the closer he gets, the more terrified he is, and he’ll withdraw deep into his mind if things get too serious.
After reading your amazing work Learning to Share, this idea got stuck in my head. Edward and Jonathan get jealous when another man shows interest in the detective. I would die if you wrote something like that🥺🥺🥺
Payne & Suffering
Summary: When a new man comes on the scene at the GCPD, Edward and Jonathan find themselves with fierce competition.
Word Count: 3.8k
Content Warning: Angst, jealousy, possessive behavior. Spoilers for the end of Arc I of Cat & Mouse.
A/N: Once again, my dear @vas17sblog, I must apologize for this request taking so long. I'm literally the worst. BUT a few days ago I asked if it would be spoilers to include a new character, but surprise! Meet David Payne. I hope you all love him as much as I do.
Edward’s fingers raced across the keys. A greenish glow from the computer cast along his face, reflecting in the frames of his glasses. His lips pressed into a thin line, frustration pounding at his temples. There was never a dull moment in the GCPD, was there? He’d been hunched over his desk for three hours now, working tirelessly on coding and processing systems. He needed to get his work done – the quicker, the better. He was itching to get out of here and end his workday. He just wanted to be back at your apartment with you, enjoying his evening.
“Nigma!” a voice said. Loud, gruff, calling him from the other room.
Edward perked up. Cash’s voice boomed throughout the Homicide Division’s floor. Sighing, irritation prickled across his skin as he stood from his seat, heading out of his office. Why was Cash calling him? He hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? No, of course not. He’d been on his best behavior for weeks now. He made his way through the bullpen, his gaze straying for just a moment towards your desk – which was empty, alongside Mack’s. The two of you were currently off investigating another case. It would probably be a few hours before you returned. Turning his attention back to Cash, he entered Cash’s office, but surprise rippled through him when he saw another man sitting at the desk, across from the Commissioner.
The man immediately looked up and turned to him, quickly standing. He had broad shoulders and quite the handsome face: bright blue eyes the color of the sky, a chiseled jaw, blonde hair neat and cut short. He looked like a model out of a men’s cologne ad, and he even smelled of patchouli, oud, and amber and iris.
“Nigma,” Cash said. “I want you to meet Sergeant David Payne. Payne, this is Edward Nigma.” His voice was filled with a strange, comfortable lightness.
“Ah, Mr. Nigma,” David said, extending his hand. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you. You’re quite the name around here.”
Edward didn’t shake his hand. Instead, his eyes narrowed into slits as he frowned, studying the far too-handsome man in front of him. He wore a pair of blue slacks and a white button down with a matching blue-and-gold tie. An expensive, leather watch was around his left wrist, the face of the watch a crystal clear, reflective surface.
“Nigma,” Cash said, clearing his throat. “I know we’ve had Rollins filling in as your handler for a few weeks while we get someone else to fill the position, and that’s where Sergeant Payne comes in. He’ll be taking over the role of your handler.”
Edward’s frown deepened. Sergeant Payne? More like a pain in his ass. He bristled, but forced his best smile onto his face, determined to make the best impression he could.
“Well,” Edward said. “I’m sure you’re more than qualified for the job.” Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why a man like Payne would want this job at all.
“I’m looking forward to work together,” David said.
“Likewise,” Edward muttered, his smile growing tight-lipped and forced. He’d always known Mack wouldn’t remain his handler forever, but still, he wasn’t expecting this.
Cash looked between them, his nostrils flaring, as if he could sense the tension between them. “Payne will reach out to you later. I’m currently getting him debriefed on our precinct.”
“Yes,” David said. “I’ll be seeing you later, eh, Ed?”
Edward lips turned downward. He didn’t like being called “Ed”, especially by a man he did not know. Oh, not one bit. His brow twitched as irritation prickled across his skin.
“Edward,” he said a second later.
“Hm?” David asked.
“It’s Edward,” he said again, a little more forcibly this time.
“Right. Sorry,” David said. “Well, we’ll touch base later.”
Edward nodded, and quickly left the room, feeling less than dismissed. Agitation grew inn his belly, like a wildfire coursing through his veins. His gaze strayed back to your empty desk; he wished you were back, so he could complain all about Payne. Alas, he’d have to wait, even though his patience was growing thin. He returned to his office and collapsed into the nearby chair, defeat settling over his bones. Slipping his phone from his pocket, he sent you a quick text: What can’t you have for breakfast or dinner?
Your response came five minutes later: I’m having lunch with Jonathan.
Edward frowned. Dammit, Crane was always getting in the way. It had been a few weeks since the little incident back at the museum when he agreed to share you. A decision he was still questioning if it was the right one, but still, he was growing antsy.
Well, I’ll just have to join you, he sent back.
Don’t get mad if Jon is jealous, you replied.
Edward smirked. He could handle Crane. Setting his phone aside, he got back to work. Work, which really meant he was going to snoop into David Payne’s life. His fingers raced across the keys as he began prying into everything he could learn about Payne: the man was thirty-six, born and raised in Gotham. Both parents passed away years ago. Had a younger sister. Apparently, the man had quite the colorful career: he’d received several Community Engagement awards, two Lifesaving Medals, and a Silver Star for Bravery. He had a reputation for risking his life and protecting the innocent, no matter the cause. Several years ago, he moved to Metropolis, running his own department in the Gang Intelligence Unit. He was involved in several undercover operations and single-handedly took down three gangs in the city. Well, he certainly had a lot going for him, but Edward wondered why he would leave Metropolis and move back to Gotham. Why would he give up such a decorative career to come back here?
That was the question Edward found himself asking as he returned to work. It was just around one o’clock when he finally emerged from his office. His gaze immediately landed on your empty desk, but Mack was sitting at his, hunched over a series of folders piled up in front of him. He frowned, concern flashing through him.
“She’s in the break room,” Mack said, as if sensing what he was going to ask.
“Thanks.” Edward turned on his heels and headed that way, excited knots twisting in his stomach. It had been hours since he’d seen you, and he was growing desperate to look into your eyes, to hear your voice, but as he approached the break room, familiar, soft laughter filled his ears. Laughter he recognized as your own, that made his insides do a thousand flips. Crane, he thought. He must be in there now. But as Edward entered the room – he realized it wasn’t Crane at all. It was David Payne.
David was standing beside the table you sat at, his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the wall in a sort of suave, cool guy pose that made Edward frown. You were leaning forward slightly, cleavage peaking out of your blouse, giving David quite the view. A light flush was across your cheeks, your eyes bright and shining in a way Edward hadn’t seen in weeks. It had been quite some time since Edward had seen you look so…alive. So carefree. So much brighter and filled with a lightness that he hadn’t seen from you in so long. Edward stepped into the room and cleared his throat. David lifted his gaze to him, and you turned your attention, your eyes focusing on him.
“Oh, hey,” you said, pursing your lips as if to contain a smile.
“I thought we were having lunch together?” Edward asked.
“We are,” you said, shifting in your seat. “But have you met David? David, this is my boyfriend, Edward Nigma.”
“We’ve met,” Edward mumbled.
“I’ve actually taken the position as Nigma’s handler,” David said.
“Oh – wait, really? You didn’t mention that,” you said, looking taken aback as you glanced between them, your eyes growing wide with concern.
David shrugged, a smile curving at the edge of his lips. He was too handsome, too devilish for Edward’s liking, and he couldn’t help but notice how the flush darkened on your cheeks.
“We were getting so caught up. I didn’t want to ruin the moment,” David said.
“The…moment?” Edward asked. A thousand questions spun through his mind. What moment had he walked in on? Why were you looking so captivated by David’s mere presence?
“David was one of my instructors at the police academy,” you explained.
