#dano riddler x reader

[gollywallyy]

HES SO TALL IN THESE PHOTOS WHAAA

[cl3fairyyy]

i have not stopped thinking about this image since it dropped. it haunts my thoughts 24/7. i have to pay tribute to it before bed every night. i have a shrine in every room of my house dedicated to it. i will never be the same again.

[boyprincessarchives]

— ೀ from: your secret admirer [edward nashton x gn!reader]

︶︶︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶︶︶ summary: you're edward's newest penpal! ...unbeknownst to you. set in the riddler year one comics, in the midst of finding and fulfilling his purpose to rid the city of its impurities, edward finds that his biggest hurdle for his plans are the growing thoughts about the corner diner's newest regular. but he cant just come up to you!! maybe notes will have to suffice... contains: edward's usual creepy behavior, light stalking?, he just fantasizes about having a life with you/meeting you i guess, writer is horrible at riddles and attempts to make one word count: 1.5k tags: @nshtn writers note: heres that silly little fic i was talking about a few weeks back. im not sure why i feel more comfortable posting it on my second acc, but here we are! woohoo, its my first fic ever, so i hope you all enjoy some writing from a dyslexic and secondary english speaking writer♡ for that one person that said no, i humbly apologize hehe (ㅅ´ ˘ `)♡

enjoy!! ︶︶︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶︶︶

♡ you two would definitely meet at the diner he frequently visits. during your first visit there, he was sitting in his usual spot, a booth in a forgotten corner, drinking a latte and solving his crossword puzzle. ♡ the diner is usually quite quiet at this hour, and he's frequented it to the point where he recognized the different usuals’ voices. so hearing you speak your order for the first time quickly stuck out at him, like a singular melody in the midst of his crowded mind. he immediately perked up at the sound; not much could really tear him away from whatever puzzle he brought to keep himself company but... you were so… different compared to everyone in this corrupt city. ♡ at first he’d try to brush off your presence, he might never see you again after all. but then you’d come in once a month, then every other week, then multiple times a week. ♡ he'd stare down at his lap, frustrated at himself. what was it about you that made you so different anyway? you were like a nagging habit he couldn't shake, like a stray that came crawling back that his heart couldn’t help but ache to tend to again. he sighed with his eyes shut, submitting to you every time, allowing his thoughts to be consumed by you once more. ♡ he was so lucky... having your closeness grace him. and each time you visited, you only seemed to fill more parts of his mind. at this point, he wasn’t even able to focus on his daily crossword puzzles. it annoyed him to no end but... that’s how he knew you were special. you brought a new light in his usual dark life. ♡ slowly, edward's mind didn't seem to care to search for the answer anymore. he didn't need to know why you were special, now he understood you just were special. he was losing his sense of logic, giving in to your beckoning presence, how good it felt love you. ♡ everyday he’d observe you from his own booth at the diner, now for once glad his spot was usually forgettable. he sipped away at his own cup as he watched and took note of every detail: the way you’d sigh after almost every sip of coffee you took, that polite, yet forced smile you gave to those who passed by, and his favorite detail? the fact that you never visited the diner with anyone else. of course he wasn’t entirely certain if you were single or not but, it made him more confident. like he actually had a chance. ♡ he’d immediately fantasize about the day where he was confident enough to go up to you and speak, figuring out the information he so desperately needed on his own, through your conversations, and not through speculation or crumbs of information he'd overhear through exchanges that didn't belong to him. in his mind he was obviously more confident, no stutters or awkward silences. then you’d go on dates, and maybe you’d see each other outside the diner, just the you two sharing a life together. oh, a man could dream...

♡ after finding and accepting his interest in you, he started frequenting the diner even more, just so he could broaden the possibility of seeing you more often. the time he spent there was practically unhealthy at this point. there was probably remnants of coffee in his lungs from the ungodly amount of hours he’d spend inhaling it secondhand. he would even bring in paperwork instead of his usual crossword puzzle. anything just to be blessed and catch glimpses of you. ♡ sometimes he would see you visit after an extra excruciating day of whatever you did for work. it would break his heart every time, watching you slump into your seat, your long sigh turning into a groan, before treating yourself to a sweet little dessert to drown out the sorrows long enough to at least get yourself home. ♡ he’d get lost in the thought of bringing you home— one you guys actually shared— scooping you up, running you a hot bath and taking you to bed, having you in his arms. he’d wished you didn't work, or at least not this hard. (though he found it quite admirable.) he wished that he could provide for you, so he could never see you this exhausted again. for once in his life he could feel adequate. like a worthy man, somebody's hero. ♡ at times he would feel guilty for borderline stalking you. he knew how you liked your coffee, but he didn’t even know your name! but it wasn't stalking... right? he was just... interested! preparing for the day he'd actually speak. its meant to be flattering... though he would never follow you home, or attempt to find every single piece of information the internet had to offer about you, of course…

♡ ...not yet at least. (thankfully for you, he held back for the sake of researching his newest death contraption.) ♡ but, while sat at that lonely booth, he allowed himself to completely indulge in you. he couldn’t help but stare, you were just so captivating from across the diner, even under the dim lighting it provided, and the late hours you frequented. he just had to know more about you… maybe after this was all over. ♡ you began consuming every part of his life. even outside the diner he would find his mind slipping to thoughts of you. he was starting to miss you. it frustrated him to no end. the color blue would remind him of that sweater you wore a few days back, and that dog he saw at that animal rescue had awfully cute eyes like yours. he even started associating the scent of coffee to your voice, only furthering his desire for caffeine. 'god edward, keep it together.' he'd think. it all led back to you. ♡ you were distracting him from his plans on wiping this city clean. he should be figuring out how to correctly wire this detonator, not fantasize about how soft your skin would feel on his!! but you also began becoming his newfound reason. he knew you were one of the only few good people left in gotham, maybe the hope this dump needed. he wanted you to live in a safe city, he needed you to thrive. you only deserved the best after all, to have the ground you walked on worshipped... ♡ sat in his usual seat, he would begin leaving riddles or crossword puzzles for you to solve, he would even draw doodles of flowers and hearts, instead of his consistent scribblings about batman and the lies of the government. even if he tried, all the riddles he'd come up with would be about you anyway. ♡ edward couldn’t help but stifle a giddy squeal. it felt like he was a teenager again, passing notes to his crush; writing them on the diner’s napkins and placing them in front of you when you looked away, quickly slipping past your line of sight. they would always have to do something with his love and adoration, how he’d reveal himself to you one day. he made them just for you. he even slowed his handwriting so you could read it better. ♡ for now you were endeared. confused, but endeared, while you looked around the room for the napkin's source. they were cute, simple things that gave you something to do, if you looked past the creepy part. it gave you something to think about and look forward to while you try and distract yourself for a little while. ♡ he wondered if you noticed him like he noticed you. he wanted you to notice him. for the first time in his life he wanted to be seen. just for you, he wanted to be somebody.

