Ask: "shakes ur hand. hope it's not too much, but could i req some headcanons on what'd it'd be like to date the riddler/edward nashton? i dont mind SFW or NSFW! :3"
Contents/Possible Warnings: Angst, Edward is slightly a little creep, fluff, GN!Reader/AMAB and AFAB inclusive, smut warnings in labeled section, SMUT, MDNI
Other Notes: I did both SFW and NSFW, but they're separated into labeled sections in case anybody wants to only read one or the other. I'm happy to be writing for Eddie again! Thank you, Anon. 💚
SFW Headcanons:
You're most likely to meet him somewhere he frequents heavily, such as his workplace or his favorite diner. You're probably his coworker in some way or someone who works/is a regular at the diner. He's not very social, so it'll take him a while before he greets you in any way. Expect a lot of glances or small smiles from him before he feels confident enough to strike up a conversation with you.
Alternatively, you could even be a follower of his. This would change the meeting dynamic a lot, as he'd be more confident in talking to you; he does have ways of knowing things about you if you attend his streams (you should probably invest in better security for your computer, y'know.)
Edward has never had any sort of long-term or serious/semi-serious relationship before you, which is something he's never been proud of. His relationships before you were short-lived and when he was much younger, and they typically came to be because someone pitied him or needed to use him for something. They were hardly really even relationships.
He doesn't form bonds easily with others on account of never really being given the chance, so his relationship with you cycles between him being distant and scared to interact with you out of fear of rejection or abandonment, all the way to him being very clingy and affectionate when he realizes you're not leaving.
Even when he's deep into his fears regarding rejection, he's still very loving. Not a day goes by without him telling you how much he appreciates and loves you. You're the first person in his eyes to truly give him a chance, and he'll never let that go.
Similar to how he sees Batman before meeting him face-to-face in Arkham, Edward thinks you're the only good thing in the city. You are his angel in every sense of the word, a beacon of light in his miserable life.
Going back to the topic of affection, he starts very awkwardly. He's touch-starved in every single way. He's rarely been hugged, kissed, cuddled, etc. He craves affection, but it scares him at first, because he's afraid of fucking it up and pushing you away.
His first kiss with you is something you initiate, and he freezes up when your lips touch his. With his heart pounding in his chest from pure adrenaline, he melts into it, letting out a desperate whine against your lips. He is pathetic in an endearing way.
You'll have to teach him how to kiss, but he's a quick, eager learner. Soon after, kisses will become a primary form of affection for him (giving and receiving).
He's the first one to say "I love you," albeit accidentally. It had slipped out one night while you were on a date, and while he meant it he worried it was too soon, or that he had even might've mistaken your relationship for something more serious than you had seen it.
You had to reassure him that everything was alright and that you did share his feelings. "I love you, Eddie." You had told him.
He had never heard those words before, and they felt exhilarating to hear. He almost started crying, but held it back because you were both in the middle of a restaurant and he didn't want to embarrass you. Once you two get home he hugs you tightly, crying into your shoulder as he does. He's just so happy.
Jumping to discuss his inevitable change into the Riddler, he's very secretive about it in the beginning. It's for three main reasons: he doesn't want to jeopardize his plans and work, he doesn't want to scare you, and lastly, he doesn't want to lose you.
You found out on your own, discovering his whole Riddler outfit hidden carefully in a mostly unused storage closet in your shared apartment. You do eventually accept him and what he's doing to some extent, but his hiding it from you does cause tension and a newfound distrust in your relationship.
Once things settle he's eager to show you off to his followers. He covers what features need to be covered, of course. With a mask of your own covering your face, he gleefully introduces you to his watchers, a myriad of giggles leaving him as he does.
You're met with a positive reception by his chat, with many asking to see you in future streams. You become a feature of his tamer ones, usually being in the background or chiming in occasionally.
Weirdly, his crazed giggles and little riddles are nice to hear. They mean he's happy, and that's what you want for him. He's lived a horrible, lonely life and you think he deserves something good for a change.
All in all, Edward is an awkward, but sweet man to be with. Even when he's dangerous and out for blood when donned in his Riddler persona, he'd still never hurt you. He's in love for the first time in his life, and every part of him cherishes you. Whether he's your Eddie or the infamous Riddler, a lot of love is to be expected from him. He'd happily kill for you, no questions asked.
Bonus: He gives you a lot of cards filled with cheesy, romantic riddles. "What flower is kissable? Tulips." Or "What did the paper clip say to the magnet? I find you very attractive!" The more it borders on being funnily cringe-worthy, the better it is to him.
NSFW Headcanons (Contains: Oral sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie, sex on a live stream, semi-clothed sex, questionable use of duct tape):
He fucks like he's in heat. The first time you have sex with him he's rutting into you, trying to get as much of you as possible. He's whimpering, moaning, and whining. He's loud, too. He tries to speak, to let you know how fucking good it feels and how much he loves you, but he's unable to. He's overwhelmed by it all, but it feels too amazing for him to stop
He doesn't last long during your first time, spilling into you with barely a warning, a long whine of your name leaving his mouth as he cums. When he's done he has a dopey smile on his face, green eyes glazed over.
He cuddles after sex every single time. He may like feeling used during the act itself sometimes, but afterward, he wants to feel loved. Snuggle with him, give him little kisses, and clean up with him and he's good to go. Sex is very intimate for him, especially when he's being submissive to you during the earlier parts of your relationship.
This man loves to give oral. He's sloppy and makes a mess of you while he does it, but he is eager to please. He sucks dick/eats pussy like it's his calling and his life depends on it. Please tug on his hair while he's on his knees for you, he loves it.
Edward may give you control, but the Riddler is a different story. The mask gives him confidence and makes him feel fully in control. He feels unstoppable. He'll be a lot rougher and degrading, often demanding you beg for him to touch you. Even so, he's still your Eddie under that mask, and Eddie fucks like he's desperate.
If you're up for it, the Riddler will have sex with you on his stream, claiming it's a little treat for his loyal followers. It gets him off knowing that even though you're being viewed by hundreds all across Gotham City, you're still his and he's the only one touching you. He likes to show off what's his.
He's a fan of taking Polaroids of you during the aftermath of your sessions. Some of his favorites have you tied up with his cum in or on you.
Speaking of tying you up, he likes to use duct tape on your wrists for some extra, kinky control over you.
Edward Nashton is a horny, desperate little freak.
sub!edward/dom!fem!reader and there’s some form of somno involved, maybe eddie wakes up needy from a wet dream and has to fuck reader’s thighs, or maybe reader wakes up to see edward sleepily humping her/their thigh and he accidentally overstimulates himself idk
i love ur work u write my beautiful wife eddie so well
Take What You Can Get
Thanks for the request, my love! i wish you and your wife every happiness 💖 (this may be a little darker than you were hoping for! if that's the case let me know and i'll try to write something else for you 🥰)
College! Edward Nashton x F! Reader
Warnings: 18+ ONLY, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT FOR REAL!!! very noncon, masturbation (m), somnophilia, thigh fucking, Eddie's a creep and a loser, I haven't read all the comics so idk how accurate this is gonna be to cannon, brief mentions of suicide, (i know the reader's reaction isn't "normal" or something you would do in this exact situation so you don't have to tell me that 🙃), language, and i think that's it!
You make noises in your sleep.
It's all Eddie can think about. Your apartment is too quiet already, and the typical sounds of the Gotham streets have been dampened by the freak snowstorm that coated the outside world in a pure white blanket and made Eddie completely miserable at the thought of biking back to his own (damp, dirty, freezing) apartment.
You had shrugged your shoulders the second or third time you caught him staring out the window at the falling flakes.
"You could just stay here tonight."
There was no couch for him to sleep on, and Eddie didn't have the words to offer to spend the night on your floor (which he'd gladly do whenever, if you asked him, curled up like a dog on your carpet). Instead, he'd followed you wordlessly into the bedroom and, pale and sweating, had taken up residence on the other side of your bed.
The improbability of it all is staggering. Eddie was already stunned mute when you cornered him after class, asking if he "wouldn't mind" tutoring you before the next test. There were plenty of guys who would've killed for that opportunity—guys with better grades, better looks, better everything—even without the crisp stack of bills you promised to give him at the end of it.
Then you had invited him to sit next to you at your little kitchen table, fed him some of the pizza you ordered for dinner, let your knee brush up against his thigh without pulling away. Tapped the end of your pencil against your teeth and looked up at him through your lashes each time you said, "okay, that makes more sense. Thanks, Eddie."
Thanks, Eddie. You said his name. Thought he was smart—even after he had to check his work three times before showing you how to do any of the problems with the way he'd gone all brainless from catching a glance of your bra strap. Trusted him enough to fall asleep beside him, filling his brain with those soft, breathy murmurs.
It's like every last scrap of luck he'd ever been given was saved for this moment. All the rat traps under his bed and the wicked sneers and the half-moons he'd dug into the palms of his hands were some kind of cosmic payment he'd owed just to get here.
And he's fucking wasting it.
Eddie rolls onto his back, one hand cupped behind his head, the other balled into a fist at his side. He's been hard for what feels like ages—had to tuck his stupid boner up into the waistband of his pants before you even let him into your apartment, lightheaded and anxious and in so much fucking pain, feeling too large for his body, too big for the space you've left him in your massive bed.
The mattress shifts, and he feels you even closer than before, the warmth of your face so near his own. Eddie watches you from the corner of his eye, waiting for . . . something. For you to wake up, or for him to realize that this is all some kind of dream, or prank, or punishment.
But there's none of that. Just your soft breaths ruffling through his hair, tickling the edge of his scalp. He can smell the mint of your toothpaste, the lavender in your shampoo.