“Oh.” Oh. Edward frowned harder, his hands curling into fists. Now it made sense: why the two of you seemed so familiar, so…close. In a way that Edward did not like. It certainly seemed more than that. Perhaps you’d once had a crush on him. He certainly had a swoon-worthy face, capable of making any girl melt.
You shifted uncomfortably as an awkward silence filled the room. “David just moved back to Gotham from Metropolis,” you said..
“So I’ve heard,” Edward said.
“I take it you looked into me already?” David asked, smirking.
“Call it natural curiosity to learn just who’s going to be taking over my handler duties,” Edward replied, matching his smirk, puffing out his chest a little more.
“I don’t blame you,” David said. “I’d be curious, too. But I have nothing to hide, Nigma. There aren’t any skeletons in my closet.”
Edward sincerely doubted that, but his smirk only grew. “Then we’ll get along, won’t we, Payne?” Pain in my ass, he thought.
“Am I interrupting something?” another voice suddenly asked. Cool, cold, calculated – the voice of Jonathan crane. Edward turned to find him standing there, his eyes narrowing. He wore a pair of brown slacks and a white button down with a brown vest, a bolo tie hanging around his neck that looked strangely like a noose.
“Nothing at all,” David said. “Dr. Crane, I presume? I’m David Payne. I’ll be taking over as Nigma’s handler.”
“A job I’m sure you’ll regret soon enough,” Jonathan said, looking around at the scene. The tension in the room was thick, suffocating; Edward could feel it prickling through the air like dry lightning.
David laughed at that, his shoulders shaking with the movement. “I think Nigma and I are going to get along just fine. I have my fair share of experienced with egomaniacs.”
Edward quirked a brow. “None like me, I’m sure.” His smirk widened.
David’s eyes narrowed, studying the two of them. He smirked in return, before pushing off the wall. His gaze dropped to you, his eyes filling with lightness.
You turned your attention back to Edward and Jonathan. “David was actually my instructor at the police academy. That’s how we know each other.”
Edward bristled, jealousy coiling in his stomach like a writhing snake. Beside him, he felt Crane stiffen, as if he, too, was catching the same jealousy. Suspicion crept into his bones, making the hairs on the back of Edward’s neck stand on end.
“Well,” David said. “I’ll leave you to your lunch. See you around, princess.” As he said it, he gave your shoulder a soft squeeze.
Edward immediately saw red. You flushed, a soft smile curving at the edge of your lips, as David nodded to him and Crane and headed out of the room. Another man touching you? You? And calling you princess? He didn’t like this – not one bit. How close you were to David, the flush to your cheeks, the look in your eyes…oh, he did not like this. And now, he couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes followed David as he left the room, before flicking back to them.
“Princess?” Edward muttered, quickly taking the seat across from you.
You blinked, straightening your shoulders. “Oh, it’s nothing. David just used to call me that back in the academy.”
“Then why are you blushing, pet?” Crane asked, his voice holding a smooth, controlled tone. He took the seat beside Edward, sitting straight up, hands resting on his knees.
“What? No, I’m not,” you stuttered, brushing a lock of hair behind your hair in that nervous way you always did. You looked between them with wide, uncertain eyes.
“You’re signs of attraction are clearly evident,” Crane continued. His voice was level, but Edward could detect a hint of jealousy within his tone.
It was your turn to bristle, your gaze dropping to the table. You pursed your lips into a thin line, avoiding both of their gazes. “David and I have…history. Okay? That’s it?”
“What kind of history?” Edward asked. He needed his curiosity sated.
The blush darkened on your cheeks. “Um…the inappropriate kind where I kind of slept with my teacher?” you said, though your voice was soft and meek, embarrassed.
Edward went very quiet and still for a long moment as he tried to process just what you said. The same man you had a history with was now his own handler, now going to be a thorn in his side, a pain in his ass here at the GCPD. Well, this was not a development he expected today.
“Oh,” Edward said, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
Crane leaned back in his seat, lifting his chin slightly. “That’s more than inappropriate, pet. Were you planning on keeping this information from us?”
“Well, I was never expecting to see David again, so yes,” you replied. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal. We just slept together. There’s nothing more to it than that.”
“And yet, you allow him to call you pet names and linger far too close,” Crane continued.
You bristled again, shifting in your seat. Edward watched as Crane’s eyes narrowed into slits, how he kept a close eye on your every move, as if your body language would give away how you were feeling. But you only pulled your eyes from him and looked down at your nails.
“You’re both overreacting,” you muttered.
“Oh, I assure you, detective, this is far from overreacting,” Edward grumbled. Jealousy continued to twist in his stomach. He did not like knowing another man slept with you. Of course, he wasn’t an idiot – he knew you weren’t a virgin. But still, the very idea of you giving your body to another man or woman burned an angry fire in his belly.
He saw Payne for exactly what he was: competition. Another man practically staking his claim over you? No, no way was he going to allow that to happen. Sharing you with Crane was bad enough as is.
You shot him a look, before your hand reached out to touch his own, your fingers soft and rough against his knuckles. “Neither of you need to worry,” you said. “I promise.”
Edward exchanged a look with Crane. But the man’s posture was stiff, his eyes uncertain; he was certainly doing a better job of hiding his own jealousy. Keeping it under a tight grip of cold control, not daring to show it. Edward leaned back in his seat, frowning.
“Both of you are insufferable,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “You need to behave.”
“Demanding things now, pet?” Crane asked.
“Yes, I am. Now, can we get lunch? I’m starving,” you said.
Edward nodded, but uncertainty continued to brew in his stomach. The day passed without seeing much of David, and soon, the days began to bleed into nights. Edward and Jonathan both kept their eyes on you, but as Edward soon discovered, David really was turning into a pain in his ass. David was not only a stickler for the rules, but he also had a strict set of rules for Edward to follow, too, which including needing to sign in and out of every shift, and have David confirm he’d even been here in the precinct at all. His ankle monitor needed to be checked every night before he left, to ensure it hadn’t been tampered with, and David instructed Edward to keep a detailed record of all the work he did every day. So, yes, Edward was truly experiencing his own pain and suffering with David at the helm as his handler. You had never been so strict, but of course, considering the nature of your relationship with him, you would never be able to be his handler again. Edward would gladly take Mack back any day, too. But, Edward supposed he couldn’t complain; you were his girlfriend, after all. Even if the last few weeks had been hell for the both of you.
As the days passed, however, Edward began to notice things that bothered him about David and the way he hung around you. He often stood too close, and Edward caught you and him laughing about something from your police academy days more than once. It brewed a dark jealousy within Edward’s stomach, especially now, as his gaze remained fixed on the both of you out in the bullpen, talking. You were sitting at your desk as he stood beside you, his arms crossed over his chest. Your cheeks had that familia flush to them, your eyes bright and shining. Edward couldn’t take his eyes off the sight, too glued to what he was seeing to stop himself. He’d been on his way back from the bathroom when he saw the scene, and now, he stood nearby, out of sight, his feet planted on the floor.
“So,” David was saying. “How are things going? You know I’m more than happy to help you with your cases.”
“That’s sweet of you to offer,” you said. “But I’ve got it covered.”
He nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly, lips curving upwards. “Look at you. All grown up detective. Still thinking of running your own department one day?”
That seemed to make you pause, your eyes cast downward, the flush disappearing from your cheeks. “I don’t really know anymore,” you said.
Edward frowned. You’d never mentioned wanting to run your own department before, but his heart skipped a furious beat. He didn’t like when you didn’t share things with him. It irritated him more than he wanted it do. The very idea of you shutting him out aggravated him.
“Well,” David said. “I know you’ve got it in you. You always strived for bigger things. Better things.”
There was something in David’s voice that Edward didn’t like, as if he was thinking that he was so much better for you. Edward didn’t like this, not one bit. No one was better for you than him. He was the only one worthy of your attention and devotion…wasn’t he? Besides, what did the hulking brute have going for him, anyways? Besides being ridiculously good looking and having been awarded numerous medals, but still. Well, let’s see how he handled Gotham. The bumbling, hulking idiot.