“ i am with a lock and you might be my key; when you find me, you feel complete. i’m a rare treasure that brings happiness and joy. what am i? ”

♡ and at times he was frustrated at how oblivious you were, but that didn’t deter him away from you or find you any less intelligent as he thought you were. the day you two would properly meet would eventually come. he idolized you, you were his sunshine in all the gloominess of the city. his one bright light. ♡ he would secretly cheer you on from his seat behind you, marveling at just how smart you are. anticipating the amount of time it would take for you to solve everything he had laid out for you, like a rat in a maze. would it take you five minutes? two? or maybe would you take that little napkin home today? ♡ he loved watching you struggle, your eyebrows knotting together as you looked down at the ink on the page. he could barely contain his giggles as you proudly smiled to yourself as you filled out the words of his puzzles. he was just as proud of you as you were of yourself. he knew you could do it.

“ …a soulmate…? ”

♡ you solved his riddles! how were you not perfect for him?

[hysterical-honey]

Admiration ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ‡ǂ

Edward Nashton x Fem!Reader [1/2] AO3 Word Count: 2,393 Summary: You bake the pies, serve patrons, and all the while, you feel the oppressive weight of eyes on you. Unaware of the terror you've attracted, you try your hardest to make the most of your thankless job in this hopeless city. TWS//: Reader uses fem pronouns, Stalking, Voyeurism, Mentions of masturbation, Mentions of sex, and Mentions of nonconsensual sex, I have not yet read Year One, Takes place years before the events of The Batman (2022), Edward breaks into your apartment and watches you sleep. AN: This is a rewrite of my first published fic; I've been thinking about it a lot and wanted to try and polish it off. This silly guy lives in my head rent-free. My inbox is open along with requests, xoxo.

It's a night no different from the one before; even in mid-September, the weather is oppressively cold and wet. A foggy haze was overlooking the city. As the gutters flood with grime and filth from the streets. City-dwellers scurry around to evade the downpour. Rain like this usually only lasts until later in the morning. It's half-past eleven, and it isn't necessary to check any clocks; your body language makes it so painfully obvious what time it is. It's a Friday, meaning your shift ends at twelve. By the end of your shift, your homely and congenial disposition declines. The differences are subtle; your shoulders hunch slightly, and you walk much faster, no doubt in an attempt to get things done more time-efficiently. You just want to go home, he's sure; it's evident in the way your typically nervous laugh seems much less polite and much more exasperated, teetering on dismissive when some of the older men try to start up small talk as you top off their coffee. The changes are slight, but Edward has an eye for them. Every small and insignificant thing you do can be viewed and analyzed to his liking.

Edward always had a habit of staring at people, though he isn't shameless about it. While he might tend to gawk, it's habitually only once they've turned away from him. To look directly at someone for too long makes him feel uneasy. Most people don't take notice of him anyhow; living in a city, one learns to brush past the watching eyes of strangers; he assumes you didn't grow up in a city, not such as Gotham, anyway, because you seem to take notice of it all. There have been many different instances of you taking a look back at him, often not directly, but regardless, he's sure you can feel his eyes boring into you. You have this peculiar habit of looking yourself over after you've given a table their order or anything at all. You peer down nervously at your hands or check that your uniform is not wrinkled or pulled down in unsavory places. It's almost obsessive, and he can't tell if you're just that self-conscious or that self-centered. It's likely just some nervous tick you have, but even as Edward might know and understand that notion, you do it even in the comfort of your apartment. It planted this terrible belief in his mind that you know he's there, watching you.

You have yet to interact beyond taking his order and politely casual remarks. Despite his delusional and selfishly idealistic mindset, he isn't stupid. Edward is well aware that his social ineptitude is crippling his perception and understanding of you as a person. He can watch you and know your routine, mannerisms, and what you love or hate, but there's a difference between knowing something about someone and understanding them. Edward desperately wants to crawl into the cavity of your mind and settle himself inside. So much so it hurts; however, whenever the chance comes about, he can't even bear to look at you, much less speak to you casually. A sickly feeling fills the pit of his stomach, and all he can do is quickly state what he wants, which is typically just 'the usual.'

From across the diner, he watches with wide eyes. It's like an alarm goes off in your head, eyes watching with intent you can't place. You turn your head, and his eyes quickly dart up to the TV above in the corner of the bar counter; his chest tightens with overwhelming pressure. It's a thrill, the thrill one experiences after they've been caught in the act of something presumably wrong. You don't look at him directly; your eyes passively run over the remaining customers or lack thereof. It's a quarter to twelve, and the uneasy feeling you have won't let up. It never does; it used to be this idea in your mind. Ever since you were a child, you've always been horrifically paranoid of someone watching you. Even living in a small town, you'd always felt faceless eyes on you, whether alone or in a crowd, glued to you, judging every move you might make before you even made it. Though now, as you've gotten older, that once dominating feeling has been watered down. This is different, you think, unlike what you've felt before.

You don't quite know his name, but you see him everywhere. You've tried telling yourself he looks that typical, that you see him in so many different places because his haircut is popular and clear-rimmed glasses are in fashion right now. For almost a year, you've seen him here at work, on the train home, in the lobby of your apartment, in the bookstore you frequent, and sometimes you see those big green eyes in your dreams. Faceless, never speaking, never taking action, but always watching. Sometimes, you feel he looks exceptionally ordinary and commonplace because it's an easy disguise. When you first saw him, you must admit that he seemed sweet with his boyishly round face and dorky veneer, perhaps even cute, but that glint in his eyes—the eyes you rarely ever found peering back into your own, made you feel uneasy. Despite your intuition, you shove the thought from your mind, throwing the last cotton-wrapped silverware set into the big green-grey plastic bin. The only people left were you, the head chef, and that man at the end of the bar counter.  Turning your head again, you appeared from the little hallway between the kitchen and the main diner. That man is gone. His coffee cup is empty, the plate is nearly clean, and three five-dollar bills are left behind. Sighing, you clean up what's left and collect your tip. 

Everything else was done and taken care of. The head chef, Mickey, had already wrapped up the remnants of that evening's pie. You caught him practically stuffing it into his 'man-bag,' as he insisted on calling it. Going on and on about how good it was, so naturally, his kids would want some, and his wife might like a slice tomorrow with her coffee.

"Y'know, I don't get why they got you makin' 'em but not plannin' 'em? I mean, it's almost October, and cranberry apple seems… more…a Christmas typa pie, right?" He asked, his voice heavy with an accent you couldn't place. You just knew some people around here had it, and some didn't. Slinging his 'man-bag' over his shoulder, waiting for you to be ready. All you would do is shrug in response. 