Eddie knows it's wrong, and yet he's still slipping the button on his jeans with shaking fingers, running his nails through the soft hairs at the base of his stomach.
Plenty of things in this world are fucked up. Eddie just happens to be one of them.
The muscles in his abdomen clench before his touch meets the leaking tip of his cock, but he doesn't make a sound when he strokes his thumb over his slit with just enough pressure to border on pain.
Eddie's good at being quiet, had plenty of practice with the way he grew up—never completely alone, never sure he wouldn't be interrupted. It almost feels better this way, on pins and needles thinking about you bleary-eyed, watching him shoot his load all over your pristine sheets.
That's unlikely, though. He saw the little orange bottle of sleeping pills when he went snooping through your bathroom cabinets.
A grunt finds its way though Eddie's clenched teeth, and he pauses, recollects. He's hardly begun and already he's gonna blow it. It's not in his nature, but Eddie knows this is something he has to savor. So he's careful as he reaches into the waistband of his boxers, cupping his hot cock with one clammy hand.
He can't even really stroke at himself with the limited space he has—too afraid of the noise his rumbling zipper would make if he pulled it out of the way to give his hand more room. He shifts his hips instead—a short, jerky movement—and lets his calloused palm scrape against the swollen head.
It's not what he needs, but the relief is something. His breaths come fast and sharp through his nose with each brush, lips pressed so tight together they start to go numb.
And the little moans you keep making almost match the pace.
Eddie turns, cheeks flushed and an apology already on his lips, but you're still sleeping, as peaceful as before. There's a break in the curtains over your bed, letting in a milky spill of streetlight. His mind spins, and Eddie catalogues each detail—the smudge of your lashes, the soft curve of your mouth.
Before he can stop himself, Eddie reaches out with his free hand, palm cupping along the curve of your face with only an inch of darkness in between. His cock jumps, forcing a desperate whine from his lungs, but you don't stir.
Your skin is soft under his fingers. Softer than he would have imagined it—soft like some fine and expensive fabric, the kind that picks up every stray smudge. The kind they used to make altar coverings at the church, the ones Eddie was scolded for even looking at when he was younger, like his presence alone was enough to mar it somehow. But there's no mark left behind when Eddie strokes his finger across your cheek, no dirt or stain.
You'd never know he'd done it at all.
Eddie's thighs press tighter together, and his his thrusts grow sloppier, more intense as he takes you in: his hand stroking over your hair, down the slope of your neck, across your ribs. You don't wake for any of it, not even when Eddie—tentatively, his breath caught in his throat—presses his hand over your mouth.
He'll never have this kind of luck ever again. Eddie's willing to take what he can get.
The headboard knocks against the wall with a few quiet taps as he shimmies out of his jeans and your tits jiggle with the movement, nipples hard through the fabric of your shirt. Eddie feels like he's snuck into heaven when he presses close against you, your hot breath against his neck, the hem of your pajama pants slipping down under the curve of your ass when he tugs at them.
He's gonna be careful, of course. He doesn't want to leave any evidence behind, and this is more than enough. Eddie slips his fingers into the space between your thighs, feels the cotton pressed up against your cunt damp with sweat.
There will be a little more friction than he's used to, but that's okay. Eddie kind of likes it when it hurts.
His cock is dark red with blood and heavy with anticipation, thick veins throbbing, tip shining in the dim light; Eddie watches as he shifts nearer to the welcoming press of your thighs, teeth digging into his bottom lip until he can taste blood.
Eddie slips the head of his dick against your hot, slick skin, feels your body swallowing him. He takes in the different sensations: the rough fabric of your panties, the soft give of your covered pussy, the tug of your bared skin against his. He grips your ass cheeks with both hands, pulls you against him as he thrusts harder and deeper, like he's trying to break you apart.
Fuck. It's even better than he imagined—and Eddie's imagined a lot, thought about fucking you in ways god doesn't even know about. His whimpers turn into moans, and if he's not careful, he's gonna cum all over your thighs.
There's a subtle shift of your head against his shoulder, the trace of your lips he hardly notices. Not until you're mumbling his name against the skin of his neck.
"Mmmh, Eddie?"
The feeling is immediate and explosive—Eddie lets out a noise that could stop traffic when finishes, spurts of pearly cum shooting out the tip of his cock and coating your soft, tender skin.
Tears immediately pool at his lashes, a sob on his lips all part of his automatic response to getting caught. Eddie has no excuse, nothing to say beyond "I didn't think you'd find out."
You shift out of his grip with a groggy push, and Eddie watches as you take it all in: his cum seeping in streaks across your sticky skin, the smears of it on your sheets and pajama pants and his jeans.
He's about to start bawling, ready to offer you anything, ready to kill himself right here if you ask him to, but there's none of that. You turn your face away from the evidence of all of Eddie's failures, meeting his reddening eyes with your soft, sleepy gaze.
"God, Eddie. You made a mess."
He only sniffs in response, turning away. You're not yelling at him, at least. Eddie can't even mumble an apology, tucking his cock back into his pants and brushing the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand.
Then there's the grip of your fingers twining into the hair at the back of his neck, forcing him to look at you. It doesn't hurt, but there's an edge of pain there, pain Eddie knows he deserves and yet still can't swallow.
You don't tug though, don't pull, surprisingly gentle as you guide his face down, down, down, until his cheeks rests against your hip.
Eddie can hardly believe what he's hearing, as you urge him forward towards your glistening skin.
"Go on, Eddie. You gotta clean it up."
And Eddie will always take what he can get. He's not gonna make you tell him twice.
Warnings: smut (18+ only MDNI), murder, blood, the typical ya know, angst, so much angst, reader is a giant angst ball
Summary: You should've turned him away that night. Instead you let him in your home and into your mind and into your heart, and now he's burrowed himself so deep it feels like cutting out a vital organ to send him away.
Authors Note: ugh i missed TTS's second birthday by two days! this has been a long time coming, i know, and i'm sorry for that. i am still not 100% happy with this version of the fic but i cannot leave this trilogy unfinished any longer so with that being said, i hope you enjoy <3 -abram
Ao3 Link
It's been a little over a month since the flood and Edward's arrest. You never went back to Gotham. Although you thought about it, but that was before you got the call from KTMJ. They had urged you to come back, stating that they'd operate through difficult times.
You had sighed and given them a brief answer, "Um, yeah, I'll let you know by the end of the week. Thanks."
You hesitated, "Before I go, has the Forensic Accountant position been filled?"
The woman on the phone takes a moment to rustle through paperwork before giving you a short "It has."
You never went back to KTMJ. You began renting an apartment two cities over. You want to get as far away from Gotham as possible, but you'd have to settle for now because of your budget.
The days are long. Work at a restaurant downtown doesn't do much to ease your troubles. The customers are obnoxious and the hours are long, but you're lucky enough to find a mutual toleration between your coworkers.
Of course, none of them really know you. They don't know the things you've been through, or the city you came from. Nor did they know the place you had previously worked, or the people you once knew. And honestly you doubt they'd even care, but it's lonely. So incredibly lonely without anyone to find solace in. Nobody who really sees you.
So instead you take solace in the strangers you take home for a short time. Their arms are warm with pumping blood and their hands are deliciously rough as they push up your thighs.
But they aren't gentle with you the way that he was. They don't hold you like they want to keep you safe like Edward had. You can't help but feel a pain in your chest as you squeeze your eyes shut and try to imagine it's Edward's hands pushing up your thighs to your chest and pushing into you without care.
You stop letting your one night stands stay the night after a week or so. After you realized the night terrors weren't going to stop. It was easier to kick them out than to scramble up an excuse that doesn't involve the phrase:
I think I'm in love with a serial killer.
It was easier to spare them the experience of waking up to your screams and cries and your shaking shoulders. The vivid nightmares are never the same. But you always remember them. You always remember the vivid red stain of Edward's blood on your hands as you hold his bleeding form to your chest.
Maybe it's the thought of never being able to see him again that is bringing on the idea of his death in your dreams. And truthfully you had thought about attempting to visit him in Arkham, but the flood made that nearly impossible.
But you crave to see him. You often wonder if they are truly trying to help him, or if they've simply thrown him behind bars to rot. Maybe they'd drugged him up so much he couldn't even form coherent thoughts. Were they feeding him enough? Did he see a therapist?
You have to splash cold water on your face to break the cycling questions bouncing around in your head. Were you even really in love with him? Or were you just looking for that rush that he had given you that night?
No, you can't visit him. You had just gotten The Bat off of your case. You decided it was probably in your best interest to keep your distance.
━
The Bat had visited your apartment about three weeks after the flood.
The knock on the door of your new apartment startles you. You don't know many people in the city. You've made friends with coworkers but it ended there. But the knocking is persistent.
You're shocked to see him. The elusive figure who you'd spoken to only weeks prior, just after the flood. You blink up at his looming figure, looking for something to say but he beats you to it,
"Can I talk to you?"
You find yourself simply nodding quickly and opening the door wider for him to enter. You pour him a glass of water and wait for what he had to say. It feels silly sitting in your tiny kitchen, listening intently to the man in this costume. But his voice and his attitude show a sense of dominance that's just enough to make you feel obligated to listen.
He's not the cops, you remind yourself.
"You moved quickly."
You swallow a sip of water and glance up at him. "Yeah... Well Gotham was kind of impossible to live in after the flood so."
He simply stares as you answer before another question, "You didn't attempt to go back to KTMJ?" You shake your head in response. "It's a little hard to go back after an event like that, don't you think?"
"I talked to your coworkers."
You raise an eyebrow at him, unsure of where he's going with his statement. "You were close to him. To The Riddler." He hisses out Edward's alias as if it disgusts him to even say it, and it immediately sours your mood. You scoff, "What did Zach tell you that?"