“Well,” you said, clearing your throat. “Thanks for the offer, David. I’ll let you know if I need any help.”
“Anytime, princess,” he replied, pushing off the wall, but he paused. His gaze fell on you, lingering much too long. “Do you want to get coffee after work?”
You blinked, taken aback, and a red haze filled Edward’s vision as he waited with bated breath. Anger rushed through his veins like hot wildfire. Please say no, please say no, he begged.
“We can catch up,” David said, almost a quiet plea.
You wee quiet for a moment, but you finally said, “Sure. I’d like that.”
The red haze in Edward’s eyes darkened as jealousy twisted in his stomach like a hot knife. He couldn’t believe this, that you would say yes to that bumbling idiot. It was egregious. Outrageous! How could you even think of getting coffee with another man? Scowling, Edward turned on his heels and stormed into the elevator, taking it all the way down to the bottom level for forensics. As soon as it opened, he walked with large strides, heart hammering against his ribcage, as he strolled into Crane’s office, only to find the man surrounded by beakers and chemicals alike, his gaze steely with hardened focus.
“She’s getting coffee with him,” Edward immediately balked out. “With him! Can you believe that?” He didn’t even bother to keep his voice down, didn’t care who heard.
Crane lifted his eyes to him, frowning. “With Payne?”
Edward nodded. He sucked in a breath, running a hand through his hair, trying to put a tamper down on his anger, bubbling and boiling over. “This is outrageous,” he muttered.
Crane was quiet for a moment, before setting aside the notepad in his hands. He pushed up his glasses farther onto the bridge of his nose. “What are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know,” Edward mumbled. It wasn’t like he could do anything. “Payne said he didn’t have any skeletons in his closet, but I’m sure he does. No one is that innocent. I’m sure I can find something to get him fired.”
“Careful, Edward,” Crane said, peering at him. “No need to get yourself into trouble.”
Edward scoffed out a laugh. “Easy for you to say, Crane. Aren’t you jealous of him?”
Crane didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His silence was enough.
Edward frowned, turning away, grinding his teeth together until they ached. His heart pained in his chest like it was being squeezed by a fist. It hurt, knowing you were going to have coffee with another man who wasn’t him. He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and turned back, frowning harder, studying Crane, who gazed at him with a cold curiosity.
“Your jealousy is written all over your face,” Crane said.
Edward bristled, feeling heat creeping up his throat. “I hate him,” he whispered. He didn’t even know Payne, didn’t care to. Edward just knew he hated him already.
“You’re afraid she’s going to leave you for him?” Crane asked.
“Of course I am!” Edward muttered, louder than he intended. “Here he comes in, with his stupid smug smile and dumb face, acting like he can control me and take her from me? Well, not a chance. I won’t let it happen. I refuse to let it happen.”
Edward wouldn’t lose you. He refused to.
He refused to let Payne take you from him, and he would do anything he needed to keep that from happening. Crane smirked, his scarred lips turning upwards.
“Then we at least seem to be in agreement,” Crane said, glancing back down at the vials and chemicals laid out before him.
Edward nodded, his eyes narrowing. So it seemed Crane wasn’t willing to share you with Payne or anyone else as well. Edward lifted his chin slightly, studying the man before him, as his insides churned with a sick satisfaction. Oh no. Edward would not let you go at all, and if Crane was willing to help keep you at his side, at both of their sides…Edward could live with that.
For now.
He could deal with all of the pain and suffering Payne thrust upon him as long as he didn’t lose you. Edward wouldn’t lose you – he never would.
Sleepless Night- Assault on Arkham Riddler x Reader
Note: For reference, the reader is a woman working at Arkham Asylum-- the story takes place before the events of the Assault on Arkham animated movie that I've totally never watched lol Be sure to become a member of my Patreon for early access to fics and to follow me on my other social platforms!
Thanks for clicking the link! Here are my other socials!
Summary: After a messy divorce and hectic move from Metropis, you finally find your place in the world and it's at Arkham Asylum as a Psychiratrist. Little did you know, the your first patient would awake an old flame within you that you had thought long gone.
It was late, that much you could be sure of when you squinted your crusted eyelids open. Even in the darkness of your room, things still seemed too bright for you, and you groaned, pulling the bundled thick covers closer to your face—only pausing as something restrained you from fully submerging yourself back into the depths of your dreams. Something… heavy and strong seemed to be weighing down the covers from behind you and it was only with the creak of the old metal bed frame you were fully alert and snapping your head 360 to find the source of the noise that you saw Edward Nigma- The Riddler- half crouching half laying in bed with you.
You could make out his distinct features even in the windowless room's darkness. His lean form awkwardly curled up next to you on the small hospital mattress, and his skinny face held fine lines of age that crept across his forehead and eyes. His somewhat short hair was tufted up messily atop his head—like he’d been tossing and turning within his cell for a while—and his slightly purple-tinted glasses sat haphazardly on the bridge of his nose.
For a moment all that passed between the two of you was a pregnant silence- Edward’s blue gaze practically popping forth from his eye sockets; as if he was just as surprised as you were to be here. When the initial shock of his presence within you finally began to fade, you dared yourself to speak.
“Ed-Edward??... What are you doing here?” Your voice came out small and meek and if you were more awake than you currently were, you would’ve surely cringed hard at how pathetic you sounded within the moment.
Your name fluttered across his lips in a hushed voice.
“I came to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye?” Now you were attempting to sit up; brain slowly processing his words in the haze of your slumber. “Go back to your cell, Eddie. You haven’t been offered parole yet.”
A chuckle that had your heart fluttering rumbled deep within his chest as he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. This had you holding your breath. If you had been told 7 months ago that you would’ve awoken in the middle of the night to the Riddler kissing you- you surely would’ve laughed.
Now that it was happening in real-time, however, and that it had blood rushing to your face- there was no hiding behind it or denying it any longer- especially not after the incident that happened early on in the day… you had a crush on the Riddler and the relationship the two of you held was far from that of a doctor-patient. But things hadn’t always been this way, not but a year ago, you were living happily married in Metropolis working your small private practice right out of your own home. But things changed, you felt it building up subtly years before it happened.
You had always been passionate about helping others after a not-so-great childhood yourself, you found you’re calling in psychiatry- a field that you were often praised for delving into but shunned and babied for chasing. The day that you graduated from Metropolis University and announced to your fiance and family that you wanted to work in Gotham City, everything seemed to go downhill for you. Though Metropolis was arguably no safer than the neighboring city across the bridge, the city of Gotham was notorious for its serial killers, gangs, and corrupt cops.
It began in arguments with your family members. Your grandmother belittled you for the very notion of working within Gotham, while your father and older brother tried scaring you with stories of the psychopaths that walked those streets every day. Your mother and partner, on the other hand, were far kinder in their attempts to understand your reasoning- but still, ultimately, tried finding ways of convincing you to stay within their bubble of security.
The pleas and harassment worked and you found yourself for the past 2 years cooped up within the control of the little world that they had decided to keep you in. You ran a private practice within the confines of your husband's home- only working with individuals with minor life inconveniences. You didn’t need the money, your husband was an older and rather well-established psychiatrist himself- but he allowed you to run your practice as a way of keeping you within line- to keep you slightly distracted and just busy enough with work to make you believe you were making a difference.
From the start, you knew it was all a ploy, but you convinced yourself to play along. To allow everyone around you to manipulate you to their liking- because you were so damn afraid of confrontation that you well and truly thought for 2 straight years that things were simply better if you did as you were told.
Well, the funny thing about keeping things buried is- eventually it all boils over and spills.
So you left. Abruptly and without a word. You had the funds to find an apartment that wasn’t total shit, and before you knew it you had applied, been interviewed, and were successfully hired at Arkham Asylum.