"Well, Joel bought a fuck-ton of those apples, Mickey, and I know damn well he's trying to get his money's worth by getting rid of them. Besides, pie is pie; nobody cares much about how seasonal it is. As long as it's pumpkin in October and pecan in December, nobody complains about the 'typa pie'... except you," You put your coat on; a little smile spread across your lips as you grabbed your purse. Mickey put on a comically hurt expression, his wrinkled and liver-spotted face putting on a pout. "Well, keep talkin' like 'at an' maybe you won't have an escort to the train station." You'd only roll your eyes. Mickey always walked with you; being one of three servers with no kids, you were typically the one left to close, and Mickey usually stayed behind for the extra fifty dollars it added to his paycheck.

"Yeah, sure," You'd mumble. You both took the train with different routes, and Mickey, being the old man he is, hated the idea of a 'pretty young thing like you walkin' 'round at night in this part of the city.'

– ——<-?->—— – = – ——<-?->—— – = – ——<-?->—— –

The train ride and walk home are vague in your mind, a flash of pointless happenings you don't bother mulling over. The eyes never leave, nor do you expect them to, within the company of others. In recent years, the subconscious worry of prying eyes has seemed to dull down. Things felt fine on the way into the station; idle talk with Mickey and his almost annoying insistence on eye contact didn't bother you anymore or less than ever before. You felt exposed when he left, even more so once you crossed the threshold into this big tin box—not taking immediate note of the oddly familiar indigo coat and well-maintained sandy brown hair. You kept your eyes glued to your shoes, just as always. 

It can never just rain in Gotham; no, it pours. The rain is violent and greedy as it floods, covers, and consumes everything it can—even your little apartment. You push open the shabby door to your studio apartment, glancing at the microwave hovering over the stove and reading the time; it's midnight. Your eyes mull over the rest of your small yet cozy living space until they focus on the water puddled under the window closest to your bed. 

"What the fuck," you quietly huff, looking up at your water-damaged popcorn ceiling, making sure it isn't leaking anywhere. After the inspection, you walk closer, eyeing the slick hardwood floor and those cheap green satin curtains you bought when you first moved in; why weren't they wet? Only the very bottom of the set touched the water. There was no draft blowing the curtains away; they covered the window. Could you even remember to close them? Pulling away the dry, cheap satin, the window is closed and locked. Just as you assumed you'd left it. Peering out into the wet street, pitch black save for a singular yellow streetlight, you can't shake the terrible feeling you have. The anxiety that throbs within the pit of your stomach. Worst case scenario plaguing your mind before you try to push it all away.  "I'm just freaking myself out over nothing…This.." You habitually spoke aloud, even privately; Edward found that almost cute. He could hear your trembling voice even in his little spot, which he always nestled himself into during these nights. 

On nights like these, he decided he wanted to spend more time than he ought to, drinking up your routine. He hadn't meant to leave such a mess; he almost cleaned it up before realizing it might be better to leave it than leave evidence a mess was cleaned in the first place. With wide, vigilant eyes, he watched you walk away from the window and into the bathroom. The audible click of the switch and yellow light pouring in, even from under your bed. A little split at the right corner edge of your bed skirt, giving him an almost clear view of you as you cleaned up the cold, wet mess. Perhaps you assumed your window leaked, the wind coming in so treacherously and violently it managed to get past the cheap oak.

Something feels off; he notes how you sit and stare momentarily. You couldn't know he was here, and if you'd taken a little longer on your route home like you usually do, he wouldn't have been so messy and quick about finding his way in. Usually, he just used his key, which he had stolen a while back. You'd already paid for a replica to be made, something he felt terrible about, but it couldn't be helped. He just tipped you a fifty the next day, anyway. Today, while still in his pocket, he couldn't help but feel intimidated by the flood of people in the lobby of your apartment building—too many people to possibly remember his face if the questioning was necessary. Not that he would ever hurt you, but the future is unpredictable, and Edward can't afford any genuine risk concerning his little hobby. He can't see your face, but he can tell; the way you stand up and keep your head tilted downwards to the still slick wood, you're lost in thought. 

You feel so numb, unsure of yourself, and you try to justify how on earth the water could have gotten in. No matter how you try to rationalize, that dangerous feeling returns. You're being watched, aren't you? Did someone break in, or is the window broken in some area you can't see? This heavy part of you wants to check, to search around and hope you're crazy, but another knows you aren't. If you look, you'll find those eyes. This isn't the first time you've felt this; it feels like you have proof of something, but every time you see it, you try to ignore it. Try to cast it away and not worry because if it is true, if there is a man or woman in your apartment, wouldn't they have hurt you by now? If you find them, they may as well kill you unless they're waiting for you to fall asleep. See, how stupid does that sound? Why on earth would someone break into your apartment just to watch you? No, this is all silly. You feel those eyes, intense and imposing, but you walk away to the bathroom anyway. You have a routine to keep up, of course. 

– ——<-?->—— – = – ——<-?->—— – = – ——<-?->—— –

The alarm clock on your bedside table reads precisely 2:30 A.m., and you've managed to fall asleep. Your breathing becomes heavy, and occasionally, you snore or hum something incoherent as you shift onto your other side. Edward always loves to take mental notes of what you do; he isn't sure why, but the details are his favorite part. The little things, the signs and signals he feels, make his job regarding you easier. Even now, standing over you, hidden in the shadows of your room, given your placement in the city, it was a wonder how you managed to keep it so dark, No yellowed light peering in from the cracks in your curtains and even the neon green of your alarm is dull and soft. You can't sleep with any light or noise; you're an exceptionally light sleeper, much like him. The white noise in your room is from the heater and fan, and there are no cars or screaming. Stark silence aside from your and his own breathing.

The scene would be almost peaceful if it weren't for his hefty and ragged breathing, for the disgustingly vile reality that Edward could not admit even to himself. The reality of what he was about to do.

[mimicmimikyuwrites]

The Riddler (Edward Nashton) Dating Headcanons

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.

[riddle-me-ri]

Hiiii could I get "Going on a valentine's day date" with reevesverse/dano Riddler?

a/n: ahh i was wondering when this particular green bean was going to show up lol, heads up…this won't be like other dates and may take a tiny turn hehe

Content Warning: stalking mentions, obsessive tendencies

Word Count: 512

Going on a Valentine’s Day Date with Reevesverse/Dano Riddler

Edward let out a shaky sigh.

All the anxieties that you may not show up instantly diminished when you walked through the diner doors.

The smile on your face was mirrored on his.

The bright migraine inducing fluorescent lights caused a twinkle in your eyes.

Edward was delighted that you decided to show up and spend your Valentine’s Day here with him in one of his favorite places.

He already knew what you wanted to order, and he went ahead and ordered for you–surprisingly without any stuttering or hiccups.

You nodded in approval. You leaned forward onto the table and rested your hands on the surface.

Although his hands were shaky, he slowly reached out to place his hands above your own.

He apologized for having frigid hands–you assured him it was fine and that your hands could warm his own by placing one of your hands above his own.