He doesn't answer your question, but continues to speak. "He's not just a coworker. You knew him better than that, didn't you?" You furrow your brows at his words.
"What are you trying to assume?"
"What did he tell you? Did you know about what he was planning? You could've saved lives!" He's raising his voice and you can't help but pinch the bridge of your nose before the frustration finally peaks.
"I knew Edward! Edward. Not The Riddler. Okay? I didn't know anything!"
You stare with a stern, straight face as you stand from the table to tower over him to give yourself any bit of confidence over him that you could. And you did what Edward might have hated, and lied right through your teeth.
"I slept with him. One time. It was one time after a single date."
He tilts his head as he listens.
"I don't think I'm responsible for the actions of a man that I fucked one time, and I'd hope that my coworkers wouldn't think so either."
It left a bitter taste in your mouth, because Edward was more than just a man you had fucked. You cared about him. You cared what happened to him.
"I liked him. It's true. He came over for dinner one time, we had sex, and a week later I see him on the news. So, tell me, what am I meant to do about that?"
You lie so easily. It shocks you how easily the words flow from your lips. He stares before standing up and starting to speak, but you're so worked up. You could cry. You want him out of your apartment. "You're not a cop. If you want to question me more you can call one of your buddies and have them get here. Otherwise, please, get the hell out of my apartment.
He complies without a fight and you slam the door shut as soon ask his feet cross the threshold into the hallway.
And you had thought about it nearly every single day since. You can only imagine it- your old coworkers huddled around in a circle the minute they return to KTMJ with yours and Edward's names on their tongues. You imagine they are making their own scenarios by now. Hell, Zach is probably leading the pack of slut shaming insults that are floating around that office building and into the ears of this costumed vigilante.
You can't rightfully be angry. You did know what Edward was doing. In fact you had known it nearly a week before the flood even happened, and you chose to do nothing. You've accepted the fact that you aren't a good person, but it would make it easier to move on if Edward wasn't constantly taking up space in your mind.
Innocent people died and you still want him. You're a monster.
Nausea bubbles in your stomach.
━
It's weeks later when you see the headline. Staring down at your phone on the subway ride home, your body turns to ice.
'Multiple Patients Escape Arkham State Hospital'
Your eyes are wide and your hands shakes as you scroll through the article, skimming until you see his name and face. It's an old mugshot, one you've seen before.
Your mind is racing, and you practically sprint home from your subway stop. You can only think of his words before he had turned himself in, the last time you had seen him.
"I promise if I ever get out, I'll find you."
But he wouldn't be there that night. Or the next night. Or even the next month. And by that point you had given up any hope that he would show. Perhaps he had regretted what happened between the two of you. Perhaps there was another person. Another reason.
You fill your days the best you can with unimportant tasks. You start going out more, recklessly. Drinking by yourself. You know you shouldn't. It could lead to trouble. Trouble that you couldn't get yourself out of like you had previously. But you can't help yourself. You almost don't remember him or the flood when you drink. It's peaceful.
You start to wonder, did you even want him here? Would his presence fill a void that you had within you for so long now? Or would it just make you feel worse? Would it fuck up your life more than it already had?
You try to stop asking yourself the questions as you toss back a shot. The bar is loud. Not as loud as the Iceberg Lounge had been back in Gotham, but loud enough to now allow anymore vicious thoughts to enter your mind. It's bliss, if only for a short while.
But you won't let yourself get too far. You've never been here. You don't know the people here. You need to be decently sober minded. You hoped that this city wouldn't reflect the cruelty that plagued Gotham. You'd never think of entering a bar on your own in Gotham.
You gather your coat from the back of the chair you've sat and thrown it on as you walk from the bar. You can feel a pair of eyes watching you as you do. Because you know that feeling. It makes you shiver and think of all the times he had watched you through your window. Secretly you entertain the idea that it might be him again.
But it's not, and you spot the dark haired man right away. He's older, wrinkled, dressed decently. You can tell the way he attempts to appear unassuming as he slithers around the corner you had just passed.
You clench your fist in your pocket. You had walked to the bar. You have no keys. You have no form of self defense, besides your own hands and feet. And you can hear his footsteps so clearly as you attempt to escape from him into the alley. And then he speaks, calling out to you.
"Hey!"
You attempt to ignore him, understanding that this might be the wrong move. People get murdered everyday for saying 'no.' His steps become quicker as he is starting to close the distance between you.
"Sweetheart!"
You continue to ignore, picking up your pace. But he's so close, too close to ignore as you feel your body jolt to a stop as his hand catches your arm. You let out a small yelp as he pulls your body around to face him.
"Where are you headed? It's a little early to call it quits, huh?"
You stay quiet and avoid his eye contact, never looking at his face. It only pisses him off as he harshly grabs your chin to force your eyes in his direction. "Look at me, yeah? How about you come back with me? Have some fun, sweetheart." You look into his eyes, attempting to calm the situation. And suddenly you're a small child again. Authority is looking you right in the eye and you can't help but start to break down. Your voice is shaking like the rest of you.
"Please...I- I don't think- I can give you money, just-"
Pathetic, you think. You were a fool to think this city would be different.
The monster's hands are all over your body. "It's okay, sweetheart, what you have is worth so much more than money." You've gone numb, your body preparing to accept the pain that is about to hit you as he presses your back against the brick wall.
But instead of pain, it's a seething warmth splashing up onto your face and down your neck. His weight is falling on top of you as you slide yourself down the wall until you hit the ground.
Hot. Red. Hot. Red.
It's all you can think before you meet the familiar figure above you. Green vinyl. A blood stained knife in one hand. The figure kicks the man's lifeless and twitching corpse off of your body. You finally draw in a breath.
"I couldn't stay away."
You're on the wet asphalt of the dark alley, covered from your face to your chest in the monster's blood. You're unable to say anything. You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. Your ears are ringing. You can only stare up at the familiar shade of green with wide eyes.
"Come on. Let's get you home."
It's unclear if he's talking to you or himself. He holds out a hand to help you off the ground. He is desperately wiping at your face to smear most of the drying blood from your cheeks, and takes his overcoat off to wrap it around your bloodied torso. His hands linger a little longer on your shoulders and suddenly the reality of your situation hits. The shock and adrenaline are wearing off and you're suddenly shaking and hot tears are falling down your cheeks.
"Edward..."
He pushes a small piece of your hair from your eyes. For the first time you aren't crying in fear at the sight of him, but rather relief.
He follows you home and into your apartment. As soon as he crosses the threshold, you find your fingers ripping the mask from his face. He looks just like you remember him- soft, fair, cherubic. His hair is longer. His frame is slightly thinner than you remember. You run your thumb over a scar that's formed on his cheekbone, furrowing your brows as you take in his features.
His lips feel the same as you remember- chapped, plush, warm. His bloodied and gloved hand on the small of your back is the only thing keeping you grounded in the moment. Blood has transferred in flakes from your lips to his and you're suddenly itching to wash it from you. You want nothing of that monster on your skin, or Edward's.
He's obedient and quiet. He lets you pull him into your bathroom and strip him down as if it was the most normal and mundane task you'd ever done. He clings to you in the shower, like he never wants you more than an inch from him. You're okay with it, you think as you press a cheek to his bare chest.
You realize you've not said a word to him since you spoke his name in the alley.
"I never thought I'd see you again."
It's an honest confession. Not that you didn't think he was strong enough to survive after an escape, just that you'd accepted he had no desire to see you any further.
"Yeah...Me neither."
His hands rub gently at your face, washing away the flakes of caked blood.You close your eyes and lean into it.
The water around the two of you is finally beginning to run clear instead of red. You pull your cheek from his chest and glance over his entire figure. "I've never seen you like this."
He had seen you like this. You know he has. Maybe that's why it felt so satisfying to finally have him this vulnerable. He cocks his head and you finish, "Bare, ya know. That last night it was dark and quick and I didn't see you like this."
His face flattens like he's nervous. "I like it." He stares down at you like he can't believe you'd said it. Like he can't believe you'd like him without the facade of The Riddler, just Edward. He only stares for a moment longer before his lips are back on yours.
The intimacy of his hands in your hair, washing the tiny bits of coagulated blood from the strands is surreal. It's some fucked up version of all of the romance books you had read as a teenager.
You let yourself lean into it anyway.
━
You don't even bother dressing yourself after the shower. You urge him to do the same. You want that closeness. The comfort of his skin on yours in a way that is intimate without the added sexual intention.
Your body clings to his in your bed. He's laid down with you, brushing your hair and tangling his limbs with yours under the blankets. His presence soothes you quicker than anything. You almost forget the actions that had transpired, the way you were almost taken from in the most vile way. The way he had killed for you.
Rain patters outside your window. It's so peaceful. It almost feels domestic. Once again you're thinking about what could've been. Maybe if you had met Edward on the playground instead of the office things would've been different. Maybe he would've had a crush on you. Maybe you would've denied it until you were older. Maybe you would've snuck out into the night together and kissed in cars. Maybe he wouldn't have felt like he had to do the things he's done.
You miss him. Even with his warm body pressed up against yours you miss him. You miss his glances from across the room. You miss looking over his shoulder at his crossword puzzles. You miss his presence within your life. For the past year it's been missing, and there was no clean cut. His page had been messily ripped from your book.
The thoughts of casually dating like normal do plagues your mind. You imagine coming home to the same apartment every night after work. The feeling of his hand on the small of your back while you cook dinner. His scent permanently seeped into your sheets.
You mourn a life you've never even lived.