In all fairness, you had only applied at the hospital out of petty spite toward those who doubted you—but you didn’t care. You were riding high above the clouds and felt that you could take on the world… until you met him.
Arkham Asylum was old and had a notorious record of housing some of the most famous serial killers the world has ever seen- plus then some. The hospital was also riddled throughout its opening with evidence of malpractice. How the place was even still operational was a mystery.
You disregarded those tales, wanting to believe they were either hoaxes to scare kids into good behavior or were a thing of the past. You might’ve been desperate to get away from your old life but you didn’t go into Arkham completely blind either. You had done your research and knew of how dark the history of Arkham ran, but knew that the Asylum had also come a long way from where it began.
You watched and read just about everything you could consume about the facility before your first day and had made up your mind that what you were doing WAS the right thing and it WAS exactly what you wanted out of your career.
So why did you feel an overwhelming amount of dread build up in your stomach when your car pulled up in the Asylum’s parking lock? Why did you sit in your car a full 30 minutes before shutting off the engine and stepping out into the brisk Autumn cold of the forever cloudy city? You didn’t know, you didn’t want to know- in fact, you didn’t want to think too deeply about anything that had happened within the past few weeks.
Despite how old the facility was, Arkham was surprisingly clean and pristine within the confines of its brick walls. The asylum was approximately a 45-minute drive from the city and was located on a small island of the same name. The hospital of Arkham was comprised of 5 main buildings- the Intensive Treatment unit (which was the entrance into Arkham), the Botanical Gardens (which was highly restrictive thanks to a certain metahuman currently residing within Arkham), Arkham Mansion, the Medical Facility, and the Penitentiary.
The first week of working at Arkham was nothing so grand as you would’ve hoped it to be. You didn’t even see any patients during the first full week of employment. Instead, you spent the entirety of your time being trained by one of your peers, Penelope Young, on the rules, regulations, and emergency procedures of Arkham.
When you did have a moment to breathe from the workload, you spent your time making your office more homey and comfortable- or wandering the halls and garden that the hospital provided. You were limited on what you could do and have, even within your own office space. No plants were allowed due to the captivity of Pamela Isley, you were also advised to keep personal photographs of family and friends out of sight due to an incident that happened last year with Victor Zsasz and his previous psychiatrist- though this was not an official rule that was set in place, all the staff members seemed to have the idea that it was best to keep your personal life and feelings away from Arkham. Despite all this, you managed to transform your cold, sad little office space into something far more inviting.
Your desk consisted of your monitor and keyboard, while a window seal behind you held a few plastic succulent plants for aesthetics. You also chose to add a few tall corner lamps to set a more relaxing mood, along with a simple cream-colored rug in the center of the room and a coffee table.
When the day finally came for you to receive information on your first patient you were stunned to find a file of Edward Nigma sitting atop your desk. You recognized the name and face immediately from the news and laughed it off- surely this was just some sort of teasing joke on the new girl, right?
You felt your heart drop to your stomach and a nervous sweat break across your forehead when you came to the Wardens office to explain the situation. It was no joke, you were being assigned to work with one of Gotham’s most notorious criminals- and one of Arkham’s toughest cases to crack.
You were only given a night to review his file before you would begin your sessions with him.
Edward Nigma’s file was a thick binder that consisted of several pages worth of reports on previous arrests, diagnoses, and notes from other doctors; not to mention a few tape recordings that were fairly recent in his therapy sessions with Dr. Young.
You sat within the comfort of your apartment reviewing the file. Gotham City was freezing out, but the warmth that you’re dingy little place provided was enough to keep your mind focused- not even the distant sirens or stomping of your neighbors was enough to dissuade your absolute enthrallment. You hadn’t even met the man of the hour and yet you found yourself frightened of what the first meeting would be like- was he as intelligent and violent as everything seemed to lead you to believe?
You couldn’t shake the feeling of doubt that coiled within your stomach; and yet, something else began to brew within the depths of your being. Determination was rearing its head within your very conscious- a determination to prove everyone wrong, you’re friends, your ex-husband- everyone! And somehow, some way, you felt that if you could help someone as insane as the famed Riddler- then maybe, just perhaps, it would be enough for you.
You were seated in your living room on the floor in front of your couch, Edward’s file spread out across the coffee table and the only source of light coming from a small lamp casting a yellow hue across the contents in front of you. Your gaze flickered from one page after another- trying to consume and retain as much information as you could about the man.
Edward’s last name was originally “Nashton” until he legally changed it at 18 to “Nigma.”
‘Huh, E.Nigma… I get it,’ you thought to yourself as you skimmed over a few arrest photos. All in all, Edward was a rather… normal looking man. Besides, of course, the theme of wearing green articles of clothing covered in question marks- if you were to pass him on the streets, you’d likely not think twice about him. He was the Head of the GCPD Cyber Crime Unit about a decade ago before he was caught and tried for extortion- after that, it seems the poor man lost his marbles and decided to go full-blown supervillain.
Ed stood at around 6 '1, weighed roughly 183 lbs and had brown hair and blue eyes. You studied a more recent photo in which the patient in question was giving the camera a death glare and took note of his angler features- he was quite pale (nothing too unusual for anyone who has lived their entire life in Gotham), with big ears and forehead and a long skinny nose to compliment it all. Bags marred underneath his eyes and fine lines of slight age crept across his forehead and nasolabial; he also had high forward-facing cheekbones and thin lips.
A yawn escaped you and you rubbed your eyes before glancing at the time- it was only 8:18, still early but with winter right around the corner it got darker outside earlier- making you feel as though it was far later than it was.
‘Okay, I’ll just read over some of the notes from his previous doctors left behind. I can listen to his recorded sessions on my way to work in the morning,’ you mentally told yourself.
Going over a few more chapter-length pages, it appeared to you as though none of Edward’s past psychiatrists could seem to agree on a proper diagnosis for the man. One claimed Edward possessed narcissistic tendencies, while another said he was deeply insecure. He also seems to be antisocial (according to the documentation on Edward’s behavior), and is noted to often have delusions of grandeur and an obsessive-compulsive disorder… which you supposed would make sense seeing as how he’s spent the past 10 years of his life trying to overthrow Batman, not to mention the whole… riddle thing.
‘Edward, you really are an enigma,’ you mused silently to yourself before closing the large binder and calling it a night.
“Patient interview 21. The patient’s name is Edward Nigma, also known as the Riddler,” Dr. Young’s voice crackled to life through the speaker of your car. Listening to some of Edward’s previous therapy sessions was the first thing on your mind that morning and from the moment you stepped into your car, you already had the digital file downloaded and ready to play from your phone. It would be a long ride to work, and seeing as how today was such an important day for you, you wanted to make use of your time as wisely as possible.
The sun had only just risen in the sky, but it would hardly make much of a difference with the ever-moody weather of Gotham City.
You awoke every day at around 5:30-6:00 a.m. for work. You didn’t need to be there until 8, but with traffic plus the distance the hospital was away from your home- you didn’t want to take any chances of being late, not when you had only just started.
Dr. Young’s voice continued to carry through the speakers as you pulled out of your apartment’s parking garage, asking the patient a few questions and such.
“One would have to be severely paranoid to read threats into harmless riddles, Doctor Young. May I test you with one?” An unfamiliar male voice suddenly buzzed through the speakers, sending a shiver down your spine.
Edward Nigma’s voice was… not at all what you were expecting it to be. Then again, you weren’t quite sure what it was that you were expecting- certainly not one so…. Well, you supposed it matched him well. Edward’s voice was confident and rich and held an air of playful amusement- like this was all a game to him (it was). With the poor quality of the audio recording mixed with the natural characteristics of Edward’s voice, he reminded you of a game show host and you found yourself eagerly leaning forward in your seat to hear what he had to say next.