Your words were proven accurate as he felt your soft, warm touch begin to soothe his chilled hands and his anxious nerves.

Edward attempted to change the subject, asking you how your day went…wanting to talk about you and hear your sweet voice.

He thinks he could listen to you rattle off the phone book, and he would never get tired of your voice.

Edward listened intently to every word, acting as if he didn't already know what you were going to say.

Acting as if he didn't watch you throughout the entirety of the day.

As if he didn't know about the Valentine's cards some of your work colleagues gave you.

As if he didn't know about you being propositioned for a date that you turned down because you were going out with HIM tonight and no one else.

Of course, that doesn't stop the cheeky grin from stretching across his face when you confirm you chose him to celebrate the night's events, turning down your flirtatious co-worker.

You return the question to Edward, asking him what he was up to while you were at work–

Edward spins a story about his day at work. The story isn't entirely a lie, it was the chain of events that happened at his work, just not what actually happened today.

You comforted him, becoming frustrated on his behalf from how he's mistreated…

This moment would be perfect for you to lean over and give him a supportive kiss on the cheek…

However, you weren't there.

You were in the diner. You were smiling and being your sweet pure self, but you were sitting in a booth along the wall…by yourself.

Edward was shifting in his routine barstool at the diner's bar, occasionally taking a bite of pumpkin pie and a sip of black coffee.

Whenever you look up from your phone, Ed quickly turns his attention to the crossword beside his plate…

This is the closest he's ever gotten to you. It excites and chills him that you're able to see him and actually acknowledge his existence with your pretty eyes…

Perhaps…his little Valentine fantasy can become a reality one of these years.

[get-your-fics]

I just got a thought. What if the reader is married to Bruce. And she decided to open an orphanage. And Ed is just like, "Mrs. Wayne decided to open an orphanage? Let's check, " and he decides to volunteer in the orphanage. Reader and Edward meet, and Edward starts getting obsessive and abit yandere-ish. 😳

(You can change some things if you'd like)

From the Ashes

Pairing: Edward Nashton x reader

Word count: 430

Warnings: None really, jealousy, slightly yandere ig

Gotham Orphanage looked completely transformed from when it had burned down.

Edward stood in the middle of the lobby, gaping at his surroundings. The orphanage had always been run down, long before it had been abandoned and left to rot. After all, there was a reason the Waynes had left it and built the shiny, new Wayne Tower, a paramount landmark of the Gotham skyline.

But now, the orphanage looked better than it had before, maybe even better than when the Waynes had resided there. It was hard to imagine any kid living here going through the hell he had. Maybe change really was happening in Gotham.

“Excuse me? Can I help you?”

Edward was snapped out of his trance and turned to see the woman responsible for all of this: the new Mrs. Wayne, Bruce Wayne’s wife. She was even prettier than she was in the magazines. Those photos didn’t do her beauty justice.

She continued to look at him expectantly, patiently waiting an answer. He blinked. “Oh, I’m here to volunteer. It’s my first day.”

Her face lit up. “You must be Edward Nashton, correct?”

“Yep, that’s me.” He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s nice to meet you, Edward.” She held out a manicured hand for him to shake.

He clasped her hand in his, grinning from ear to ear. “Please, call me Ed, and the pleasure is all mine. I’m a big fan of your work.”

She averted her gaze shyly. “Oh, thank you.” She retracted her hand. “Not enough people are supportive of what we’re trying to do here. We’ve faced some real push back from the local government on this project.”

“I imagine Bruce must not be too thrilled either,” he joked.

She pursed her lips, tilting her head. “What makes you say that?”

“He just doesn’t seem like the philanthropic type.” He shrugged. “He must not be a big fan of his money going towards the public good.”

She laced her hands together. “I assure you, I have my husband’s full support in this endeavor.” She smirked to herself. “And he may surprise you. He just goes about his philanthropy in… other ways.”

She spun around and started walking towards the grand staircase. “Please, follow me. I’ll show you around.” She waved him over, her heels clicking against the polished tile in a rhythmic melody.

He caught up to her, keeping pace beside her. Regardless of what she said about her husband, Edward knew she deserved someone better, someone who understood exactly what it was she was trying to do...

[darlingdreadwrites]

cam 5

pairing: Edward Nashton x GN!Reader*

part: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

summary: Edward is finally rewarded with the warmth of your touch and affection – or is he?

contains: reader working at a bookstore, slight dom elements, obsessed Edward, religious imagery, suggestive touching, riding

warnings: MDNI, *AFAB!Reader but i don't specify gender, dub-con, stalking, degradation

word count: 3.1k

masterlist

For a moment, Edward feels as though he is floating. He is suspended in a massive plane of darkness, unable to move. He doesn’t remember the last time his mind was so quiet, so peaceful. It was as if he was in a realm between time and space – until he finally opens his eyes.

He was in the bookstore – your bookstore – standing in front of two bookshelves. You were there, standing in between them, shelving books. The sight of you surrounds him with a warmth that emitted from where you stand, ethereal and glowing. You were something angelic, and yet undeniably human. Edward could feel the weight of your presence settle in his chest like a blessing. You were an impossible vision, a being neither entirely of earth nor heaven, a force that demanded worship and devotion. The shelves around you seem to bend toward you, as though bowing in reverence.

The room stretches upward, spiraling to an unseen paradise. The air feels thick, and his view of the world is heavy. The shelves move never-endingly; they were no longer neat rows of books but towering spirals getting sucked into a luminous void behind your figure.

His breath catches as you finally turn to look at him, a kind smile on your face. You approach him with the grace of someone who already knew his every thought, every longing—someone who had chosen him. Your steps are soundless on the polished floors, and he feels an impossible pull to be closer to you, as though his soul is tethered to yours. He can almost not feel the pain in his chest. A throbbing, pulsing hurt that recedes once you get close enough. Or maybe it was that the pain had consumed him enough that he grew numb to it. It doesn’t matter in the end, you’re here now. You are warm, kind, and comforting – a stark contrast to the strange, twisted cathedral around you.

Your hands are soft, the kind of touch that felt both maternal and intimate. You cup his face like you were cradling something precious. Your thumbs graze over his cheeks in a way that makes his eyes sting. He is too afraid of you disappearing if he blinks. Your face tilts, studying him like he has any worth. He is fragile and tender, so tender. Edward feels cherished – safe. His knees shake slightly under the weight of this moment, but he fights it. He should be on his knees before you, but he wanted to stay between the warmth of your hands. As he gazes up at you, he can’t help but tremble.

For a moment, there is only peace – a powerful, sacred peace.

A whimper escapes him as you apply pressure to his face, fingers digging into his skin. Your nails sting while you grip him tightly, the smile on your face unwavering. Your fingers press harder, squeezing so hard that his mouth falls open with a sharp cry. And just as the pain started to become overwhelming, your grip loosens.

