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killerlookz · 3 years ago

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Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorned (Edward Nashton x F! reader) pt. I

description: disgruntled and angry with both her past and the current state of Gotham, reader takes up an extreme devotion to Gotham's violent and bloodthirsty vigilante, the Riddler, whose attention she's desperate to recieve- but this Riddler may be closer to home than she ever expected.| FIC PLAYLIST

content: angst, mostly angst. kind of dismal, reader cries a lot. vaguely graphic descriptions of murder, extreme idol worship/corruption, teen pregnancy/miscarriage, sacrilegious/ blasphemous behavior in regards to the catholic church, guilt, slut shaming?? implied that teenage characters had a sexual encounter/ virginity loss but it is only implied and never explicitly talked about or described, hurt/comfort, fluff!!! i swear there's fluff, first kiss, vomiting/slight emetophobia cheating??? i guess?? non-linear timeline (flashbacks are denoted by bolded italics) 18+, eventual smut!! (pt.ii) im aware this fic deals with delicate topics, if you do not feel comfortable with that, please heed my warnings and do not read.

word count: 13807

a/n: ━ for the sake of not wanting to make this fic 8 years long, it will be seperated into 2 parts, this part, and part two, both released simultaneously. part 2 is the smut counterpart to this fic, as well as just a continuation of the story (not nearly as long as this though)!!!━

"I love you and watched you, someone, that I knew. You’re ruined and it's cool."

There was very little you could ever do to remedy the constant ache of childhood. The long since passed memories of a decaying building and crumbling sense of self-worth were a persistent stinging that sat in every crack and corner of your being. The pain lingered despite most of the past feeling like a grainy, overexposed photograph- there's just enough there to make something out, but not quite enough for a clear picture.

There seemed very little to do to ever cure this hurt, very little until you found him.

Hushed whispers between your closest circles of friends had piqued your curiosity. Friends that knew, that understood that perpetual despair, friends that also wanted to do something about that anguish that lived in their bones. Their morbid chatter had gotten the best of you, and your interest in this change that they spoke of had led you to a peculiar part of the internet. A part of the internet that was dark, and dreadful, one that you are sure would get you put on some sort of list if you weren't careful.

And that's where you found him.

The Riddler.

The first time you'd stumbled upon one of his videos you instantly shut your computer the moment he appeared on the screen, his horrific masked appearance a stark reminder of just how far you'd let your anger with your past go. But barely a moment passed by before you were peeling the top of your laptop back up, as a hesitant hand once again reached to play the video.

He began to speak, his low and breathy modulated voice played quietly through your blown-out computer speakers and you hung onto every single venom-dipped word. He spoke with such conviction and anger at the state of the city that you had been trying desperately to communicate for years. He said everything that you were too weak, too scared to say out loud.

As his ravings came to an end, you immediately found yourself looking through the rest of this website, your fingers scrolling wildly, desperate to hear any, and everything this 'Riddler' had to say. His endless, maniacal rants provided you with a catharsis you had only dreamed of ever receiving.

Even his most horrific, and dangerous thoughts had your mind reeling. Your head nodded violently in agreement to his unrelenting extremism, a sign of your growing fearless devotion to the man on the screen, even though he could not see you back.

You'd fallen down a rabbit hole, and you had no desire to ever try and climb back up. These deep, dark depths that you had found yourself in brought more comfort than you could ever imagine. Even when The Riddler's words were meant for a large audience, it always felt like he was speaking directly to you. He had this familiarity to him, he knew your pain all too well. Maybe he'd been an orphan too. When you looked into his eyes, even though your screen as he went on the most vulgar rants, you'd felt a certain sort of comfort, one you hadn't felt in years, one you'd only ever felt with one other person in your entire life. His clever riddles and use of puzzles were a reminder of a warm ghost of your past.

You could say that finding The Riddler changed your life. With each of his postings, each of his rants your devotion only grew, his teachings and ideas only consuming more and more of your mind.

By the time he had murdered the mayor on Halloween night, you had already shed any reservations about your allegiance to The Riddler. You had no hesitations about the violence and the gore, he was doing what had to be done. He was the only one brave enough to do it.

You'd watched the evening news that night in absolute adoration of your Riddler. You bit your nails, your eyes widening with each and every gory little detail the newscasters announced into the camera. The dichotomy was almost laughable, the faint smile on your face, and fingers twirled in your hair as the anchorwoman described the brutalities inflicted on poor Mayor Mitchell. The small, giggly actions were somewhat akin to a teenage girl watching an interview with her favorite boyband star.