“What is it that walks on four legs, then two and finally three legs?”
You knew this one- it was a riddle on evolution. An infant crawls on fours, and then walks on two legs for the majority of his life before using a cane to walk in their elderly years. Just as you thought about these things, Dr. Young gave a similar answer.
“Good try,” Edward’s voice cut in. “But the answer to all three is a baby. True, it crawls on all four but cuts off its legs and it can only wiggle on two limbs. Give it a crutch, it can hobble around on three. You see?”
Your response was immediate: you barked out a laugh. How unfairly clever was it for Edward to come up with that sort of logical reasoning… a bit morbid, but it was clear to you that he was attempting to tell a joke. Dr. Young, on the other hand, did not handle his answer so well. She scolded Edward and by the tell tale signs in her voice, was very disturbed.
“Oh, Dr. Young. Will you ever lighten up?” You murmured to yourself, pulling your car up to the drive-through of your favorite coffee place. The first tape ended there, and you paused the audio logs so that you could put in your current favorite drink order. After paying and receiving your order; you played the next tape.
Like the first tape, Dr. Young’s voice is the first to come through the speakers. She mentions something about a “Titan process,” and you can’t help but raise a curious brow, taking the first sip of coffee from your steaming mug and pulling out of the lot.
“I’d like to talk about your childhood,” Dr. Young states in the recording, and you can’t help but to roll your eyes.
‘How cliche of a psychiatrist to ask a patient,’ you think to yourself. ‘With conversations like these, it’s no wonder why people like Edward Nigma are repetitive escapees. I think I’m starting to get an idea of what kind of therapy Edward needs.’
Just as he was in the previous tape, Edward’s response is dry and quirky. But then he said something that quipped your interest in him even further, he recounted a story from his childhood. One involved his father beating him for cheating in a riddle contest at the school Nigma attended as a child.
Edward’s tone while he told the story was languid, bored, almost. As if he believed that the violent reaction of his father was justifiable in finding out that Edward had both lied and stolen the credit of someone else's work.
The tape ended there and the third played as you took the exit onto the highway leading to Arkham.
By this point, Dr. Young was thoroughly annoyed by Edward and it was clear to you that there must’ve been quite a few unrecorded sessions in between the second to the third. There was nothing entirely noteworthy of this recording- at least none that revealed to you any deeper meaning behind Edward’s logic, other than the fact that he well and truly believed that he was helping Gotham in setting up death traps and that those who died in those contraptions were entirely at fault for “not being smart enough.”
The fourth tape panned out just as the third, in which Edward ranted and raved, only the topic shifted from that of his riddle traps to that of Batman. By the end of the tape, you could hear Dr. Young call for security and you silently made a note to yourself not to make mention of Batman to Edward- seemed like a trigger for the criminal.
Arkham came into view soon enough, and unlike when you had left yesterday evening, you felt a surge of confidence run through you as you entered through the gates. You knew that Edward would not be an easy person to handle, but studying his file on top of listening to those recordings gave you the confidence you needed to understand him a bit better.
Edward Nigma was planning his escape. Thanks to a few contact sources, the Riddler knew that Joker was planning something at Arkham, and whatever it was, it would be big. Ed had never liked the self-proclaimed Clown Prince of Crime, and from years of working with the other rogues in Gotham, Edward had long since seen the insanity of the Joker and wanted no part in the fool’s plan, nor did he want to be caught in the middle of it.
He just needed to hold on, keep his head down until he finished his latest creations, and then he could escape Arkham for good. He called his newest creations “Riddler Trophies”, and they would serve as a means of distraction for the Caped Crusader. Edward’s Trophies were made entirely out of small scraps of parts he’d managed to acquire from a few other inmates. They were small question-mark-shaped devices with green LED lighting inside- entirely harmless, but the Riddler had worked hard on placing them throughout Arkham in places only the Dark Knight would know where to look.
Now, he just needed to gain access to a few security systems that Arkham had updated since his last stay and place a few more trophies around the facility and he’d be free to leave. His plans and his schemes were what kept him going, and it was because of these things that the criminal found himself in a rather good mood. His good mood and thus his relatively good behavior did not go unnoticed by his psychiatrist, Dr. Young.
Or rather, his ex-psychiatrist, as she had explained at the beginning of their session. She admitted to Edward that he’d be transferred to a new doctor in the building the following week. Edward would say it was a shame that Dr. Young had given up on him so easily- but truthfully, Edward was just about sick and tired of her.
In the beginning, Edward admits he found interest in Dr. Young- not to make use of a double entendre- but Dr. Young was… well, young, and beautiful at that- which meant that she was likely very intelligent to be working at Arkham and to have the high-paying position that she had. He wouldn’t go as far as to say he had a crush on her or anything as such- after all, no matter how smart she may be, she would sadly never meet the intellectual level of superiority that he held… but perhaps she’d make for great entertainment?
Well, that’s what he thought at least when he first began his sessions with her. Unfortunately (but unceremoniously) Dr. Young proved herself to be as dim-witted and dull as the rest of her colleagues. Her mind was simply too simple to grasp his humor, his witty-remarks, or even his incredible logical reasoning as to why he did what he did. So when Dr. Young told him that she was transferring him over, Edward barely batted an eyelash.
It wouldn’t matter anyhow, after all, in a few weeks- possibly a few months, Edward would be back out on the streets again. He just needed to bide his time to slowly put his plans in motion.
Your appointment with Edward was held slightly later on in the day. The inmates at Arkham were put on a particular routine, it was meant to serve as a form of structure for the patients. Often times the mentally ill or clinically insane are the way they are due to a lack of structure in their lives outside of Arkham; the routines put in place were to give everyone a chance to feel a sense of normality- and in a way, you believed it was that exact form of care that these people so desperately needed.
Every day at Arkham started at exactly 8:00 am, except for holidays and weekends- which would begin at 10:30 am. The lights would go on, and there would be a morning announcement [much like a school would have] from the Warden greeting good morning to the patients before proceeding on with what everyone could expect from their day- which would consist of what breakfast, lunch, and dinner would be, and if there were any extracurricular activities available for the inmates to participate in. After that, the inmates at Arkham would be released from their cells to roam and socialize briefly before they’d be escorted by security in groups to the dining hall.
You, a doctor and not a resident at Arkham, could do whatever you needed to do during this time. Which, seeing as how you currently only had one patient to handle on your roster, wasn’t much. So you followed security that morning down to the cafeteria, snagging yourself an apple from the cheerful kitchen staff, and stood off on the sidelines watching as everyone moved about.
The staff at Arkham did their best to keep the energy upbeat and lively- but even within one week in, you could see that it was more for their own sake than it actually was for the patients. From your own observations, there were 3 different kinds of patients at Arkham; the brain dead, the insane, and the famous.
Okay, well, calling people “brain-dead” and “insane” certainly wasn’t the professional thing to do- but they were the words that came to mind first when you saw the sluggish moving patients go by and sit in a corner, rocking themselves back and forth, glassy looks in their terrified eyes. Or the ones who’d scream and yell- kicking at anything that came near them or trying to bite nurses.
The latter of the 3 types, you’d had yet to actually meet- but you were sure as hell about to get a taste of what it’s like meeting the famous later that day.
You’d finished off your apple quickly and ideally strolled around the cafeteria, slowly making your way towards the exit. Your gaze sweeping over the pale faces and orange jumpsuits as you did so. You were looking for him; you weren’t even sure why you were- curiosity, perhaps? Or maybe you were, deep down, still nervous and you thought that if you could get a glance at him- just a small peak at The Great Riddler doing something mundane and boring such as eating breakfast that you’d feel comfort- comfort in knowing that he, despite how the media often betrayed him as, was just a regular man.
You left the cafeteria, a small amount of disappointment settling over you. You could not find him through the mass of people.