One of your hands slides down, dragging your nails over the curve of his neck, down his chest, and it burns. Edward shudders under your touch, the sensation not entirely painful, not entirely comforting – just too much. He swallows hard. The heat of desire and shame tangle together in a painful knot.

Then, the words came. Soft, lilting, but slicing through him.

“You’re disgusting.”

The words – so cruel – come from a place where malice and sweetness are one and the same. Your smile, still welcoming and pleasant, belies the puncture of your statement. His confusion makes him dizzy. There is nothing that feels right about the words, nothing logical about them, and yet… they are the only thing that make sense. They are what he needs to hear. He flinches, his body responding involuntarily.

His heart hammers in his chest as you tilt his chin up, your thumb pressing into his skin in a way that makes him ache. He feels small and insignificant under your gaze. The hand that wasn’t on his face travels lower, palming and pressing against his groin with deliberate force. His mind screams at him to reject the sensation, but his body betrays him. He jerks, hips twitching into your palm – seeking more of that sinful pressure. He can’t breathe, can’t think as his chest heaves. The shame twists inside him as his eyes widen.

“Please…” he whimpers, his voice cracking as the smallest shift in your hold on him causes him to moan.

You lean in, your face hovering just inches from his. Your beath was warm on his trembling lips.

“Filthy, filthy thing,” you whisper, the words ghosting against his skin.

The bookstore around you both begins to collapse, the arches crumbling into darkness. The shelves twist, warp, bend in on themselves. The golden light dims to an abyssal void – yet you remain bathed in a holy light. He is consumed by you – by your presence, by your touch, by the haunting words. You hold him in place, your smile syrupy and mocking as you get closer to him. He reaches for you just as your lips brush his.

Edward wakes up with a strangled cry, drenched in sweat. He bolts upright, wide eyes attempting to make out anything in the darkness of his apartment. His heart pounds like a drum, and painfully. The sensation of your touch still scorches his skin as his mind races. He touches his face where your hands had been.

There is a purpose to that dream, he rationalizes, you’re calling to me – touching me beyond this plane of reality.

Edward sits at the edge of his bed, staring at the empty coffee mug on his desk. The remnants of the dream still cling to him like a phantom touch. He’s spent the better part of an hour replaying it in his head. The way your voice had curled around that single phrase – “You’re disgusting” – makes him shiver even now. He is repulsed by the fact his body seems to enjoy how you insulted him with such a loving tone.

He needs to get out of his apartment.

It was suffocating him now. It was logical to get out, wasn’t it? He has been cooped up here for too long, buried in the glow of his monitors and the labyrinth of code he’s been pouring over for weeks. Normal people went out to public places. They sat in cafes, walked in parks, and – yes – they read in bookstores. It wasn’t suspicious for him to do so. It wasn’t strange.

I need to take care of myself.

The thin veneer of his words failed to hide the truth he is unwilling to admit. His attention drifts to the books relevant to his research on his desk. And now, here he is, preparing to go back to the same bookstore under the flimsiest of excuses.

Edward stands and moves to his closet, fingers brushing over the very few neatly hung shirts as he tries to decide what to wear. It wasn’t like this was a date – it wasn’t – but he can’t help the flutter of nerves in his chest as he debates between the gray sweater that makes him look softer or the green button-up that matches his eyes.

He settles on the sweater. Soft was better. Non-threatening. Approachable.

Next comes his hair. He stands in front of the cracked mirror, meticulously combing it into place only to muss it up again. He runs his fingers through it over and over, muttering under his breath how it refused to cooperate. Finally, he gives up and leaves it as it is. He wipes his glasses clean on the corner of his sweater, holding them up to the light to check for smudges. He can’t help but picture you noticing them, leaning in close with a teasing smirk to point out a speck he’d missed. The thought makes his cheeks flush, and he shoves the glasses back onto his face almost frantically.

“Okay,” he whispers, taking a deep breath and facing his mirror again. He attempts at practicing a warm, friendly smile – but it seems too unnatural on his face. He raises a hand and waves, practicing what he’d do if he saw you. “Hello. How, how are you today?”

It was completely normal for me to rehearse like this. I’ve seen it in movies.

Doubt creeps in as he assures himself.

He sits back down on his mattress, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. Was this really okay? As self-reproach gnaws at him, he replays the dream – your voice just as sharp and cutting as you call him disgusting.

Edward’s stomach churns. Maybe he is disgusting. He shuts his eyes tight, trying to block out the image of your kindhearted, smiling face from the dream. The image of your hands had roamed over him, one of them traveling lower and lower until—

“No,” he snaps, standing abruptly. He can’t let his mind go there; he can’t let his body failing him again before he stepped out the door. He doesn’t have time to touch himself – to relieve himself – again.

He paces the room, his steps uneven and hurried. He mutters to himself that it’s fine to go to your bookstore with no other reason than to just be there.

With a determined breath, he grabs his coat and slings it over his shoulders. He hesitates only once more at the door. His hand stills over the knob as your voice echoes in his mind again, soft and cruel all at once. “Filthy, filthy thing.”

His grip tightens, his knuckles whitening around the doorknob as he shoves the memory aside. Instead, he focuses on the warmth of your touch – the comfort he felt as you held his face in your hands.

Edward steps out into the deafening silence of the hallway, the door closing behind him with a resolute click. He tells himself that he isn’t walking toward you. He isn’t trying to chase the fleeting connection he felt in the dream. He is only going to read.

And that isn’t a lie. Not entirely.

Edward pauses in the doorway of the bookstore for a moment, overwhelmed by the familiar scent of paper. There were a decent amount of patrons this evening, the distant hum of conversation creating a low symphony of activity. Edward’s gaze sweeps the room until he catches sight of you. You stand behind the counter, your back to him as you help someone. Even from this distance, you are magnetic. Your presence commands his focus with the same intensity as the figure in his dream—

His heart beats so fast it feels like it might bruise his ribs. The dream! It was vivid and consuming, filling his chest with reverence, dread, and arousal.

“Just… sit,” he tells himself, forcing his legs to move away from you.

He wanders through the aisles, feigning interest in the messily arranged books but barely registers the titles. His sole focus was finding the perfect vantage point. At last, he finds it – a small table tucked into a corner with a direct line of sight to the counter.

He sinks into the chair with a small smile, placing the book he’d grabbed at random on the table in front of him. His fingers fidget with the edges of the pages. His eyes flick up to you every few seconds despite his best efforts to focus on the text.

Stop staring, he berates himself. You’re making it obvious.

But your pull is too strong. Each glance was a sin, a stolen moment of connection.

Edward’s mind begins to betray him as the dream bleeds into reality. In the dim bookstore light, your form seems to glow faintly. The edges of your silhouette blur and he blinks hard, trying to dispel the illusion.

“You’re disgusting.”