You could liken your devotion to The Riddler to that of an Evangelist's devotion to the lord.

How fitting was that now that you stood in front of a withering old church, ready to prove your loyalty to your divine.

Growing up as one of Gotham's forgotten was an ever-present struggle. Waking up every day shivering in an all-too-small room packed to the brim with frightened girls of all ages was nothing short of miserable. Of course, some kind souls took pity on the poor children of the Gotham Orphanage, pledging generous donations to help the pitiful, withering youths.

Except, none of you had ever seen a single penny of donations. Not a cent went to providing any residents of the Gotham Orphanage with an even slightly better quality of life. It was well known amongst most of you that that money had gone to one man, and one man alone, Father Benjamin, who'd become somewhat of the 'owner' of the orphanage once the church had taken on the role of caring for Gotham's orphans when Wayne Manor was given to them.

The Father was a corrupt man, a cruel man, much like most people in positions of power in Gotham. He was never the paragon of a godly man, reneging on his promise to care and provide for the misfortuned.

Though, perhaps to your dismay, your vengeance against the clergyman wasn't for entirely altruistic reasons. Like everyone, you'd indulge in your own selfishness and your grievances with the father were not wholly pecuniary. Father Benjamin ripped you away from the only thing you'd ever wanted, obviating your hope for a halfway happy life. That man had been the catalyst for the downward spiral of apathy that led you here- he had this coming. He had this coming for a long, long time.

After the fire at the Orphanage, Father Benjamin returned to preaching full time. The name for a while had only been a hazy memory, buried deep beneath the mountains of other trauma you had endured living in that wretched place. But one day it all came back, the decaying face of a moldering old man looked your way on your regular morning commute. The corpse-like appearance of his now dark, sunken eyes could not conceal the man you'd once known, the man who was responsible for far too much of your misery.

Your gaze turned upwards at the older man, he looked down on you disapprovingly towards where you'd sat on a cold exam table. His eyes were stone cold as they pierced through your own. His mouth curled down as his top lip struggled to stay put, raising slightly in an angry almost snarl.

"Please... please F-father... please don't make me leave!" Your gaze becomes obscured as tears fill up in your eyes, no longer able to see the disappointed man as you choke out a hopeless plea to him. Your voice is weak, vocal cords strained from all your wailing, "It was a mistake! It was one time-" You shake your head back and forth with vicious force. "Please let me stay- it was a mistake!"

The man above you was unmoved, his lips flattening out as his arms raised to cross his chest.

"You are unclean, you do not belong here." He shakes his head, "You are going somewhere where you will learn how to control yourself."

"PLEASE!" Your voice cracks as you plead for the umpteenth time, "You can't do this- I don't want to go."

"I can, and I am. You leave tomorrow night."

You attempt to wipe the tears that fell from your eyes with a shaky hand before placing your hands together, pressing the skin of your palms together harshly, the action makes a loud clap. You place your fingers up to your mouth, your hand in a prayer position, with your thumbs graze your lips as you sink your head forward and your eyes close. You sob against your rigid hands, silently praying to be saved.

With a loud sniffle, you lift your head and open your eyes to return to pleading with the father again. With your hands still desperately clinging to prayer, you shake them back and forth wildly.

"I thought God was supposed to forgive us for our sins... I thought you spoke for God... Why can't you forgive me, accept this as my penance, forgive me, Father!" Your words fell from your mouth in rapid succession as your chest heaved wildly. The panic of the unknown began to set in. You place your arms forward and begin grabbing at the thick black fabric of the Father's cassock.

"Forgiveness is between you and God, repent as much as you please, it is not my decision whether or not to strip you of the guilt of your filth." The Father spits.

You swallow hard and your throat stings as your warm saliva slides down your damaged flesh. You open your mouth to argue but barely a squeak comes out, instead you allow your head to fall forward, succumbing to the throbbing pain that consumes your brain.

Your breathing hitches and your shoulders twitch as your choked sobs get caught up in your stinging throat. Your fingers slip from their grip on the Father's clothes, your arms falling before turning them to your stomach, wrapping them around yourself.

Father Benjamin lets out a huff before turning around and you watch the ground as his sleek black shoes click away from you.

The decaying excuse of an infirmary sat barren aside from you as you let out whispered sobs. The loud laughter of young children could be heard on the other side of the orphanage, and you wondered if you could hear them, could they have heard your desperate cries.