Breakfast that morning at Arkham was nothing grand. It was a cup of cereal, a box carton of milk, and the patient's choice of a side of either an apple or yogurt. Edward chose yogurt- only for the sake of attempting to mix things up for himself and nothing more.
The food, however dull it was, was not the important thing here. The important reason for sticking around Arkham were to finish up his riddles and puzzles for the Bat. Nothing more and nothing less.
Edward sat down at the first available seating he saw and quietly ate his breakfast- the patients around him immediately got up and moved further away or to another table entirely and Edward felt a burst of pride through his chest. He smirked. Of course they’d be intimated by him- he was, after all, the great Riddler.
None were truly worthy of being in his presence and few could ever hope to offer an intellectually stimulating conversation. So therefore their presence was better off away from him entirely; Edward reasoned to himself, his blue gaze sliding over the faces of those who quickly looked away.
‘No,’ he thought, ‘I don’t think I’ll be hiding any of my trophies in this room… There simply aren't enough spaces to hide anything worthwhile. And besides, unless Batman decides to grab a snack while Joker is terrorizing the asylum, I doubt he’ll have any real reason to come into this room…’ His mind continued to drift from one idea to another- riddles, puzzles, quizzes all scattered about within the confines of his skull. He slipped out a green crayon from his sleeve- the only writing utensils he was able to snag in this wretched place- and quickly jotted down a few notes to himself on a napkin
That’s when he felt it; a presence of a gaze burning holes into his being. Edward snapped his head up immediately from his food, and that’s when he saw her. Overlooking the patients that sat in front of him hunched over their trays on the table in front of him.
She was a doctor, as evident by her office clothing and white lab coat– but one he had not known before. Not that Edward ever really paid much attention to the doctors that came and went to Arkham Asylum– but the way she carried herself about just seemed… different.
She looked away just as he noticed her and turned to leave the cafeteria.
Edward resumed his work.
After breakfast, a nurse would stop by the cells and perform her daily duties of handing out meds, taking temperatures, and nagging Edward about his weight.
“You’re still just a bit too underweight. Have you been drinking those protein shakes in the cafeteria?” The nurse, a blonde woman in her early 30s who's been working on Edward's side of the ward for the past few weeks asked.
Edward paid her no mind, only grunting out a ‘no’ as he flipped through to the next page of his book. He was partially strapped down to his bed, only allowed a little bit of mobility to sit up and read as the medic filled out a daily health chart in his cell.
Of course he wasn’t going to drink those disgusting slushy bottles of milk. They gave him gas and evidently didn’t work as every time he’d been sent to Arkham, he’d never gained more than maybe one or two pounds. Besides that, Edward was not at all concerned over his physical health- sure, he was a bit skinny for someone his height and age, but Edward had by no means ever been a ‘filled out’ person.
He’s always been tall and lean and, quite frankly, is comfortable in his appearance. Now if only he could get this wrenched nurse to see that and leave him be!
It was finally time. You’d spent most of your morning pacing back and forth in the office. You straighten the papers on your desk and then straighten them up again. Replaying the recordings you had of Edward seemed to have become a small obsession for you. You never really finished them- just skipped around the bits and pieces of Edward talking about his father and making sick jokes.
All the anxiety had finally come to a close, however, as the clock struck 11. It was time to begin your first session with Edward.
The knock at your office door came not long after and you practically jumped up from your desk and ran to answer it.
You were very fortunate to have had the office space that you did to hold the sessions within the comfort of your domain- other doctors and certain patients were not so lucky. Arkham Asylum was once a mansion owned by the infamous Amadeus Arkham and although the facility had undergone quite a few renovations throughout the years- the place was, at its core, a very old mansion, and because of this; every space that could be utilized was. Which, in turn, did not mean that all the doctors got a comfortable-sized office.
Dr. Harleen Quinzel herself, at the time of her employment, had an office cubicle only a little bigger than a broom closet. Because of this, some doctors had to hold their sessions with their patients (sadly) within the cells that the patients housed.
A security guard, one which you had not had the proper time to be introduced to, greeted you when you swung open the door to your office. The guard didn’t even bother saying hello before shoving past you and dragging your patient by the arm.
“You have an hour, I’ll be down the hall should you need anything;” the guard grunted as he forced Edward to take a seat on the small couch in front of your desk before making his exit with a dramatic slam of the door.
‘Well… he certainly was pleasant,’ your thoughts dripped with sarcasm as you slowly turned your gaze from that of the door to the 6ft something man in orange currently lounging casually on your couch.
Edward’s face reminded you of a Cheshire cat. If there ever was such a reward for the world's most shit-eating grin, The Riddler surely would’ve taken the cake a long time ago.
“Well, doctor? Aren’t you going to introduce yourself? Or shall I treat you as another one of my masterful puzzles and figure you out all on my own?” He grinned through his words, clapping his hands together and rubbing them in anticipation.
A blush adored your cheeks before you could fully compose yourself. You masked your embarrassment with a cough as you straightened your skirt and reached a hand forward towards him.
You felt dirty like you had a secret that you couldn’t let him know about. And, you supposed you did. You’d read over his files and listened to his previous sessions so many times that you felt like you knew something intimate about him that he didn’t want anyone else to know about.
You didn’t, of course, but the feeling was still there.
“Ah! My apologies,” you smiled kindly as you introduced yourself. Smoothly transitioning from that of a rigid disposition to one of much more professionalism and confidence. Edward took your outstretched hand into his.
His hand was warm, and dry, and felt like it had some slight scarring on the palm. The moment was over before you could think much else about it and you took to seating yourself on the small love seat across from him.
“Well, it’s certainly a pleasure meeting you, doctor… Say, I’ve been around these parts before, and I must ask, are you new here? I’m trying to wrap my brain around whether or not I know you from somewhere.”
A nervous smile broke out across your face.
“Why, yes. I am new here at Arkham–”
“And they decided to stick you with me for your first day,” Edward made a hissing sound from in between his teeth. “Yikes! Tough luck, doctor!”
“Well, I assure you that despite being new to this facility I have 2 years of previous experience within the field and came highly recommended–”
Once more, Edward cut you off before you could finish your sentence. This time, however, he did so with a huff and a dramatic eye roll. You could only stare as annoyance began bubbling its way up from within you.
You allowed the silence to fill the space in the room between you, and when Edward’s eyes met yours- you did not back down. You did not look away, you did not give in and allow your anger to show- somehow, someway, by some absolute miracle; you remained composed and collected.
Edward’s grin finally dropped, and just as you saw the tell-tale signs of insecurities crawl across his angular face- you blinked and it was gone. Adjusting your glasses and crossing your legs from one side to the other in the most casual of manners, you spoke.
“You know, Mr Nigma. We don’t have to do this,” confusion furrowed his thick brows and he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side (like a puppy dog). “I’ve read over your files, I know about the kind of life you had growing up, what you did before becoming a criminal- but most of all, all of the previous breakouts and schemes you’ve pulled off. I know what you’re thinking- you see me as some poor fool who got the shit end of the stick or as some overly ambitious newbie full of false confidence who thinks that they’re ready to take on the world–
And you know what? Maybe you’re right- but I know you, maybe not personally, but I’m not blind to the obvious fact that you’ve already planned your next escape and that there’s nothing I can really do to stop you from leaving. But regardless of whatever your plan is, you’re waiting on something and are just biding your time until you escape.
So until then- we can either cooperate with one another and just pretend that these are normal therapy sessions- OR we can sit in complete silence during the sessions and I can focus on my paperwork while you sit there on my couch eating from my jar of candy. So which will it be, hmm?”
You clasped your hands tightly together over your lap to punctuate the severity of your statement, sitting up just a bit taller and offering up one of your bitchiest closed-lip smiles.