He whips his head to the right, a soft gasp on his lips. You were not there – nobody was. The words echo in his mind and his stomach twists. He snaps his attention back to his book, suddenly feeling like all eyes were on him. You didn’t say that. You wouldn’t – not to me.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he feels your hands snake all over his body. He was starting to feel remorseful again, but it isn’t enough to make him leave.

Then it happens.

You turn, making eye contact with him almost immediately, as if you had felt his presence. For a moment, your eyes meet, and you smile. A smile that was merely a polite gesture to others, but to him, it was as inconsequential as it was devastating.

Edward’s heart hammers so loudly that he is certain you are able to hear it. His face flushes, and he quickly looks back down to read the words swimming before his eyes in a meaningless blur.

You saw me.

The thought reverberates in his mind, equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. He clings to the image of your smile. It is everything to him. A slow smile spreads across his face, eyes wild and glued to a single word on the page. “Passion.” It is almost fitting – actually, it is perfectly fitting.

The minutes tick by, stretching into an eternity as he sits there and sneaks glances when he thinks you won’t notice. He can’t stop – not even when each look feels like a delicious risk.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a darker thought begins to spread. This isn’t enough. Sitting here, watching you from afar. It is a poor substitute for what he truly wants. What he truly needs.

Edward swallows dryly, his hands gripping the book as his imagination runs wild. He pictures you looking at him the way you had in the dream – not with polite indifference. But with a look of intensity of someone who wanted him.

You’re touching yourself – or touching him, he can’t tell from the proximity – breathing heavily and looking at him with half-lidded eyes. Neither of you are wearing any clothes. He can feel your skin, but his mind refuses to conjure up what your body might look like even as he desperately tries to look down at you. You both moan, sweat covering both of your bodies in a sticky tangle of limbs. The fantasy spirals, painting an intense picture of you closing the distance between you. What he believes is your perfect, naked body on top of his – thighs caging his hips and grinding sensually as you throw your head back in pleasure. He's embarrassingly loud, sputtering and panting like a dog while you’re mewling softly and elegantly.

He grunts in frustration, trying to squint and make out your peaked nipples or how your heat rides his length in vain. His hands grab onto your hips to bring you impossibly closer to his stuttering hips – he was so close. You look down at him to smile sweetly. It softens into something fond as you lean down to whisper in his ear. He can almost feel your breath on him, hear the saccharine venom of your words—

“Stop it,” he says under his breath, shaking his head to dislodge the fantasy.

He needs to leave. He’s throbbing with a discomfort that borders on pain.

Edward stands, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he pushes it back. He grabs the book and returns it to the nearest shelf, his movements clumsy. As he makes his way to the door, he can’t resist stealing one last glance at you. You are busy again, helping yet another customer with the same warm grin that had shattered his composure moments before.

The bell chimes violently as he steps outside, the cold evening air hitting him like a splash of cold water. That’s what he needs – a cold shower. He shoves his hands into his pockets, his mind buzzing with visions of him and you. He was disgusting.

The water steams down Edward’s back in scalding rivulets, but it does little to wash away the lingering sensations of the day. His shower was supposed to be freezing – a penance to purge himself of the memory of your smile and the fantasy that followed. Yet, it hadn’t taken long for his resolve to crumble.

Edward had given in – his mind stuck on every detail of your fleeting glance at the bookstore, every imagined touch from the dream and fantasy. He’d cursed himself through gritted teeth even as his body betrayed him, chasing an unbearable high that left him slumped against the shower wall. He felt ashamed and hollow.

Steam fills the small bathroom, the heat now oppressive as his mind begins to clear. Edward slides down on the wet tiles, burying his face in his hands. The sound of water drowns out his sobs.

The words from his dream ricochet through him, cutting through the fog of his exhaustion. He winces, stomach feeling like it’s coiling at the memory – no longer making him feel aroused.

No, you’re wrong, he protests pathetically. I’m not disgusting. This isn’t disgusting.

He clings to the threadbare justification like a lifeline, dragging himself back to his feet as the water cools to a lukewarm drizzle. Edward shuts off the shower, the sudden silence amplifies the turmoil in his mind.

He dries himself and avoids his reflection in the mirror, unable to face the pale figure staring back at him. Instead, he focuses on his hands – hands that had sinned against you. The same hands that would someday cradle your face like you had done his. If only he could make you understand.  

Back in his room, Edward plops down into the creaky chair at his desk. Like a robot, he searches for your computer. The webcam feed blinks at him, and there you are again. At the sight of you, he almost wants to cry once more. The smile from the bookstore lingers in his mind. His eyes drank in the soft curve of your lips, the way your hands moved as you organized something on your desk. The image of your hands from his fantasies resurfaces, making his heart ache.

“Thank you.” Edward wets his lips, his voice a dry whisper in the quiet room. “For bringing this angel into my life.”

He clasps his hands together, fingers interlocking tightly in prayer. He isn’t sure who he was thanking – a god he’d long since abandoned, fate, or perhaps the dream itself. All he knows is that he feels chosen, as though your existence is a message meant solely for him.

The fantasy builds again as he stares at you, unbidden and unstoppable. In his mind, he sees you smiling at him the way you had in the dream – soft and cruel all at once, yet impossibly kind.

[vermililion]

[ edward nashton 'the riddler' fic recs ]

continuing to update | last updated 27/05 | includes smut and other nsfw content.

─── ✧ DRABBLES/THOUGHTS

voyeurism | @pictureinme

kinktober - pervy eddie.

from your secret admirer | @boyprincessarchives

you're edward's newest penpal! ...unbeknownst to you. set in the riddler year one comics, in the midst of finding and fulfilling his purpose to rid the city of its impurities, edward finds that his biggest hurdle for his plans are the growing thoughts about the corner diner's newest regular. but he cant just come up to you!! maybe notes will have to suffice...

─── ✧ ONE SHOTS

home is where the heart is | @vigilvntes

There's no where Eddie would rather be than home.

the getaway | @abrcmswrld

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.

keep looking up | @goodboyriddler

He's utterly obsessed with you. Your face, your smile, your smell. He'll do anything, beg for you, take that fight for you.

good boy | @/goodboyriddler

He's always nervously stealing glances at you when you come to the dinner, blushing when you look back. When you praise him accidentally one time his whole body shudders. Oh. This is going to be fun.

the one I love, the one I left behind | @mypoisonedvine

for the most part, you've managed to let go of the life you lived so long ago, fighting to survive in an orphanage with your best friend at your side; you thought it was the only way to cope with the trauma and move on so you could start living in better means...

so long, prison boy | @mermaid-trash

Reader visits Eddie in Arkham after finding out he is the Riddler, angst follows.

jail bird | @passi0np1t

whole lotta angst. In which the gn reader visits edward in jail after he’s arrested.

puppet master | @get-your-fics

Who's really pulling the strings?

covered in you | @starlightsearches

neighbour riddler.

moving too fast | @/starlightsearches

eddie is a virgin and doesn't know how to tell reader.

edward nashton | @the-witty-pen-name

collage au with edward.

i knew him | @sadtrombonemusic

Y/n gets caught up with the GCPD after she is singled out by the Riddler.