But he looks perfect next to you in this moment. His eyes are soft, and that same striking green color you remember. He looks so tired, but still he just looks at you like he never wants to close his eyes. His hand brushes your cheek.
"I wanted to stay away, but I couldn't."
You furrow your brows. You can't help but feel a slight sting at the idea that he may not have wanted to see you again. "Why?"
"It's not just me. There's other people involved now and I didn't want you getting wrapped up in it." He strokes a gentle thumb over your bottom lip. "I don't trust them to know about you yet. So I stayed away."
You frown as he continues speaking, "You'd moved away from it all. I thought for sure you'd move on. But that fucker'shands on you changed my mind."
He lowers his voice to a whisper,
"I'll never let anyone touch you like that."
His words make you feel something between a flame and a flutter in your stomach. He had rescued you, like some hero in the night. No longer just a dark figure in a window, but the man you loved there to rescue you.
You can feel tears welling in your eyes.
"I want to leave with you. I wanna go so far away that nobody ever sees us again."
He smiles a sad smile in response, but you need him to know you mean what you said.
"I'm serious. I don't want you to go again."
"I'm not sure I have a choice."
And that's the moment you snap back to reality. He's not a hero. He had hurt many people. The flood undoubtedly hurt innocent people. And the GCPD would never stop looking for him. Your face drops.
"Right."
You kiss his forehead before turning onto your other side. You can't look at him anymore. And you don't want him to see your tears. So instead you relax into him as he wraps an arm around you.
━
The next morning he's gone from the bed. You feel panic fall over you for a second before you see the note on your tiny nightstand.
I'll be back. -E.
You sigh. Yeah, when?
His bloodied belongings are gone and he's cleaned the mess of the bathroom. It's almost as if he'd never been there at all. And you think you could convince yourself of that if it weren't for his scrawled handwriting on the paper beside your bed.
You attempt to enjoy a day off, but quickly find yourself wishing that you had been called in to take a shift. It's quiet. Normally you'd find it pleasant, but you find it hard to bear after the events of the night before.
You rip up the piece of paper he'd had left and flush the remaining evidence down the toilet. As soon as your bare feet hit the cold tile you hear a knock at the door. Through the peephole, you're met with a familiar figure. The Bat.
You pause for a moment to gather your thoughts. Shit. It's time to be serious, you think as you open the door slowly. He says your name in that familiar deep voice. One that shrills out almost like a harsh whisper.
You stand, feigning confidence. You glance around, halfway expecting a police officer to be accompanying him. But he's alone.
"I thought I told you last time that if you want to talk to me you can bring your cop buddy."
He doesn't budge. You'd be lying if you said the armor didn't make him intimidating. "Where is he?"
You stand still, unmoving in the doorway. "Aren't you supposed to be the one figuring that out? I don't know where he is."
It's not a total lie. You need to make him believe you. You open the door, allowing him in as you continue to speak. "I saw the news. It's impossible to avoid. I almost expected him to show up here, but he never did."
Lie. Lie. Lie. Lie.
You shut the door behind him. "You expect me to believe that?" You push down the irritation you feel at his words. "You can look everywhere here. I don't care. As long as you leave me alone after this."
You hope Edward had been smart. You pray that he had cleaned up the way you thought he had. As if he was never here.
The Bat makes his way around the apartment. You sit at your dining table and pour yourself a glass of wine. You'd rather not hover, it'd only make you look nervous.
And by the time he makes his way back to you, your heart is beating fast. You wait for him to speak.
"A man was murdered in an alley downtown. Stabbed to death."
You sigh. "I don't know what you expect me to say to that. People die every day." You stand to show him the door. "If you searched what you want to search I'd love it if you would-" Before you can reach for the doorknob, his hand catches your arm. It takes you back to the previous night in the alley, and you find yourself flinching back.
"If he shows up here, don't be stupid. He's a murderer. Don't put yourself in that situation."
You nod quickly before opening the door and gesturing for him to leave. He lightens up slightly, clearly noticing the way way you had flinched away from him. He steps out of the apartment.
"Be safe."
You shut the door.
━
You continue to sip the wine all day. Your nerves are shot. And there's still no sign of Edward. You run a bath and sink into it. The water is hot, hotter than you'd usually like, but the sting feels good tonight. You close your eyes, sighing out a breath until you hear the click of the lock. You startle a bit, snapping your eyes open quickly and turning to face the open bathroom doorway that faces your bedroom.
"Edward?"
Whoever it is doesn't respond but you can hear the footsteps slowly approaching. Your heart beats faster and faster and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears. But as the footsteps reach the bedroom you can see him in the dark, familiar build and glasses glinting in the light that seeps in from the bathroom.
You let out a sharp exhale as he walks into the bathroom. "You scared the shit out of me."
You rest your forehead on one of your palms. He kneels down next to the tub and smoothes a hand down the side of your head. "I'm sorry. I took the spare key."
"You could've told me."
You hate how mean you sound, but you're tense. And the stress is building. You sigh again. "I'm sorry. I just- The Bat...he showed up today. Looking for you."
He furrows his brows and you can see him thinking. "He did?" He looks like he expects the worst. Like he expects that you sold him out or planned to.. "What did you tell him?"
You look into his eyes and scoff a little. "I told him you weren't here. I told him I knew you were missing, but that you never showed." You pause for a moment. "I wouldn't sell you out. You know that right? I- I wouldn't do that." The wine has you slightly buzzed and slightly overemotional. You can recognize that.
He doesn't speak, just places a hand on the back of your head and pulls you into a kiss. It's deep and passionate. Almost like he's been waiting to kiss you like this. It stuns you for a moment, but it doesn't take long before you're reaching wet hands around the fabric on his back and pulling him in deeper.
He hovers over you. His lips are attaching themselves to the wet expanse of your neck and you can't help but throw your head back to give him room. You've missed his touch. Nobody else's including your own would do. You let out a quiet moan and that's all it takes for him to pull the plug on the bath, drenching his sleeve in the process, and pulling you up and out of the tub so that he can dry your wet body.
The moment he pushes your nude body to fall onto the bed, he's already on his knees. He's ready to devour you, and it has you thinking back to the way his tongue had felt as it dove inside of you. You had craved that feeling for almost a year now. But you still find yourself pushing him back with a foot to his chest.
He gives a questioning look to you, and for a moment you're overcome with a sudden shyness that prevents you from speaking. You collect your thoughts.
"Take off your pants."
He hesitates for a moment, before complying. His hands shake as they unbuckle his belt and push his pants down his legs, discarding them to the side. You hope he's shaking with anticipation, just as you are.
You don't even speak before you scramble to your knees. With two fingers under the waistband of his boxers you look up to meet his eyes. There's a fire in them, and you can't get enough of it.
You drag the fabric of his underwear down until he is freed from the confines of fabric. You relish in the gasp that falls from his lips as he softly rubs at your hair. He's noisy as you put your mouth on him. His moans are whiney and pathetic, and you want to eat them up.
Slow and steady, you think.
You want to pick him apart slowly- piece by piece. Just as he had slowly chipped away at your reserve all those months ago.
"Has anyone ever done this for you, Edward?"
He shakes his head, face contorted into a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. His hands on the back of your head are shaking, and you can tell he's slowly losing his self control as he pushes light pressure forward. Your eyes are watering, and you're trying your best to keep up until-
He takes a step back.
"S'gonna cum if you kept doing that."
It's drawled out into a slight whine, and you've caught your breath enough to reply,
"I want that, Edward."
He stares at you as if he can't believe you're saying such things to him. And honestly you can't believe it either. You think back to his stolen glances at the office- back when things were normal. The days when you would come home, tired and stiff, with only him on your mind.
Desperate, longing, pathetic.
You think back to the days that neither one of you had the guts to say anything, watching each other get off through a barrier- until he broke the barrier. And just as quickly as he had broken it, he had disappeared.
You kiss him. So hard it almost knocks him over. When you separate, neither of you speak for a moment. You listen to the sound of each other's beating hearts and heavy breathing. You trail your fingers up his hoodie, the only thing left blocking his skin from yours, and urge him to pull it up and off. He does so without hesitation.
"You should lay down."
For some reason his words stun you. You open your mouth to speak, hands resting on his bare chest, but nothing comes out. You simply nod and let yourself lay back against the soft mattress.
It also stuns you how swiftly he makes his way to hover over your body, spreading your thighs to fit himself between them. Any ounce of confidence has left you in this moment. You trail a hand lightly down his spine as he leans down towards your lips, just barely touching.
His forehead rests on yours and you can feel his breath on your face. It makes you shake more as his hand trails down your body until his cold fingers reach your core. You let out a shaky whisper,
"I want you..."
The smile he cracks makes your heart soar. You let your hand rest on the side of his face, slightly cupping his jaw. "Please..."
It's perfect, just as you remember. The burning stretch of him is a feeling that you've been chasing for months on end. You can't help but let your head fall back onto the mattress as you cry out.
You can feel his warm hands cradling the small of your back, pulling you in closer as he begins to thrust into you. His brows are furrowed in concentration, but you can see the way his features are fighting to break into a look of bliss. And you love it like this. You love how clearly you can see him like this. All skin on skin, unlike the last time you had him.
"You're everything."
Something in your heart flutters as he speaks. You feel him in ways that you forgot were possible. You can't help the babble of words that start to fall from your mouth.
"Nobody is like you, Edward. Nobody."
You let your hands loop around the back of his neck, holding his gaze. "I've had so many strangers in this bed while you were gone." You take note of the way his brows furrow and he twitches inside of you. "But none of them do it like you."
You know you've worked him up when he's suddenly gripping your thigh with one. hand and driving into you at a pace that teeters on the line of too much and just enough. Uneven. Ferocious. Inexperienced. And yet it makes you want to come all over him in an instant.