Edward blinked. Then blinked again, and closed his slightly ajar mouth, before blinking once more. And then a smile, not the shit-eating one he wore before, but a genuine smile spread across his face.
“Oh, I like you... Okay, doctor, I concede! I shall promise to be on my very best, ultra-good-boy behavior from henceforth! But only on one condition.”
“And what’s that?”
“Why, if you agree to solve my riddles, of course!” Edward’s arms flung out to the sides to further express his excitement; as if he were a magician on stage presenting himself to an audience.
You raised a brow.
“Okay. I suppose that’s better than nothing.”
A heavy pound on the door had you snapping your head in its direction as the security guard on the other side called for you.
‘Had it been an hour already?’
Before you could answer, much less stand, the door flung open and the same security guard as before barged in.
“Okay, Nigma! It’s time to go,” the guard began pulling him up by his upper arm. Edward struggled as he attempted to throw another glance over at you.
“Doctor! Feed me, and I thrive, give me water, and I die. What am I?” Edward called from over his shoulder as he was led down the hall. “Answer my riddle by our next meeting, doctor, and I’ll answer a question for you!”
He was completely out of sight by the time you got to the door but you already knew the answer to his riddler.
“Fire,” you said to the emptiness of the hall.
Things continued like this in a much similar fashion for, much to everyone’s surprise, the next month. You had grown to, dare you say it, even come to love your sessions with Edward. Your peers were impressed but it was clear by the way they looked at you that they suspected that Edward was up to something- that he was only playing nice to distract you from his bigger plot. You supposed you also had doubts in Edward as well- you liked him, sure, and very much believed he was capable of reform if his heart so desired; but that was the issue, Edward well and truly did not desire to live an honest life.
It was difficult some days to even talk to him. His mood swings came so rapidly and unpredictably it was near impossible to get him to see reason in his actions. On one such day that this occurred you yourself weren’t in the best of moods and your usual morning session with Edward did not lift your spirits as you had hoped it would.
Your husband had reached out to you. Well, ex husband technically, but that wasn’t the point. A few days before you started working at Arkham you had reached out to your family.
They were difficult people and you found that they often gave you heart ache, but they were family and you loved them all the same and had wanted to try to rekindle some warmth back into the relationship that you had with them. Naturally, they were worried for you when they caught wind of you serving divorce papers to Jonthan (your ex husband) and that you had moved to the most dangerous city in America- but were greatly relieved in hearing from you and encouraged you to come and visit and to do so often. Jonathan seemed to have taken your separation well and respected your wishes in wanting space, but that did little to ease the pain you felt in hearing his voice over the phone.
He’d called you just moments after your first session of the day. Since starting your work with Edward, the Warden has assigned you a few more patients to your schedule.
Jonathan was doing as well as a man whose wife just left could’ve been. He sounded genuinely glad to hear from you, and although he didn’t outright say it- you could tell he was dropping hints of you coming back to him.
Your marriage to your (ex)husband wasn’t all bad- in fact, it wasn’t bad at all. It just…. Died. He was a busy man and dedicated most of his time to his work, which you knew was important, but over the few years that you had been together- your nights of loneliness grew more common than not.
You were glad to hear from him, but once the call had ended you couldn’t help the onslaught of tears from spilling.
Edward was in a bad mood (when was he not?) and although you considered yourself an expert in not taking his words to heart, today was not your day and his sour attitude only made things worse.
He stormed into your office earlier than he was scheduled, catching you off guard and plopped himself down in your chair, ranting and raving about his newest gripe. All things you were quite accustomed to at this point in your relationship with this patient.
You didn’t expect a “hello, how are you?” from Edward, you never did. But what came after set your already fragile mind over the edge.
Edward was annoyed, this was apparent, but for the first time since you’d started treating him- he was irritated with you, and showed no ounce of mercy in his insults he sputtered out bitterly towards you. Apparently, you had accidentally written up the wrong prescription of medicine for him (not that he ever actually took his medication–) and that greatly offended him. He was, after all, The Great Edward Nigma!
How could you possibly get him mixed up with another patient? All were beneath him and his complete originality.
You must not have been as smart as Edward had initially thought you to be- or perhaps- you must’ve thought that Edward was stupid enough not to notice. Did you not care about him? He should be your absolute priority!
All these things Edward said to you, his angry blue gaze hardening when he saw the paliness of your face… until you broke, and that calm friendliness he was so used to tethered away into something small and sad. He was speechless and immediately closed his yapping mouth when the tears began rolling down your cheeks. You ran out of the office before he could stop you; a moment later a guard came in and escorted him back to his cell.
Edward was a fool. A terrible, terrible fool. He thought so to himself as he laid wide awake on the stiff mattress of his cell.
The way you ran out on him made him feel– dare he say it– bad and he didn’t want you to be done with him. With other doctors, Edward had not cared an ounce for them– they were stupid, weak-minded, and uninteresting.
You were not, and he feared that after today you’d schedule him to start seeing other doctors. But something kept nagging at the back of his mind, something he just couldn’t wrap his genius mind around– why were you so sensitive today? Of the past few months that he’d been in your care he’s insulted and belittled you on multiple occasions; granted, in pure humor, but still!
You should be used to his antics by now, right? Unless it was all a front and you secretly had not been enjoying his company as he had hoped.
Edward stood up from his bed and unscrewed the bolts that nailed the toilet to the wall of his cell. He’d discovered a faulty place in the cement wall his first day here and used the space behind the toilet to weasel his way all throughout Arkham for the past several weeks. Mostly, he’d go out at night to set up more riddles for when the Bat inevitably came to Arkham– but tonight he needed to go to your office.
He had questions and he felt that your office was the best place to look for them.
The tunnel behind Edward’s cell toilet led to a grate that ran throughout the flooring in his ward. From there he quietly crept beneath security until he reached another grate– one that led out into the Court Yard; and from there the charlatan was out in the open air of the night. He was not safe, however.
If there was one thing that The Riddler had to give credit to, it was that Arkham did not skip out on security. Luckily for Edward, he was a genius and had grown to know these walls quite well. Edward knew exactly where to walk to avoid surveillance– which routes the guards typically patrolled, and how to be silent and low to the ground.
It took the rogue an entire 15 minutes to make his way across the courtyard and right up to the main mansion of the asylum. This was where all of the psychiatrists had their offices held– this was where, for the past several weeks, he’d been escorted to for your daily sessions.
Edward could not simply walk up the steps, however, and had to repeat the same tedious process of crawling beneath the flooring as he had to escape his cell block. Eventually, he ran out of space to crawl and was forced to take a step ladder that led him to crawling through the AC ducts in the ceiling.
A few wrong turns and a stubbed toe later, Edward had made it to your office. But something was wrong, the light in your office was on and he could clearly hear you talking to someone. Shouldn’t you have been home by now? Why were you working so late? It was nearly 10!
Edward, as quietly as he could, slithered forward on his stomach and peered down from the ventilation opening. From his point of view, all that he could see was straight down at the back corner of your office. He could see the top of your bookshelf and partially your desk chair; due to this the rogue was forced to listen in on your conversation.
“It’s not your fault, Jonathan. It’s just… I settled down too quickly. You did nothing wrong, I just need some time alone.”
You sniffled, and then there was a brief pause before you continued. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that you were on the phone with someone. A boyfriend, perhaps?
Edward had noticed the ring mark on your wedding finger; so was this ‘Jonathan’ fellow your ex husband? Why did the two of you split to begin with? And were you planning on getting back together with him?
Edward’s mind buzzed with dozens of questions.
The conversation ended soon after with you confirming Edwards theory with a “goodbye. I love you.”
Edward stayed put until he saw the light go out and heard the closing of your office door. He shuffled his way back down the shaft soon after. He no longer needed to dig around for information as to why you were upset– you had unknowingly given him answers.