Damn bitch, you live like this? | @rat-cigars

riddler being the riddler - based on 2022 batman, pre-canon into main canon.

─── ✧ SERIES

lessons in design | @ohcaptains

edward is in charge of registering the new recruits. it’s boring and dull work, but he happens upon the newest member of the design team and becomes a little bit too interested in her startup. 

disarm (AO3) | @/writingsofmax

Edward Nashton is working on his Riddler plans for Gotham when he unexpectedly meets Y/N, someone who is struggling with her chronic illness one night while out driving. Edward had always been a loner that had serious issues relating to other people and now has to reckon with his growing feelings for Y/N over time as he also continues to work on his plans in secret.

tax season on camera | @killerlookz

Edward Nashton is a simp in every sense of the word, having fallen head over heels for a camgirl he'd found, whom he barely knows. but somehow Eddie gets lucky, and his favorite cam girl moves right next door, and just so happens to need his expertise.

pick-up lines | @/starlightsearches

Imagine getting creepy cute cards from a “Secret Admirer” and finding little gifts at your work, in your apartment...and you’re shocked to find out The Riddler is leaving the same style of cards for Batman at his murder scenes....

saturdays - sundays - weeks | @ficsforyou

He sees her, someone rich, someone famous, someone who eventually will be his.

truth's out | @/sadtrombonemusic

you found out that your husband was the man terrorizing Gotham city, how does that affect you and your child?

faustian bargains part ii | @acapelladitty

Assigned as the newest psychiatrist to treat Edward Nashton, your first meeting quickly descends into a dangerous game which sees you making a deal with the devil to survive.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

[finniestoncrane]

gentle and whiny and pleading and apologetic noncon from eddie. he's so sorry it's come to this but he's so so so desperate and you wouldn't have agreed otherwise because you don't know him, but he knows you!! and you're perfect!! and he wants you to be his first like his first first and you are, and you take him so well, so well that his glasses break and your skin bleeds where he's been holding you but you don't cry and you don't scream and you don't fight because you're perfect and he knew it all along!! and you're filled with him but he won't let you go, he holds you when he's done and he's crying and asking you if it was good, if he did a good job, if it felt right, if he did it right, if he got it right was it right was it good was it ok please tell him he's good tell him he's correct and right and perfect please

[styluswritesdc]

hiii could u do hcs of some of the riddlers with an autistic!reader? thank uu <33 i really love all of your writings ( •̀ ω •́ )

yes!! I sure can :) I love writing for these narstie little rat men hehehe

I included Killing time Riddler as I've recently reread it and I do love him!

I've always believed as an autistic person that these guys are on the spectrum. so this is going to be lovely for you dear reader!

Zero year:

oh man.. like yeah, this guy GETS IT.

he literally wears gloves to refrain from touching icky textures.

the only issue is that he is TERRIBLE if you're overstimulated. He'll poke you and make you TWEAK. like brother take two steps back before I lunge at you.

he's loud. He is overstimulating so.. good luck.

other than that he's understanding to sources of discomfort (just not him). He hates going to supermarkets, shopping centres or anywhere with a lot of people, germs or those EVIL florescent lights. He's getting you out of there.

He has his own melt downs all the time so if you have one, he's surprisingly understanding.

you're gonna stim together, especially if you have echolalia. he's saying funny little words or noises all the time.

Killing time:

okay so, bad.. but has a good side..

he compulsively uses riddles in his speech more than the other riddlers. which can be difficult or frustrating if you're trying to convey a complicated feeling or emotion.

its worse if you're already overstimulated and you've got this ginger rat in your ear speaking in literal riddles. like no, not right now please honey.

he also wears gloves for texture reasons. which is actually quite nice for you since they're a really soft leather!

he smells good, feels good.. he's actually kind of nice sensory wise! is actually soothing if you were anxious in public to fiddle with his gloves, cuff links or his very fancy suit.

Arkham:

look at this greasy old man. if the first thing that comes to mind isn't "man struggling with OCD and autistic tendencies" you're WRONG.

when you're the one having a melt down, it can be a bit difficult for him.

like. this is a small issue with your relationship as he wouldn't know how to deal with your symptoms of autism as he cant even cope with his own.

he's also a little awful texture wise. I mean specifically in Knight. this man is covered in grease, oil, sweat and dirt... not the nicest to touch.

he would be considerate to your overstimulation though, regardless of what you need he is helpful. if you need silence he wont make a peep!

TWOJAR:

sigh.. my HERO. the best guy at this.

I mean- he doesn't completely get it but, he literally has the ability to snap his fingers and what he wants to happen will happen.

Aka; if he can't immediately do something his men are on it.

music too loud? to busy here? overstimulated in general? need headphones? he's snapping his fingers and its sorted.

he won't be an issue when you are overstimulated or having a meltdown.

he's doing what he's figured out suits you best, either holding you, talking to you, or neither of those thing. he just aims to soothe and ground you.

genuinely ideal for this.

BTAS:

again, this brother has gloves on to stop germs and having to touch anyone. he especially hates shaking hands!

he GETS it. so whatever you need, he's right here.

he literally designs toys. he will make you fidget toys. genuinely he makes ones for him that are tiny pocket puzzles. any specific texture, sound or sensation you want!!

he's so fun too! with stimming together and info dumping!

will listen to you talk about your topic or media of choice and listen to it for as long as you want!super engaging about it too!

you will need to give him the same effort and attention when he info dumps to you though!

Dano:

oh he's great at it. stimming, info dumping, overstimulation even meltdowns- he's great at coping with them. (only with you though.. when he experiences these he's bad at managing them!)

he's so soothing. quiet voice, gentle touch, clear questions and gets straight to the point with things.

will blanket you up real nice and get pillows and snacks and stick on your comfort show/film

speaking of, he would love for you to show him your favourite medias and he will show you his!

its bonding time as far as he's concerned! info dumping for the win!

you have a joint fidget toy drawer where you have your collection!

[meeowdrey]

HE IS SO NERVOUS,,,, HE IS SHAKING.

[cl3fairyyy]

edward nashton coded send tweet

[your-so-vain]

OMG YALL

TELL THEY LOOK ALIKE IM NOT CRAZY

[itsmeeleanorstill]

Its been you me since before i was me

Edward Nashton x reader

Summary: comforting riddle boy when hes crying+ him feeling guilty thinking he dosent deserves your love

He wanted it so badly.....

Something he craved since the moment his pathetic of a life haves started. Years of guilt and shame builting up in him always being there in the back of his mind folowing him around like a shadow, constant whispers in his mind playing over and over agin telling him hes not worth it you're just doing it out of pity for him but still....