It's been too long. You're too pent up. His hands lead your face towards his until you're locked into a kiss once again.Your nails are digging into the meat of his arms as he holds your face, and you can only hope that you aren't hurting him too badly.
His face contorts into a look of pleasure as choked off whines escape his lips. You can feel tears running from the corners of your eyes as you cry out in pleasure. You never want this moment to end. You shouldn't even be doing this.
The thought that this moment is fleeting, much like your time with him, makes you tense. Wrapping your arms around his back and pulling him as close as you can to your body, you whisper out and into his ear,
"I love you, Edward."
He lets his head hang low until your foreheads meet. "I- I love you too- Ah-" His thrusts are sloppy and familiar. You can recognize the way his legs shake. He's so close to finishing and you want to give him that release more than anything. You should be pushing him out the door.
You drag your nails down the skin of his back. "Please..." It's the only word you can force out as you look into his eyes, bottomless green pits, and he nods at you. You revel in the sounds of his broken off whines and sloppy thrusts and you hold him close as he reaches the edge.
The warmth of him as he finishes pushes you closer and closer to edge until you're a goner.
You're a monster.
━
When it's all over, you're clinging onto him as those waves of pleasure crash over you and you shake in his grasp. He's stopped his movements but leaves himself buried inside. He leans his face against your neck, heavy breaths puffing against your skin.
You stay like this for a while. It's so quiet. You can faintly hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. You stroke a hand through his hair as he finally pulls away and falls onto his back.
His eyes are closed, and his breathing is relaxed. He reaches a hand over to rub tiny circles onto your exposed hip with his fingers.
"I'm sorry for being so mean earlier."
His fingers stop for a moment as if he's taking in your statement. "I'm just feeling really uneasy here."
"You have nothing to worry about. I'm taking care of it all."
You sigh. Despite the bliss of physical intimacy and the love you feel for him, a nerve within you is struck. You let out a shaky breath.
"Why did you flood the city?"
There's a pause of thick silence in the air. "I did what was necessary." You furrow your brows and face him as he continues,
"Gotham needed real renewal."
"There were children. There were innocent people that died Edward." You can tell your words bother him. He avoids meeting your eye and his hands have a nervous twitch. "It was a small price to pay."
You blink over at him. His eyes still won't meet yours.
"I hope you don't actually feel that way."
You let yourself roll over, unable to speak any further. He lays unmoving for a moment, deep sighs rolling out of his mouth, before you feel him stand from his side of the bed and hear him gather his clothes before he walks out.
You squeeze your eyes shut and force the urge to sleep to take over.
━
His words plague your mind for weeks to come. It's eerily silent with no word or surprise visits from The Bat, and you can feel the suspense building inside of you.
Edward's warmth on your side each passing night brings a sense of comfort and belonging, but you find that the hours he is gone doing god knows what long and dreadful.
The implications that could come with Edward being caught out on the streets makes you sick at your stomach. Your name in the news and life down the drain. But you more so find yourself worrying what would happen to Edward in that situation.
You imagine they'd throw him into solitary confinement, and slowly drain any ounce of sanity that he had left. Punishment. It threatens to make you vomit as you contemplate the possibilities.
What had you done?
And soon you begin thinking of ways to give Edward a chance, even if slim. You run your fingers through tussled hair at night when you watch him sleep. You never want that peaceful look to leave his face.
But it's helpless. You know this. You're prolonging both of your sufferings by allowing him to stay as long as he has. There's no happy endings or escaping into an orange lit sunset. He was right when he had told you how he felt. You were too late and he had chosen his fate.
You eat dinner night after night, leaving him the leftover rice and chicken from a nearby takeout place. He comes home later and later every night. And occasionally you can't help yourself. You wait up for him until he comes home and you find comfort in the burn of his skin against yours.
The touch of his rough hands on your hips is electric as he thrusts messily into you. It feels good, but only leaves you feeling slightly sick after the fact.
Especially when he closes his eyes like it hurts to look at you. You let your hands caress his cheeks as you will him to open his eyes. "Look at me, Edward." It's a soft whisper. He doesn't relent.
"I love you."
You shouldn't.
And finally he opens his eyes. He's crying. It's unmistakable. He wilts in on himself like the petals of a flower as the tears begin to fall down his cheeks. "I'm sorry for everything I've done." His body still shivers from the feeling of you around him. You notice as you gently guide him out of you and onto his back against the bed. You wipe the tears with your fingers and kiss him deeply.
"I forgive you."
Do you?
He sobs into your chest until the sleep overcomes him that night. You stay awake, staring at the ceiling. You forgive him, you think. You wouldn't lie to him.
But the sinking feeling remains. This thing that the two of you have built is doomed, and you begin to wonder if you've started lying to yourself.
Even after his apologies, he stays out. You stop waiting for him to return at night. Even after his apologies, he is wrapped up so tightly in the work of The Riddler. Even after his apologies, you are left with a sick feeling in your gut.
You fall deeper and deeper into your paranoia.
It's getting harder and harder to sleep at night. This city is too much like Gotham. This job is just as miserable as KTMJ. And somehow after everything, Edward has maintained his spot in your miserable life. You want, no, need to hate him. You need to push him out of the door and tell him to never come back.
You've allowed him to stay for too long.
You want him here.
You cannot take the sight of him anymore.
You never want to look away.
You bury your face into your pillow and let out a scream that shreds your throat.
━
It's one of the few nights he has decided come home early enough to catch the dinner you'd carefully crafted for the two of you. It's almost strange sitting across from him at the dinner table. He had been coming to you like some sort of creature of the night, carefully picking the lock on your door and sliding into bed with you when you were already asleep.
"I'm really glad you're here. I was proud of this one."
You pull your mouth into the best smile you could muster up and he smiles back. "It's good."
You let out a huff of a laugh as you push around a remaining piece of cream sauce covered broccoli on your plate. "You mean it?"
His eyes meet yours, "I don't lie."
It's silent for a few more moments, with only the sounds of your forks hitting the ceramic plates and the faint hum of your A/C unit. You barely even realize you've been bouncing your legs with nerves since the moment you sat down. You really shouldn't push it you think. You should just enjoy this moment. He had come home early enough to eat dinner with you.
Oh. Home. There's that word again.
Could you really even consider this place his home.
Would he consider it his home?
You should be happy. Instead, you feel like you could burst into tears at any moment.
"I really wish we could do this more often."
He stands from his seat and walks his plate over to the sink to rinse the mess of it. "Hm?"
You join him by the sink, letting a hand rest on his back.
"I just- I like having you here. Actually here, not just in bed at night."
It's a plea. You hope he sees it as that. You want nothing more than for him to recognize how much you're suffering in your current situation. Instead, he smiles and turns to pull you into an embrace. His lips are close to your ears, pressing light kisses to your head. You can hear his steady breathing. He hesitates to reply.
"You know I would be here all the time if I could."
You pull away softly, eyes meeting his. "The Riddler demands attention."
It comes out just as snarky and drained as you feel in the moment. The Riddler had people outside waiting on him, people you don't even know. The Riddler had business so important it keeps him out all day and nearly all night. The Riddler had amassed followers in amounts you couldn't fathom.
Edward had a lone lover waiting at home and living in delusion.
He furrows his brows, "You're angry." You laugh, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose.
"I've been waiting all night for you nearly every single night. You're barely here. I feel like some animal having the one thing they want dangled in front of but just out of reach."
There's a silence, like you've caught him off guard. And you've caught yourself off guard too. There's tears flowing down your cheeks and you can barely catch your breath. You've held it in too long now. You're afraid you might tear everything apart.
"God forbid I want to sit down and eat a normal meal like normal people."
You look stupid. You probably seem like you've gone nuts. But he keeps his tone mellow.
"Things are never gonna be normal for you. Not as long as I am around."
You really shouldn't be pissed off, he's telling nothing but the harsh truth. It was you who was in denial, clinging to the idea of what could've been your life. At the same time, it was him to had shown back up after months of insisted no contact.
"Then why did you come back?!"
You can see his hands shaking at his sides. You've hurt his feelings, but you can't bring yourself to stop the overflowing words.
"Why did you come back? Just to rub it in my face that I can never really have you? You should've just left it at rejecting me at KTMJ."
He's quiet, eerily so as he seems to absorb what you've just thrown at him. Until he speaks,
"That night I showed back up- Do you really think I'd let something like that happen to you? Do you think I could livewith myself?"
You're turned away from him now. You can't stand to look at him, a position you've found yourself in more and more lately.
"You've done much worse."
He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out. He takes a step forward, inching closer to you. He's so close that you can faintly hear his beating heart. You're looking up at him with bloodshot eyes. "I came back because I care about you,"
"I can live with the things I've done. If you can't, say the word."
There's a seething tone on the end of his sentence. You don't get a chance to reply before he walks out the door, slamming it shut.
━
You've taken to wine more than you'd like to in his daily absence. It doesn't burn going down the way that liquor does, and it's a much easier purchase to justify than a bottle of vodka. And it doesn't leave you completely out of your mind, not like the shots had the night that Edward had shown back up.
You're suffering internally. You should've turned him away that night.
Instead you let him in your home and into your mind and into your heart, and now he's burrowed himself so deep it feels like cutting out a vital organ to send him away.
He's barely been home since your argument, and you almost wish he would've just never shown back up after he left. It'd make it easier on you. Only for a fleeting moment. The times he is home, he smells like smoke and iron, and has that same dull look in his eyes. He crashes before you even have a moment to make small talk.
You've reached your breaking point when he finds you sitting at the dining table later into the night when he returns, gloves still on, overcoat shed. He stops in his tracks. "Hey. It's late." You can see the worry in his face as he simply stares at you. The opened bottle of wine is visible on the table in front of you.