Edward did not see you the next day, nor the day after that- but that was due to the fact that it was the weekend. So when Monday finally rolled around the intellect anxiously counted the hours until your session, and felt a great amount of relief flood him when a guard came and escorted him to your office.
“I know things weren’t the best during our last session and I wanted to apologize for running out on you. That was very unprofessional of me,” you started after a quick morning greeting.
Edward felt a boisterous amount of happiness. You were still his doctor and had not given up on him, and whatever happened over the weekend was clearly enough to set your head back on straight. Good.
The sooner you dealt with your drama the sooner you could give all of your undivided attention back to him, as it should be.
“I’m glad you're seeing reason again, Doctor,” Edward smiled. “I’ll forgive this small setback.”
Something strange flickered across your expression. Something ugly but not something that Edward was unfamiliar with. He knew what it was that you were feeling.
Disgust.
But why? Why were you repulsed by him? Was it something he said?
Nononono! This is NOT how this is supposed to go! Why aren’t you bedazzled by him?
Weren’t you two friends? Did you no longer like him?
The look of discomfort left your face; the soft smile you usually wore was back and you were talking again.
“Well. In any case… I’m glad you’re in a good mood today. Did you have a good weekend?”
That’s stupid, Edward thought. He’s in Arkham, how did you think his weekend went? But Edward did not say this, he’d offended you enough lately and knew his relationship with you was on thin ice.
But why did he care? That was the question he refused to answer. All he knew was that he liked the attention you gave him and he wanted more of it.
“I suppose I am,” Edward hummed. “I’m excited about leaving Arkham. Say, Doctor, do you like Italian? There’s a quaint little place on the corner of 1st Street in downtown Burnside that I enjoy… perhaps we should dine there together.”
You laughed—a nervous laugh, but still a laugh nonetheless.
“Eddie…” He liked it when you called him that. “You haven’t been offered parole yet- don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself now?”
Edward only smiled.
Deep down you knew he was leaving. He was The Riddler, after all. And time and time again he’s proven he can and will escape Arkham Asylum.
You knew from the moment you took on this patient that it was only a matter of time before he grew board or cocked up some new scheme for the Bat and needed to leave Arkham— you just never knew that you’d want him to stay as bad as you did; and not for the professional reasons that someone of your standing should’ve had. You liked him a lot.
It is for this reason that you felt your heart pounding and fluttering in your chest wildly as you stared through the darkness of your bedroom at Edward. You waited with bated breath for his next move, realizing awkwardly too late that he was pinned in his current position by a fierce grip that you held on his wrist. Hesitantly, you let go–
“Wait…!!” You called him as he moved away, but then stilled instantly at the sound of your voice. You were honestly not expecting this and instead had assumed he’d bolt out the door for you to never see him again the moment you let go. So the moment he didn’t, you had to recuperate your thoughts to form a logical explanation for him to understand.
“I want to be with you! Please stay.”
Were you begging him? Pitiful. Absolutely sad.
You wanted to choke out a cry, you felt tears welling in your eyes and then— then Edward was on top of you- he was cradling your face in his hands and melting his lips into yours. And you were kissing him, too.
His lips were warm and inviting and so wonderfully shaped– wide and thin, but a perfect contrast to yours. And then you were pressing yourself up to meet him better and he was struggling to unravel your body from the thick white hospital bed covers.
You were glad you had decided to volunteer to work overnight, and you paid little to no mind as to how or when Edward could’ve possibly found out this information– he was The Riddler, after all. You’re sure he had his ways.
“You’re a temptress. A devious fiend out for my own heart!”
He was muttering nonsense in your ear and you were positively on fire!
Before you knew it, his hands– calloused and hot– were sliding up underneath the shirt you wore to bed. You gasped, kicked the covers completely off, and moaned when his hands cupped your breasts.
This is perfect! This is positively perfect!!
You were attempting to unzip the jumpsuit he wore, but his hands and arms kept getting in the way. Finally annoyed with your antics, he sat back– completely removing his body away from you in the process (and you whined dramatically as he did so) before unzipping his suit and kicking off his boots. His boots dropped to the floor, making a soft thudding noise when they landed.
You wondered, very briefly to yourself, whether or not anyone passing by the door to the room you were staying in would hear– then quickly you remembered that the walls in this part of the facility were concrete and the door a thick wood. The place was designed to offer comfort to the other patients trying to sleep should one of them start screaming and yelling in the night.
Edward’s body was back on you not a moment after he shrugged his shoulders out of his orange jumpsuit. His kisses were wild and frantic– like he was a fish out of water and you were the great salty ocean.
He broke the kiss once more; this time to remove the white wife beater he wore under the jumpsuit and to slide out of the bottom pants portion of said jumpsuit. You took this opportunity to follow his lead and to also toss off your t-shirt, leaving the two of you to shiver in your underwear.
Though the room was incredibly dark and you could only barely make out Edward’s figure, you greatly admired his lean and toned muscles that adorned his biceps and tummy. Edward was the definition of tall and skinny, but his body proportions were, by no means, awkward. He was beautiful, and somehow every inch of his body— every curve, fold, wrinkle, and mole (to you) just made sense.
You moaned deeply when your greedy lips met him again and your hands landed squarely on his shoulders when he shimmed his way in between your legs.
Yes, this is right. This is perfect! This is exactly what I have been wanting!!
You thought these filthy little things to yourself; moaning and writhing beneath Edward. Edward was pressing himself into you now, the fabric of his underwear grating against your crotch. He was as hard as a rock and… oh… a lot bigger than you expected!
It was stupid. It was entirely dumb and silly, and you felt like a child for it– but you blushed. Deeply, annoyingly, and secretly within the darkness of the room.
Here you were, a grown ass woman with a PHD and years of experience from being married– and you were blushing like a silly little school girl. How hilarious, thank goodness Edward could not see the details of your face.
Your breath caught in your throat and your mind abandoned its self-sabotaging thoughts for all but a moment when Edward pushed himself forward and into you. He must’ve pulled himself out of his garments and slipped past your own without you knowing because now he was inside of you. The ex-data analyst set a brutal pace in his movements, leaving you to go as limp as spaghetti noodles in his arms.
Edward moved fast and hard, delving in and out of you– all you could do was try and grasp for some sort of control by perching your hands on his upper arms; but even that was a struggle to do. He was muttering stuff under his breath that fanned out across the side of your face– absolute nonsense mixed in with moans and grunts. You felt a great sense of pride in being here to provide him pleasure– being able to reduce a man as magnificent as Edward Nigma to mere putty in your hands.
He was beautiful, he was fantastic, and you could’ve fallen in love with him at that moment. Could’ve. You wouldn’t, however.
You couldn’t allow yourself to get that close to him, not only because he was your patient and doing what you were doing now was breaching so many boundaries on so many levels of trust that you should’ve never given into to begin with– but because Edward Nigma was a dangerous man. He is a mastermind and probably the smartest man in this city, and on top of all of that, he was a criminal. A criminal who specializes in gathering information and then blackmailing other dangerous individuals into doing his dirty work.
It is because of that very reason that you did not fully give in to your desires. You felt the familiarity of the tightening in your gut– recognized what was about to happen by the frantic rhythm of Edward’s thrusts, but even so, did not allow yourself to become completely undone.
Edward shuttered above you and collapsed in clear exhaustion when he had finished. His weight on you brought a comfort that you had not known in quite some time, and to show appreciation for him you hummed and kissed his temple; running your fingers through his hair and along his back. The two of you stayed this way for what felt like hours.
Eventually, sometime in the night, he rolled off you and began gathering his clothes. You feigned sleep as he left and stayed frozen to your spot until the morning. Your only hope is that you would run into him again some day under better circumstances.
But until then, you would have to bury the memory of this sleepless night.
Part 2? I'm open to commissions via Patreon members!
