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ultravires · 3 years ago

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The Sicilian Defence

Edward Nashton x Fem!Reader

AO3 Link

Summary || You and Edward are both accounting students at Gotham University. After one particular night, you teach him to play on the offence, inadvertently inspiring him to become the Riddler.

Word Count || 3.6k

Warnings || Fluff, slow burn, betrayal, love triangle, implied violence, soft yandere(?), uni student shenanigans, Canadian English

The spring comes again with promises of a sun rising earlier and chasing away the previous night, yet yesterday’s rain persists, shrouding the City of Gotham in grey skies again. Your daily routine is the same; a milling sea of bodies suffocates you in the morning rush. Whizzing through the guts of the city at a smooth, quick pace, you are jostled and struck without any regard while the apologies that follow are cheaply doled out immediately. The usual blend of low energy suits, caffeine-addicted university students, and the few dropheads coming down from their last night’s high, together in one confined space. Wedged shoulder to shoulder, a can of fish springs to mind, packed together tightly, but rather than in a revolting alkaline brine, the sweet miasma of sweat, perfume, and mild annoyance saturates the air. Your eyes settle on the thick glass of the train car, resting on your familiar reflection and the flickering blackness just beyond.

You’re still the same. A fourth-year accounting major approaching graduation at Gotham University hoping to land a practicum position at a Big Four firm. Your duties as a TA for the Introduction to Statistics course had kept your final year busy and your CV well decorated. But to put it plainly, you were simply just ordinary.

Tall, reserved, and awkward were your first impressions of Edward Nashton. Having initially met him during orientation week, grouped together to perform an icebreaker activity. You couldn’t recall anything remotely striking about him from that first meeting. If anything, you completely forgot about him until his name appeared on your course roster. Your preconceived notions had led you to believe that Edward was probably another stupid senior repeating ‘intro to stats’ for the third time or something. But you couldn’t have been more wrong. You haven’t noticed the extent of his intellectual gift until you began grading his exams; his methods were deliberate and cerebral, a true art form expressed solely through perfect mathematical functions, algebraic notations, and elucidatory exponents. It was almost an intimate experience, seeing his entire operational process splayed on the paper like a blueprint of how his inner mind processes each calculation.

“So, why is someone like you taking an intro class in your final year?” Genuinely curious, you crane your neck to look at him. Edward looks around at first, for a moment, wondering if your question was directed at him.

“It’s not challenging enough to be enjoyable, and that determining the required statistical significant figures are typically more arbitrary than standard accounting figures that only find relevance towards the second decimal place… No, actually, I just forgot that statistics is a required core, and I won’t graduate on time if I miss registration, again…” Bashful, he pushes his oversized glasses higher on his nose bridge, the glare obscuring his eyes.

Edward Nashton was once in a lifetime. To simply describe him as brilliant would have been an understatement. And you weren’t too bad either, as he would often remind you. The both of you became fast friends, working together on every group project during your final year. You both could usually be found in a small 24-hour diner tucked in between dilapidating apartments, seated in your usual booth and playing chess on your phone. Edward usually plays black; despite moving second being the fundamental disadvantage, he doesn’t mind. You open white while dominating the centre, and you break where you are strong and he is weak. Edward was excellent at solving puzzles and problems, it was no doubt that those skills would translate into being a proficient grandmaster. He was very good, but not against you.

Typically, your conversations float between graduation and logic games, the topics switching whenever an ad pops up on your phone. You both spoke at length about practicum placements and interview week. Both of you share interviewing tips and your dream placements. Edward was top-tier talent; you couldn’t fathom not a single firm rejecting him even if he interviewed poorly.

“Okay, so we have Deloitte, KPMG, Ernest & Young, and PwC, only the crème de la crème places with them,” You list the accounting firms placing the different one-use jam spreads in a neat line representing the Big Four, “and then here’s everybody else.” Dropping a haphazard pile of mixed sweetener packets onto the middle of the table.

“I will never understand your obsession with the Big Four. Huang & Associates and Gotham City Central Tax, for example, are just as good. Just because they don’t have offices in Blüdhaven doesn’t mean they’ll be reductive to your experience.” Edward replies quietly, looking up from the latest crossword in the Gotham Gazette.

You gather a white packet of sugar between your index and middle finger, pointing at him knowingly. “Okay, tell me that they’re ‘just as good’ when you get placed at GCCT, and I’m overlooking your broom closet at Ernest & Young.” You tease him wistfully.