"I have to leave, Edward."
Please, don't let me go.
He stands and stares at you with his hands tucked together in front of him. He looks so small. Almost childlike, as if he's listening to a parent speak to him about their issues with his behavior.
"I have to move on from- this. You should too."
Dear God, follow me forever.
You told yourself you wouldn't cry, but you can already feel your eyes stinging. You're so defeated. So broken. So sad. He breaks the silence and the look on his face makes you want to fall to your knees and beg for forgiveness, and for a moment you think you might.
"Okay. I can leave tonight."
You shake your head. "No. Don't, not yet." He furrows his brows, confused. "Please, let me be the one to leave this time." He nods slowly. He moves a step forward as if he wants to touch you but instead just continues to keep his hand pressed to his body. It's almost as if he's scared to touch you, so you take the initiative and curl your arms around him, burying your face into his chest.
You take in the way that he smells. So familiar, so comforting. You try to push down the thoughts that inevitably a day is going to come where you won't even be able to recall the way he smelled. You don't want to let go, ever. In the back of your mind there's no doubt that he's the one for you, but there's also no doubt that this affair will destroy you. It already is. You have to make this choice- for the both of you. So you do.
You eat dinner together late into the night, and it feels like a last meal before an all too soon death. Not much is said between the two of you. But as soon as you finish your dinners you're heading to bed. He doesn't come with you at first. He stays glued to his spot on the couch, and for a second you think he might opt to sleep there for the night. That is until you feel his side of the bed dip.
Warm arms wrap around you and he's pulling you into him. Your bodies are firmly pressed together and he's so so warm. His lips are pressed to your neck, placing gentle and sleepy kisses to the skin. You feel tears slip from your eyes and onto the pillow beneath your face.
"I really wish things were different."
You feel him sigh against you. You continue, "I wish this was possible." You turn to face him, although you hate to. You want to take in his features. You want to burn them into the back of your eyelids forever. You want to forget he even existed. He looks at you with a straight face.
"You'll find someone else, and you'll forget about me."
And your heart breaks the second the words leave his mouth. You shake your head as you start to cry. It feels like he's reached into your ribcage and pulled your heart out of your chest. "The life I am living is not fair to you." And it's still beating in his bloodied hand.
"I don't think I'll ever be able to forget about you."
It wouldn’t matter how hard you tried.
His hand brushes the side of your head. "I wish you would." You furrow your brows as he continues, "You deserve someone who can be there for you."
He looks at your face as you weep. He looks as if he's trying to stop himself from feeling any emotion, possibly for your sake. You wipe your tears and speak again.
"I'm gonna try to find a new place. I can’t be here anymore. You can stay here until I leave and then-"
He looks at you for a moment before nodding. You brush a hand through his hair, pushing away strands that have fallen into his face.
"I love you, Edward."
He whispers back,
"I love you too."
You let yourself fall asleep, comfortably wrapped in his embrace. You can almost convince yourself it’s a normal night, that tomorrow will be the same routine. Edward will be gone when you wake up, and you will inevitably wait up for him in the night.
But when you wake up, you find that the warmth of his arms is gone and his side of the bed is empty and cold. You slowly raise from your bed.
"Eddie?"
Something in your gut feels wrong, and your instinct is right as you find the tiny slip of paper where he always left it. It's different this time, not a promise to be back or an indicator that you might meet again.
I love you, always.
Be safe.
-E.
━
He was here and then he wasn’t. He left just as suddenly as he had appeared.
You had pushed him away and yet you still felt the pain of how easily he had agreed. Although you suppose you shouldn't be too offended. He had respected your boundaries easier than any other person you had allowed into your life, aside from the unhinged behavior he carried around behind the mask and coat.
Edward Nashton had always been one to accept that things weren’t laid out in his favor. He’d been arrogant in the time that you knew him, but you’d seen how easily he accepted consequences of his own actions.
And this was a consequence, no matter how much it hurt your feelings.
In his absence, you’d kicked your feet on the process of getting the hell out of this town, and instead let your mundane routine continue. You go to work. You come home. You eat dinner. You try not to stare at the latched door, almost expecting it to open.
You tried to do as he had wished. To move on and find someone to fill that void in your life. You had joined a dating app, praying and hoping that the perfect person would show up and take you away from it all.
And you do find a nice man. A man who is willing to take you out and get to know you. A man who is probably stable and would take good care of you. You let yourself enjoy dinner, you laugh, you joke, but as he walks you home and grabs your hand, you feel the ache growing in your chest.
He kisses you before you head into your apartment, and it throws you into a frenzy. You can only think of familiar soft lips and your vision is blurring the man's face with the image of shaggy hair and clear framed glasses. You stumble back and let out a quick "I- I can't." before frantically running into your apartment.
You let your body slide down the front door until you're sat on the ground in front of it. You tuck your head into your knees and sob.
It’s time to accept the fact that your life may never be normal as long as you stay here. With Gotham so horribly close. With the ghosts of your past following you around this miserable town.
You pack everything and leave within the next week. You head to the coast, hoping the warmer weather will cure the ache in your bones.
━
You find the coast to be the most stable you've ever lived. You've managed yourself another office job with better management than you could've ever imagined at KTMJ. You've made some decent friends with coworkers.
You like to think it's the warm weather and the rays of sun that have turned your life around. The frigid cold always had a way of putting you down.
Your therapist always laughs at this sentiment.
You've found cute little corner diners to sip coffee and take a breath in. The grumpy old women that work there are just enough to make you feel right at home.
"You're from Jersey?"
You nod as you take a sip from the mug the waitress had handed you. She hums, "My family is from Jersey."
"How'd you end up here?"
She shrugs. "Married some guy, followed him here, got a divorce, but I never wanted to leave." She meets your amused look with a slight chuckle. She's got just the right energy to make you feel comfortable and it's nice opening up to someone, even if it's only for a moment.
"Well, I'm happy to find someone else from Jersey. You don't meet a lot here."
She shakes her head and the bell on the front door jingles, "No you don't- Sir, I'll be right with you." She walks from the bar that you're sat at and makes her way to the table in the back corner. The booth is facing away from you, but you can make out the side of the man's head as he faces the waitress to order. You're able to make out the tiny glint of the glasses on his face and the pale scar on his cheek.
You turn back towards the mug sitting in front of you.
your MINDDDD omg?? (obviously this is dark as hell and 18+ featuring violence and kidnapping)
okay so first of all, when we say "vying" we basically mean stalking right??
cause these two are not the 'take no for an answer' types just in different ways.
jonathan is the 'smooth' one, he knows how to tease and flirt with you, and he has a much easier time getting your attention.
but whenever he's got you relaxed, whenever you're a little bit comfortable, he does something Off just to see you squirm.
like making a harmless, if slightly flirty, comment about your clothes and then randomly saying he could probably rip through them.
he can play it off though, like saying 'oh I mean if you had a medical emergency' but then he's got this look in his eyes that's like we both know what I meant, now you just can't prove it.
he knows how to act charming and suave, he can give a disarming smile and get what he wants most of the time, but you can see what's missing behind his eyes. he likes that about you.
while jonathan likes to slowly build the pressure of his advances, edward is sort of... all at once.
see, he's been thinking about you this whole time, he just did everything from afar. for most of the time, you didn't even know he existed.
while jonathan was flirting with you and finding increasingly flimsy excuses to touch you 'innocently', edward was hacking your computer, tracking your phone, memorizing your daily routines.
while jonathan was testing your boundaries, carefully letting you see smaller glimpses of his true nature, edward was breaking into your apartment while you were out and smelling your sheets, stealing clothes, keeping little trinkets and tokens just insignificant enough for you to just assume you misplaced them.
while jonathan was having premarital sex, edward studied the blade okay just kidding but kinda the vibe lol
edward's one-sided obsession comes to a head suddenly-- from your perspective-- but to him it's the natural conclusion, the next step he's been carefully planning from the beginning. he's going to take you for himself.
of course, he knew jonathan was interested in you, it was something he figured out quickly while stalking you. what he didn't know was 1. how much of a threat jonathan really was and 2. that jonathan was already in your apartment.
edward's invasion would be perfectly orchestrated, planned for months, every detail like a stroke of a painting.
jonathan? not quite as meticulous. he's the type to lose his patience after walking you home without being asked and pressuring you to let him in for coffee.
when you refuse to give in to him, he's happy to do this the hard way, and he'd probably backhand you if not straight up sucker punch you.
he'd pin you down and sneer at you and complain about how much of a tightass you are, tell you to stop fighting because he knows you want this.
obviously edward didn't account for this. it's not at all the scene he expected to walk in on when breaking into your apartment.
jonathan didn't expect someone else to come in either, but he's not as thrown off by it. he feels pretty confident he can silent any witnesses he needs to, one way or another.
but then again, maybe the roll of duct tape in his hand indicates this is not exactly your typical witness...
neither jonathan nor ed are the type to engage in a direct physical struggle, so it's hard to picture what they would do to resolve a conflict like this. I don't think either would be particularly excited about a compromise or any kind of sharing, but it might be the best way to fix it since they could probably both ruin each other pretty easily. mutually assured destruction is a nice way to get a truce going.
whatever they do to solve this little overlap, you won't be able to do anything: you'd be helpless to both of these mastermind psychopaths.
they may have very different ways to pursue you, but once they catch you their intentions are quite similar...
he rubs his cheek into the softness of your inner thigh, green eyes shadowed by half-closed lids.
"yes," he mutters desperately, nuzzling into you like he's trying to get under your skin. you stroke his cheek. "yes, yes, mmm, yes..."