Still when you showed him a warm smile and ran a hand oh so gently over his cheek he wants to belive you for a second

Just one glarce from you was enough to make him feel like that look was the last thing he ever wanted see as the world colapsed around you two, to feel like a hero taking people out of a corrupted world like this

But will he ever be free from the burden of knowing hes the only savior in a city like gotham? He knew he wasent alone, after all there was his folowers and maybe only maybe there could be you....? But no what if you hate him after he reveals his true twisted nature if you see him for the true monster he is.....

Will you still love him?

Will you still love him if you knew where he came from? Knowing how much of a mess he is inside?

But still its been you and him before he even knew he was him

He walked trew the small shared apartment you two had face hot eyes burning with tears stumbling on everything as he hurried to reach you

You ware sitting on the couch your face twisted in worry as you saw his agitated state

-baby whats wrong?

You asked in a soft voice as he sat down next to you holding back tears trying not to reveal the mess he is

You opened your arms for him but he just hugged you putting his head on your chest as you both layed back on the couch him him ontop of you holding onto your shirt for dear life like you might disapier anytime or even worse leave him for somebody better

He burried his face into your chest as he mumbled apologies tears streaming down his face making your shirt wet as he very quietly sobbed in your arms

But you just let him do it as long as he needed as you whispered sweet nothings to him arms around him rubbing on his back

After what felt like hours he looked up at you his crying haves calmed down a bit as you looked at him and kissed his forehead looking at your lover in your arms looking more beutifull then ever

Cheeks red, hair messy, big green eyes glossy with tears looking like a beutifull angel that fell from heaven right into your arms

And he? He felt like he wanted to die exacly like this

In your arms

[mimicmimikyuwrites]

Good Enough - Edward Nashton (The Riddler) x Fem!Reader

Summary: Edward has never felt good enough for anyone or anything. When the self-help resources fail to work and the feelings of inadequacy grow stronger by the day, he begins to doubt that he's even worthy of being loved, but you're there to comfort him and remind him of just how much he matters.

Contents/Possible Warnings: Minor spoilers for Riddler: Year One, a lot of angst, hurt with comfort, fluff, mentions of smut (but no actual smut)

Repulsive. Broken. Unwanted. Not good enough. The words he told himself had buried their way into his thoughts, repeating themselves like a twisted mantra that never ended, even with the constant use of every self-help tip and coping skill he had learned. That same mantra had been there so long that he couldn't remember when it had first started.

Maybe it was never something new at any point; maybe it was just the truth that he kept trying to deny with ledgers filled line to line with positive affirmations that he could never convince himself of. 'You are good enough.' No, he wasn't. He never would be. He was fighting a losing battle against himself.

At least at the end of the day, he had someone to come back home to, someone who told him every day how much she loved him. Before he had met you his only form of salvation was his puzzles, like it had always been since he was a young child. With you here, though, he had more than just riddles and crosswords online and in the local paper to look forward to after a long workday. You were the only good thing that Gotham City had to offer. You were an angel, his angel.

He unlocked the door to his apartment and closed it behind him, a smile making its way onto his face at the sound of your shoes against the wooden floor as you made your way from the bedroom and toward him. You grinned widely as you saw him, your arms outstretched and wide open before you wrapped him in a tight hug.

"Hi," He murmured in greeting, hugging you back as he nuzzled his face into your soft, beautiful hair. You smiled even wider, looking up at him with eyes that always made him melt with just a single look into his own. "How was work, Eddie?" You questioned, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"It was—" He paused, trying to find the right words. Shit. It was shit. His boss was a condescending, passive-aggressive, arrogant prick who slacked off more than he worked and still managed to be more successful in his career than Edward had ever been. As much as he wanted to vent, he didn't want to burden you with more than he already was by being with you.

"Fine." He finally decided, putting on a fake smile. "Same old calculations and whatnot. Nothing interesting." He lied. It was another day of statements from Zach that were insulting enough to strike a nerve, but not obvious enough to report to HR. Not like it'd matter, it would probably get swept under the rug and forgotten about. Some days Edward wondered if his superior was actually the pompous dick he thought him to be or just an idiot with confidence.

"Oh." You could see right that smile on his face. Something was bothering him like it had been for days now and you could tell. It broke your heart knowing he was struggling and that same struggle left him unable to feel okay confiding in anyone. "Are you sure...?" You questioned, a hand moving upwards to cup his cheek gently, the man leaning into your comforting touch.

He had lied to you. How could you lie to her? You manipulative, disgusting freak. As the thoughts filled his head, guilt washed over him. God, he didn't deserve you. He didn't deserve your affection, and most certainly not your love. Did he deserve any love at all? Was there anything to love about—

"Eddie?" Came your soft voice, the sound like that of an angel. He broke himself out of his thoughts, smiling at you again. "I think I'm gonna go pick us up some takeout for dinner. What do you want?" He changed the subject, moving away from you and back towards the door.

"No." You said a bit sternly, grabbing his hand and pulling him over to the nearby couch, sitting down with him. "You're not getting out of this that easily. Tell me what's wrong, Eddie."

"It's not you, I promise that it's not." He insisted quickly, afraid he had upset you with his earlier lie. She's going to leave you. She never should've been yours to begin with. You ruin every good thing you get. He grew tense as the fears filled him and threatened to consume him whole. You were so perfect, so deserving of every amazing thing the world had to offer and more, and he was just... Edward Nashton.

"Woahwoahwoah!" Your hands shot forward at the sight of tears beginning to well up in his eyes, your thumbs wiping them away as they fell. "I'm not mad, honey. I just—" You stopped, unsure how to phrase things. "I'm worried about you. You can tell me anything, as cliche as that sounds. You're not a burden to me; you never have been, and you never will be."

He buried his head into your shoulder, sobbing into it as your arms came to hold him close to you. "Why? Why do you love me? I–I don't understand..." He cried softly against you. "All of these years you've spent with me and I can't comprehend why. Is it out of pity?" He asked. While to anyone else it would've sounded like a bold accusatory remark, you knew that the question was genuine. He needed to know.

"Look at me, Edward." You commanded gently, him moving so he could face you and meet your eyes with his own. The sight of tears running down his face and wettening his glasses broke your heart. "Three years we've been together. In those three years, I've fallen more in love with you than I have anyone else. We've made love more times than I can count. I even wait for the day you'll put a ring on my finger, no matter which one it is. It could be made out of scrap metal for all I care, as long as it's from you.

You're smart, Eddie. Tell me, does everything I just listed sound like I only pity you? Or does it sound like I'm head-over-heels in love with the man in front of me? You are good enough. I love you, Edward Nashton."

That made him cry even harder, but you were there to hold him, just as you had been since you stumbled into his life. If he wasn't good enough for himself, then at least he was good enough for his angel. You wanted a ring on your finger? He'd get you one in due time. Anything for the one who showed him that he could be loved, that he wasn't some type of vermin in the cesspool that was Gotham City. You are good enough. For once, he believed it.