“Also, I think it’s actually ‘KTMJ,’ Klynveld Takahashi Marwick Jefferson.” Edward corrects you shyly, plucking the sugar packet from between your fingers and combining it into his latte.

“Oh, is it?” You were sure it was Klynveld Peat Marwick Goerdeler…

The following week, he sheepishly reveals to you that three out of the Big Four firms had already reached out to him, offering him an immediate position out of the two available placements. Ultimately, he decided to sign with KTMJ for no other reason than it was closest to the diner. You enthusiastically congratulate him, immediately ordering his traditional slice of pumpkin pie with a latte and an iced coffee with a chocolate croissant for yourself. You couldn’t stop smiling.

The diner used to be just Edward’s nightly haunt until you wandered in after a particularly terrifying girls’ night out at the Iceberg Lounge. You had quickly spotted him at the counter, but he didn’t recognize you immediately. Not only because of your club outfit but your familiar form that radiated confidence was eclipsed by the abrupt reminder that you are still a woman roaming in a man’s domain. Self-consciously, you asked him to drive you home. Edward wordlessly agreed, not bothering to pack up his half-finished slice of pumpkin pie. The ride home was mostly silent, awkward too.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Edward asked you a riddle. His mouth hung open in embarrassment right after he announced the premise as if he could breathe it all back in. He tried to say something else, anything else, but then you responded with the correct answer to his riddle. The answer was ‘Madrid.’ Rolling the window down, you stuck your hand out, feeling the cold breeze cut by your fingertips; you joked that this was the last time you’d be picking the Iceberg over an iced coffee. Edward looked over at you, how wanted to call you over for a kiss, but he knew better than to force anything onto an intoxicated woman. He resigns to his reserved nature. The next day, you thank him for taking you home with a homemade pumpkin pie, feeling a bit guilty as he lived so close to the diner.

Edward liked you – more than a friend; it was apparent to everybody else. Especially when he would steal glances at you when you weren’t looking, when the tips of his ears would flush, and when he would sit a little straighter, hanging on every word you said. Or, demonstrably, when he would come early to stat tutorials being the only student in the whole room sitting quietly and listening to you half-heartedly teach – not because you were a poor teacher, rather you couldn’t reconcile the absurdity of teaching topics and subjects that he already knew better than you. Often, Edward would have to repeat or rephrase his riddles and word games a few times just to get the set-up right. It was so very obvious. But he hadn’t found the time, words, or courage to ask you or tell you anything related to that manner.

You wouldn’t make the mistake of assuming that he likes you without him telling you that he likes you because, of course, you would say that you like him if he asked if you liked him but to like?

Above all else, yes – you would say that you like him.

But why should you be capable of defining it and navigating through the nebulousness when he, himself, does not?

And why should you make time for such logical fallacies?

Fuck.

During your last semester, you had swiftly found yourself an appropriate college boyfriend who wasn’t Edward, but someone who was straightforward and spoke freely from his heart. He nicknamed you ‘Peaches’ and referred to Edward as just ‘Nashton.’ Your newest boyfriend was affluent, popular, charismatic, blue-blooded, and entirely carved out of marble. Metaphorically – you’ve gotten close enough to check.

Accounting projects no longer exclusively involved just you and Edward. The newest addition to your duo had substantially slowed your work progression, but you liked him a little, and Edward didn’t mind at first. Like the social elites and social climbers that birthed his existence, your boyfriend was nothing but opportunistic. But could you blame him? You were too. You liked eating at top restaurants in Gotham Bay, shopping in the luxury community of Crest Hill, and pretending, even for a moment, that you were anything more than just ordinary. Edward didn’t like him, and he didn’t enough care to hide his obvious disdain. You weren’t sure if he was jealous, if he genuinely despised your boyfriend, or if it was both.

You and Edward sit familiarly across from each other at the diner, playing chess on an actual board your boyfriend had purchased for you. “He’s just using you. Why can’t you see that? Haven’t you noticed that his grades only started going up when he began signing his name to our work?” Edward breathes out while taking your rook.

“He’s not like that, I promise. Maybe if you tried to get to know him better….” You reply, promoting your pawn into a queen.

“I don’t need to; I know all about his type.” Edward pauses, about the length of a breath. He misplaces his knight, exposing his king, and you catch the mistake before he does.

“Checkmate.” You proclaim. Edward sighs distantly. His sandy blond hair falls in front of his glasses as you have trapped his king in a mating net. His lips collect into a slight frown.