“yes, baby?”
“yes,” he sighs, or moans, or somewhere in between, lurching forward to press his nose against your clothed pussy.
you reward him with a sigh of pleasure, scratching your nails against his scalp, threading your fingers through his hair. edward inhales deeply, feeling the dampness of you against the tip of his nose, sweet, musky, redolent...
he's dimly aware of the uncomfortable tightness of his pants, but really, what's new?
the pads of your fingers trace against his head, his face, his lashes, drawing a path of redemption across his skin. you'd save him, eddie’s convinced. wherever you touched would liberate him of shame, would imbue him with the strength needed to do whatever he needed to.
he moans again, open-mouthed, melting into a giggle as he smushes his face into your mound as you lift your hips to slide your underwear off. you stroke the spot behind his ear and he nearly cums then and there - which he did, several times before, but he’s getting better at controlling himself, he swears he is.
edward wastes no time, pressing his lips to your clit, feeling you jerk up into him. he slips his tongue into your folds, lapping up whatever slick he can on the outside of your lips. you scratch at a spot on his scalp and his dick twitches in time-
"ah, eddie," you manage to purr out, rolling your hips into his face, letting the vibrations from his moans help you along. he howls, whimpers, his mouth still locked over your slit, trying to suckle at your clit while he cums and cums inside his pants.
discord server (18+)
if you enjoy my work, reblogs help support me the most! ⭐️
I'm a little bit late starting this (and literally haven't posted on Tumblr since the porn ban ;_;) but better late than never!!
Here's the kinktober list I'm referencing for anyone interested in participating: https://www.tumblr.com/absurddino/786917717543436288?source=share
Kink(s): Creampie, Spanking, Masks (1946 words)
Warning: slight breeding kink; dirty talk; super nsfw; Edward being a DOM (Minors DNI obv)
He hardly takes off the mask when he fucks you anymore.
His glasses glow faintly in the low light, the voice filter stitched into his mask producing a low buzz every time he exhales. Gloves on, coat half open, belt already unbuckled, there’s nothing hesitant about him like this; The Riddler isn’t shy, he’s a problem waiting to be solved, and you’re the surface he wants to scrawl himself across.
He’s got you bent forward over the edge of his desk, palms splayed on the scarred wood and your skirt bunched up around your waist, panties already stripped away and tossed aside. Every time he moves behind you, you hear the creak of his boots, the hiss of fabric, the sharp intake of breath he can’t quite muffle. He'd asked if he could do this, and just the thought of venturing into new territory made your skin tingle.
You know he’s staring. He hasn’t moved in twenty seconds.
“You’re quiet,” you murmur, voice dry. “You rethinking this, or just enjoying the view?”
The modulator clicks as he exhales. Then his boots are moving again—slow and deliberate as he gets closer.
“Do you even know,” he says, low and distorted, “what you do to me when you talk like that?”
You smirk. “Something depraved, I hope.”
A gloved palm slides over the curve of your ass. Squeezes once. Then cracks down, hard enough to make you yelp in surprise, the sound echoing off the concrete walls. You feel heat bloom where he’s struck you, then the soft drag of his fingers tracing the same spot as if memorising it.
He hardly gives you time to recover as his palm comes down again, then again, gloved fingers spreading the sting across your skin before drawing back for the next. The crack of leather on flesh echoes against the walls. Every time his hand lands, a hot jolt blooms across your ass and shoots straight down to your cunt, making you clench around nothing.
“You like that?” he rasps, the modulator buzzing with the heat of his voice. His tone isn’t mocking; it’s low, testing, half‑curious and half‑hungry, like he’s already sure of the answer but wants to hear it slip from your lips.
Your breath catches. “Yes…”
He slides his hand over the welt he’s just left, gloved thumb tracing the heat in slow circles, then lets it drift lower, just shy of where you’re dripping. “I can feel you getting wetter every time I hit you,” he murmurs, distorted voice dark and intimate. “Is that what you want? To be punished until you can’t think straight?”
The next strike lands harder, a crisp sound that makes you jolt. You gasp, torn between pain and need.
“Say it,” he growls, the command vibrating through the filter.
“Say… what?” you manage, voice shaking.
Another slap, harder still, his palm lingering to squeeze the flesh he’s just marked. “Say that you’re mine.”
You whimper, the last of your defiance gone, hips rocking back toward him despite yourself. “I’m yours—”
Another strike. “Louder.”
“I’m yours!”
“Fucking right you are.”
He yanks your hips back. You hear the sound of his belt coming undone, slow and surgical, like he's unstrapping a weapon.
“I’m going to ruin you,” he says, voice rasping through the filter. “Split you open and fill you up.”
He pushes the head of his cock against your entrance, just enough pressure to make you moan, then pulls back. Does it again. Over and over, teasing at your slick folds with the head, smearing himself on you but never sliding in, until you’re rocking back against him in frustration.
“Please,” you whimper. “Please, I need it.”
The modulator distorts his chuckle into a low, mechanical purr. “You need to be bred, don’t you? Need to be fucked full until you can’t think of anything else but me?”
“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, please, Eddie—”
“Who?” he snarls.
“…Riddler,” you whisper, shuddering.
He grips your hips hard enough to bruise and slams into you in one rough thrust. The stretch makes you cry out. The sound of skin hitting skin, the hiss of the mask, the smell of leather; it’s all so overwhelming. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, he just drives in again. Faster, deeper, every other stroke punctuated by his gloved palm landing on your ass, a stinging rhythm that makes your eyes roll back.
You moan, helpless and open and aching.
You can hear him talking now, low and filthy against your ear, each word vibrating through the filter.
“Fuck—look at you,” he snarls. “Taking it so well. Letting me use you like this.”
“You love it,” you gasp, eyes fluttering, back arching into the next thrust. “You fucking love it.”
He laughs. It's low, breathless, utterly wrecked. There’s disbelief in it, almost wonder, as if he still can’t comprehend the way you fall apart for him. As if the sight of you sprawled, moaning, soaked, utterly his—is more than his mind can carry.
“Oh, I do,” he groans. “You have no idea.”
He grabs your hips tighter, guiding your body back to meet him, each impact sharper than the last. The slick sounds of your cunt swallowing him fill the room, louder than either of you.
“So fucking tight—” He punctuates with a particularly hard thrust, “Taking me so deep. You like being used like this? Like a little riddle I’m solving with my cock?”
You whimper and nod, fingers clawing at the desk. “Yes—oh god—yes—”
He snarls and pistons his hips, angling up until the head of his cock grinds against the spongy spot that makes you shake. His gloves slip from your hips to your throat, guiding you back onto him.
“I’m gonna fill you,” he growls. “Gonna fill you so full you’ll leak down your thighs.”
The words make you clench around him. He groans, a raw sound behind the mask, thrusts getting rougher, sloppier, until he’s slamming into you in short, brutal strokes, his hips slapping your ass, his gloves leaving red handprints on your skin.
You’re babbling now, moaning his name, clawing at the wood, your body shaking as your orgasm builds under the steady rhythm of his cock and his palm. You begin to inch your hand down to rub at yourself, but he hisses through his mask.
“Don’t come yet. Not until I tell you.”
You hold on as long as you can, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Your whole body’s shaking; your nails leave crescent moons in the wood. You’re right there, trembling on the edge.
“Please—” your voice breaks, a gasp torn from your throat.
He spanks you once more, glove cracking hard against your ass. The sting makes you arch.
“Not. Yet.” The words come out distorted through the mask, a growl and a command all at once. “I’m not finished with you.”
His hands leave your hips. For a heartbeat you’re empty and floating, desperate. Then he grabs you by the waist and hauls you upright against his chest. Your back hits the front of his coat, the modulator humming near your ear, his breath ragged. His cock is still hard, slick with you and straining against the leather of his glove as he guides it back to you.
“Up,” he orders, voice low and vibrating. “On your knees. Face me.”
You scramble to obey, more instinct than thought. He backs against the desk and pulls you into his lap, your knees braced on either side of his thighs. The mask is inches from your face now, his gloved hand gripping the back of your neck.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, rough but almost reverent. “Ride it.”
He slides inside you from below, slow at first, making you feel every inch. You sink down onto him, whimpering, the new angle hitting deeper, fuller. His hands move to your ass, fingers digging in, spreading you as he pushes up into you with controlled, punishing thrusts.
The sound is obscene—wet, loud, echoing off the concrete walls—skin slapping skin, his breath rasping through the mask, your moans breaking into little sobs.
He spanks you again, both cheeks now, palms landing in rhythm with his upward thrusts. “Not yet,” he growls, each word a pulse of vibration against your lips. “You wait. You come when I say.”
You cling to his shoulders, forehead pressed to the cool plastic of his mask, trembling. “I’m trying—”
“I know,” he grunts. “I know, baby. Hold it in for me.”
He shifts his hips, tilts you slightly, and suddenly his cock is rubbing that spot inside you with every stroke. Your vision goes white at the edges. He feels you clamp down and snarls through the mask, slapping your ass one more time, hard enough to make you jolt.
“Now,” he orders, voice breaking as he reaches down and rubs your clit rapidly. “Come. Now.”
You shatter on top of him, a cry ripped from your throat, clenching around him as you gush down on his cock, legs trembling as he fucks you through it. He drags you down hard, holds you there, groaning into the mask as he throws his head back and thrusts once, twice, then spills inside you. He keeps moving even as he comes, grinding deep so his hot cum floods you and leaks down his thighs, his gloved hands holding you open to take it.
When it’s done he doesn’t push you off. He just keeps you on his lap, still sheathed inside you, rocking you gently while your breath hiccups against his neck. His hands, still gloved, smooth up and down your back, rubbing over the red welts he left on your ass as if soothing them.