You check your e-mail to find a nomination for the second open position at KTMJ. You schedule the interview after your other interviews with smaller local firms. Relaying Edward the good news as you jump to embrace him on his side of the table. An earnest smile settles comfortably on his boyish features.

“I always knew you were a smart girl.” He gazes directly at you, pausing for a second to completely take you in before his eyes shift away in slight embarrassment.

If the past year of working together was any indication of your stellar teamwork, you were excited to work closely with him during practicum too. The good news is soon relayed to your boyfriend as well. As it turns out, he was also nominated for the position, and he set his interview thirty minutes after yours. He was sharp, but you had the edge over him in everything – and he knew that. You both agreed not to let competition ruin your relationship and simply let the best candidate win.

Your boyfriend had invited you and Edward out for drinks to celebrate before the firm interviews. Edward had declined but wished you a fun and safe evening, his typical response when your boyfriend would invite him to any group activity. Remembering your last drunken haze, you promised yourself you wouldn’t go back to the Iceberg Lounge, but what was one night? You drank a little bit too much and danced a little bit too hard. The Iceberg was like a siren luring you in, and like the men that sirens would seduce, you never stood a chance. Your boyfriend leads you back to his apartment, lying together in the bed you shared with him; you wondered how the warmth of his body felt so much colder than love.

Jolting awake, you attempt to blink the sleep from your eyes. You find your phone missing, your boyfriend was gone from the bed, and the sinking realization that you would be late for your interview. You struggled to get back to your apartment on time to shower and change, and you were confident that you brought your phone back from the Iceberg, but now you weren’t too sure.

Your boyfriend was finishing his interview with the KTMJ recruiter as you arrived. His mouth sets into a line when he sees you, but he otherwise does not react any more than one would see a stranger. He expresses his gratitude towards the recruiter with humbleness you didn’t know he possessed, and finally, he leaves without ever acknowledging you. The recruiter stops you before you begin to explain; she expresses deep disappointment and berates you like a child. A promising candidate who did not bother to perform even the most straightforward of tasks by simply not showing up on time absolutely does not deserve a place here – not ever. Of course, this wasn’t your only practicum offer, but it was the only offer you have received from a Big Four firm. You watch your only opportunity slip away as she slams the door in your face.

Back at the main university campus, your boyfriend is undoubtedly celebrating his victory. Seeing you, he smiles and beckons you to come to a small round table he grabbed near the large windows. He hands you an iced coffee from the canteen and your missing phone as he boasts languidly about his interview. Biting your lip, you don’t speak a single word. Noticing your attitude, your boyfriend firmly reminds you of all your previously successful practicum interviews, so you should be just peachy about his successful interview. He thanks you for your sacrifice and that he’ll be sure to take you to a much-needed lunch later to make up for the humiliation.

Your boyfriend pauses as you still don’t react. He blames Edward for making him do this to you. If Edward had accepted an offer at PwC or Deloitte instead, then everything would’ve been different. Then he finally admits, blaming you. Insecurely, he admits that your perfect grades, extensive TA experience, and how well you performed at your previous interviews would have profoundly threatened his chances at this placement. That’s why he had to do this to you. Don’t you understand?

Your boyfriend attempts to move to embrace you. Seething, you steer from his reach and splash your iced coffee on him. The cold liquid drips from his face and hair, marking his attire. You’ll cherish the look of surprise on his face forever. Without exchanging any words, you determinately march away on your heel as he calls out your name behind you, insults at first, turning into begs of forgiveness, then finally threats on your well-being, until you finally couldn’t hear him anymore. Even though he admitted to sabotaging your chances, you still couldn’t believe your own boyfriend cheated you out of your placement and how he wouldn’t just let the best candidate win. It wasn’t fair, and you couldn’t stop crying about it.

Distracting yourself seemed to make you feel a little better. Busying yourself with the mental gymnastics of your coursework and TA responsibilities kept your thoughts away during the day. But at night, the memory of loss and betrayal floods your mind until you fall asleep exhausted. You started making Edward stay up late with you at the diner to keep those thoughts at bay. He didn’t mind at all; not with you. Edward bought you both a new chessboard after your old one was destroyed with all your other physical memories left of your ex-boyfriend. He orders the table’s usual staples while you open white, advancing your pawns to the centre of the board, setting up an aggressive Giuoco Pianissimo.

“Eddie, I-thank you, by the way.” You said, tentatively, although you’re not sure why you are thanking him; rather, it just feels right to. “Not just for my coffee or agreeing to stay here even though you know you’ll have to drive me home at 2 a.m. Just… thank you for everything….”

Edward looks up from the board for a second, and you think that he really sees you right at that moment. “It’s fine. That’s what friends are for….” Offering you a reassuring grin. He looks back and misplaces his bishop at c4 instead of d5. “Shit.”

“Right. Friends… Check.” You’re closing in on him. You pressure his king and chase it around the board until finally, checkmate.

The familiar victory comes easy. You’ve been winning consistently for months straight unless you were playing blitz. You wondered if he was throwing all your recent matches. Yet, he was a killer against anyone else he played against, usually checkmating within twenty moves. Edward praises you on your win and starts to clear the board for your next game. You catch his slender wrist before he resets any of the chessmen. You move over to his side of the booth, forcing him to focus on the board.

“It annoys me to no end that you can easily see every single possible move on the board, yet you always make at least one fatal mistake. Even the way you play, it’s such a passive playstyle. You’re so focused on protecting your own king that you forget all about taking mine. How are you supposed to ever win if you never play on the offence?” You scoff at him.

“You’ve been studying me?” He gulps, swallowing his nerves. His ears turn a familiar colour, the same one whenever you are near.

Of course, you have been studying him. Trying to determine patterns or weaknesses in the way he played. Sure, Edward’s playstyle was effective to someone who hasn’t played against him before, but you knew him through and through. Honestly, you’d be surprised if he didn’t study you the way you studied him.

“And you always make these dumb, stupid moves when you’re distracted. What has you so distracted?” You question Edward, but you don’t wait for an answer as it doesn’t come fast enough. “If you played the Sicilian Defence, maybe then you could’ve won. It’s aggressive, very aggressive, and not like how you normally play – never like how you play. The queen captures the knight on g6, then you force a checkmate in seven moves.” Demonstrating the effective opener, you move his black pieces around the board with deft sophistication.

Edward studies the board, his breathing slows, and his shoulders drop releasing tension he did not know he had. It’s that traditional look you’ve grown accustomed to. His mind runs a thousand moves at once before he gracefully nods and thanks you for the game strategy. He won’t forget the Sicilian Defence now. You set up a new game, not wanting to move back to your original seat across from him; you turn the board to accommodate your new seating arrangement. This time, Edward stakes a domineering claim at the centre set up with a Sicilian Defence negating your early advantage of moving first. Edward crowds the board, shifting between flexible pawn structures. He isn’t playing the way you’re used to, and you’re suddenly overwhelmed as he maneuvers through your flanks. Edward checkmates you in seven moves, just like you said. The aggressive playstyle suits him, and he isn’t distracted anymore.

Defeated, you breathe out a sigh leaning back into the vinyl booth and finish off Edward’s latte. The hot liquid blooms from inside your chest, first soothing your throat then warming you immediately. Finally, you admit to Edward that you’ve accepted an accounting placement with a small family-run firm across from the University. Sure, it wasn’t Deloitte, Ernest & Young, PwC, or KTMJ, but it was fine. You’ve come to terms with it, and you know that it will be just as sweet.

“They’re going to love you – like how I love you. You’re unbelievably special. Every day, you impress me with your sheer intellect, determination, and ambition. KTMJ would have absolutely wasted you.” His voice was so sure, assertive, and uncomplicated.

Edward would always say that his mind made up for anything he lacked in the physical department, but you never needed to complain about that. Instead, you’d argue that his resolve was the most remarkable trait about him. You sit together with Edward on his bed, gently taking off his glasses and green cold-weather mask, revealing green eyes that wince from your touch. The beginnings of deep purplish-red bruising juxtaposed his pale skin, littering his torso and arms. You palpate the extent of his injuries tenderly and shudder at the sight. Edward lets out a light chuckle and jokes that your ex-boyfriend was riddled with worse contusions tasting the concrete between two dumpsters. Your thumb carefully glides over each of his knuckles as you massage Edward’s sore, swollen fists, and he reassures you that your ex most likely won’t be able to make his placement. Edward was different now, maintaining his gaze on you as if he was unable to turn away – not like he wanted to anyway.

Suddenly you’re on the verge of close. Too much gravity pulls you two together, and the rest of the world falls away. Then it’s just the both of you in this extraordinary space. Edward’s hands find your face in a delicate hold, and he kisses you, and you kiss him.

#the batman 2022 #dano!riddler #paul dano riddler #edward nashton #edward nashton x reader #the riddler x reader #edward nygma x reader #the riddler #paul dano #edward nygma #dc universe #litcherally haven't written anything fiction since i was 16 hope its ok lel #my writing #my stuff

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