Through the mask his voice is hoarse, almost human now in its softness. “That’s it… take it all… good girl…”
“Fuck… look at you…All mine.”
You tremble and press your forehead to his shoulder, still full of him, still shaking, his cum seeping out around the base of his cock as he strokes slow circles against your hip.
He tilts his head down until the cool front of his mask presses gently to your temple, the lenses of his glasses reflecting the low light and the soft ruin of your face.
“Mine,” he murmurs again, quieter now. Possessive. Reverent.
You nod, eyes fluttering closed, throat still raw from moaning. Your body is limp across his lap, flushed and trembling, still full of him, and you can feel the weight of his hot breath through the modulator brushing your cheek in shallow bursts.
You turn your face toward him and rest your cheek against the molded plastic, right where his jaw would be. The mask is slick with heat, damp with sweat and the faint rubber scent of synthetic gear. But underneath all that, you can feel the subtle, stuttered rhythm of his breathing as he trembles.
Shy again. Reeling. Edward, slipping back through the seams.
You shift in his lap, and his hands tense like he thinks you’re about to pull away. You don’t. Instead, you reach up, slow and steady, and slide his glasses from his face. He exhales, soft and shaky, letting you remove them like you’ve done a dozen times before. Then your fingers find the edge of his mask.
You peel it up gently, inch by inch, past his flushed cheeks and damp upper lip, until it sits bunched beneath his nose and he’s bare to you again, mouth parted, eyes glazed, and face streaked with sweat and wonder.
You kiss him without hesitation—slow and sure, sealing the moment with the kind of intimacy that unravels him far more thoroughly than your cunt ever could.
(A/N: The results for my Riddler fanfic poll was basically 50/50 😂 so this is based off of the last issue of Riddler Year One, #6, as I copied the intro to the comic, but I'll work up to the movie too 😊 enjoy!!)
Wordcount: 1.7K
A knock at the door. Silence.
You frown slightly, glancing at the clock. It's late, really late, for anyone to be calling for you. You're not expecting anyone, and you're used to the trouble that comes with living in the middle of Gotham City, giving you every reason not to answer the door and stay quiet until whoever it is gets bored and goes away.
Another knock, sounding a little desperate, five soft bangs on the door's study steel, echoing through your small stretch of hallway and to the main room, where you sit on the sofa, laptop on your lap, scrolling boredly. You stare at the door warily, as if you could somehow see through to whatever drophead was trying to get your attention, before hesitantly raising your voice in answer.
"Who is it?"
Silence again.
You roll your eyes and sigh after a beat of nothing, pushing your laptop off you and onto the sofa, quietly approaching the door and taking a sceptical look through the peephole. Nothing. No one. Just the hard bright light of the dirty stairway and landing of the floor in the apartment block you live in, which snaps off after no motion to keep it alive, and the door opposite you, shut and locked, no sound coming from anywhere except muffled music and arguing from somewhere downstairs, as per normal here.
You go to open the door, but then pause, cautious enough to wait it out for a while, five minutes, ten minutes, before letting yourself open it and look outside. You don't want to be the next poor person who gets robbed or jumped or whatever rank thing you could expect from living down in Gotham, but there's still no one to greet you when your door squeaks faintly as you pull it open, black bristles dragging across the floor from beneath it. You wince slightly as the harsh light blinks back on, revealing an empty landing, empty staircase, nothing but your breaths echoing in the space...
And an envelope at your feet.
Your frown deepens when you go to close the door again and notice it, lying there outside the door, a medium white envelope inked with a messy green symbol of some kind. A question mark, with dashes at its sides, top and bottom, scratching into the paper boldly, no name or address or postmark anywhere, nothing to indicate where it came from or who it's for. But it's at your door, and after a few seconds' inspection and another look down the landing and the stairs, you sigh and pick it up, your thumb sliding under the triangular fold as you close the door with your body whilst opening it.
There are two things sealed in this envelope.
A Polaroid picture... and a card.
You sit down with your eyes fixed on the envelope's contents, laptop ignored at your side, as you take out the card first. It's like some kind of vintage cartoon, a little beaming squirrel holding one nut in its paws, a few others at its feet, a heart around its body. Above it, bold calligraphic text says:
I'm NUTS about you!
Your face screws up in bewilderment and amusement, your eyes flitting over the cheesy sentiment and picture, before you open it up to see contrasting, messy handwriting, gone over a few times to make it readable enough. It almost looks childish.
The rich people want it, wise people know it, the poor people need it, and kind people show it.
What am I?
You blink, confused at the sudden question. A riddle? You glance at the question symbol on the opened envelope, before returning your attention to the card.
"Rich people want it..." you mutter under your breath in thought, "kind people- what, love?"
You read the last bit of writing under the riddle, then read it again. And again.
I see you work with the rats, but you don't become one.
I see you give the homeless something warm when the city is cold, cold, COLD.
I see you trying to tell the police the bad things you know, but no one can hear us.
You are an angel in a cesspool of a city...
And I will make a heaven for you.
You let out a long, shaky breath, finally looking up from the card in a whirl of confusion, fear and curiosity. Your eyes instinctively glance to the windows, the curtains open a little to show the dreary, dark nightlife of Gotham below, dully glowing streetlamps, some lightbulbs dead or smashed, interrupting the neat lines guiding drivers. You almost expect to see a pair of eyes staring at you, watching you from somewhere.
Who the hell is this person? This was the way they showed their 'love'? A sixties-styled valentines card, with a riddle and a baffling message?
"Working with rats?" You question aloud.
If by rats, they meant the jerks and businessmen who came to the Iceberg Lounge to find clients and friends every other evening, then... well, they weren't wrong. You have to work there to earn enough to pay rent and everything else to make some kind of a life for yourself in Gotham. Not that you wanted to, but it was a last resort, and you steered clear of the infamous Penguin, and that horrible Falcone character, whenever you were there. But you can't help overhearing things to the grabby, drunken, smug people you waitress to there, but at this point, you'd learnt that half the GCPD weren't nearly as credible as they acted, a handful of them involved in the scandals they were brewing at the nightclub, and who else was there to tell without them telling the wrong guy and ending with you being silenced at gunpoint?
As for the homeless, believe it or not, they weren't all off their heads with drops. Some of them were just people trying to survive out on the streets of a broken-down town, young and older people cowering on street corners, some beaten by gangs, others jumpy and aware, ready to run at the smallest hint of danger. It was the ones who were simply too tired to do anything that made you stop in your tracks every now and then, as you walked home from work, before you gave in to your impulses, told them to give you a minute, and dashed into the nearest diner, grabbing something small to eat, or a hot drink to-go, the waiter bored and friendly enough to give you a smile and a nod as you went, the young man who often stayed there scribbling in a little book or typing up work-related things too shy to meet your eye, which was kind of cute, sandy-brown hair barely hiding the flush of his round cheeks, murky green eyes forced to focus on his book instead of looking up.
Was that enough to make you an angel? Really?
A few acts of kindness usually earned you a judgemental scoff, or suspicions of intentions, as no one's were really ever pure. But apparently, it's earned you an admirer, and from the looks of things, one who's more than a little unhinged.
You pick up the Polaroid last of all, and then your breath catches in shock as you stare at it, barely blinking.
It's a guy who's been making moves on you for a good few weeks now, more than double your age, packets of drops making his pockets rustle with thin plastic and his eyes unfocused. A frequent visitor to the Iceberg Lounge, who wouldn't leave you alone after you gave him his first drink of the first night, running drunkenly outside to offer you a lift when you put your arm out for a cab, trying to hold onto some part of the uncomfortably tight clothing you were expected to wear working in a place like the Iceberg Lounge.
He's slumped against a wall covered with some kind of fabric spray painted with the same question mark symbol on the envelope, though the green is blemished with crimson spatter, a rat running across his leg, blurred slightly in the shot. A laptop is in the background, where the ordeal is actually being filmed or streamed somewhere, names and comments too small in the picture to make out, though several unfocused red shapes that are most likely hearts streak up the laptop screen from its viewers. Your stomach twists and untwists into a knot, repulsed and shocked.
They killed some stupid guy... for you?
They killed a person, on a livestream... for you.
The Polaroid slips from your loosened grip, fluttering in the air for a split second before it lands beside your laptop. It makes you blink back into awareness, and you eye the card and Polaroid as if they might jump up at you.
Do you call the police? The GCPD won't ignore you, surely, if it's this level of harassment? If a person has died?
The thought of someone watching you, trying to understand you, almost worshipping you in some twisted way, brings so many thoughts and feelings up that it makes you dizzy, not knowing what to pin down as your reaction to it. Scared? Disgusted? Flattered? Curious?
What if they've been in your apartment? If they know where you live... and with Gotham's measly security, someone like this person could have found a way to break in, pick the lock or something. Is anything out of place? Hidden cameras anywhere?
Paranoia makes a shiver snake down your spine, and you sigh heavily, fingers threading through and out of your hair as you run your hands up your face and past your head.
First, check for cameras. Then, call the police. Right?
Right...
You pick up the Polaroid from beside your laptop, and your eyes flick up to the darkened screen, the small black circle of a camera at its top. Should you put some tape over it or something? Do a deep scan to check for viruses or any weird apps?
Suddenly, the screen flashes brighter, back to life, though you never touched the mousepad, and you flinch. Your eyes widen as the screen glitches and goes black, and you press down on several keys, trying to escape from whatever page it's gone on, power it off, restart.
The screen glitches for a few more moments, and then a green, pixelated question mark between some pointers slides across the screen.
Figured it out yet?
⭒❃.✮:▹ 𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ◃:✮.❃⭒
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