You clung on desperately to your aching lower stomach, pushing your arms against your womb, trying to soothe the emptiness you felt inside you. Your eyes moved down your leg, eyeing the dried blood that trailed from your inner thigh to the inside of your knee. Your jaw clenched at the sight before you shut your eyes tight as you leaned forward. You took a few deep breaths in and out, hoping to yourself that this was all a nightmare and you'd wake up just fine.

But you were undoubtedly in reality as you opened your eyes, still in the withering infirmary, the same unrelenting ache overwhelming your body.

All of that rage and hatred you'd directed towards that man during childhood came right back to you and now, deeply caught under the influence of your newfound mentor, you knew something had to be done. You took no pity on the now decrepit old man for what you planned to do.

A man like the father was just the sort of target The Riddler sought after. He would be the perfect sacrifice to get the bloodthirsty vigilante's attention. You could only dream of his reaction to the crime, to someone being so devoted to him that they too helped clean up the streets of Gotham. You hoped to let The Riddler know that you were not just a listener, no, you were a fierce follower, you desperately needed him to know the depths of your devotion.

The chill November rain beat down hard upon your hooded head, each freezing drop soaking the dark fabric that rested on your hair. Still, you braved the cold, zipping up your jacket further until the cold metal zipper nearly reached the top of your neck and the confines of its material strangled you.

You lifted your now heavy feeling feet one by one as you ascended the long staircase heading towards the church. The reprieve from the rain finally hits once you reach cover under the roofing held up by large concrete pillars. It's late, long past hours of service or confession, so you can arrive confident knowing there will be no staggering witnesses. You'd studied the Father's routine over the passing days since you first laid eyes on him in the street. His simple, repetitive nightly procedure of wandering around the church, blowing out candles, and tidying up for the next day's service, helped set this plan in motion. He was a man of routine, one that was easy to memorize.

You take a deep breath in and swallow it down, reawakening the warm sting of whiskey in your throat- you could not do this stone-cold sober. The warmth in your chest gives you the push to wrap a gloved hand around the large, slippery metal door handle of the church. In your other hand, your large leather glove clung around a kitchen knife, your fingertips digging so hard into its tang you thought for sure it would disintegrate under the pressure. You stood still for a moment, perhaps longer than that, that constant dull, aching thump in your chest raced wildly for a change, the anticipation building up to the point you felt ready to jump out of your skin. It was then, when the pressure became too much, you exerted a sudden jolt of energy, flinging open the large wooden doors with little caution.

From the alter Father Benjamin turned his attention toward the church's narthex as you stepped inside. His hollow eyes widened at your sudden presence.

"If you're here for confession, I'm sorry but it must wait 'til tomorrow." His feeble voice echoes down the church's aisle.

"I'm not here to confess father." You strut forward, beginning to make your way down the nape of the church. "I'm here to talk to you." You place your hands behind your back, concealing your weapon.

"It's quite late, I'm afraid still, whatever services you're in search of must wait until tomorrow." His voice is slightly more firm as you continue to make your way down towards him.

"I'm sorry father but this simply cannot wait, it is quite important. Don't you remember me?" You're nearing the alter now. Father Benjamin tilts his head to the side, narrowing his sunken eyes.

"No-no I don't think I do."

Your entire body tenses and you clench your jaw. Your fingers go rigid around the handle of the knife. How could he just forget you? He ruined your life and he can just move on and forget you while you're still stuck trying to get over the past.

"Come on Father, think harder..." You taunt, "You don't remember sending me far... far away." A smirk surfaces across your lips as you begin to climb the short, flat stairs that lead to the alter.

"No- I don't." He speaks firmly, "Now, I really do suggest you get going, we are closed and you are tresspassi-"

"SHUT UP!" You scream, finally unveiling the knife behind your back. "You do not tell me what to do anymore, old man." You point the tip of the knife in the Father's direction. His already pale face turns a ghostly shade and his lip begins to tremble.

"P-put-put the knife down." His shaking hands raise in front of him.

"One more time, don't you remember me, Father?" You ignore the Father's pleas.

"I'm telling you I have no idea who you are, please put the knife down."

"No idea?" You raise an eyebrow and begin to inch towards the father once again as he starts to back up towards the apse of the church. "Let me try to jog your memory... PLEASE… PLEASE F-FATHER… PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME LEAVE! IT WAS A MISTAKE! IT WAS ONE TIME-PLEASE LET ME STAY- IT WAS A MISTAKE!" You yell histrionically, almost in a mockery of your younger self.

"O-okay- okay." His hands continue to tremble in front of him, ushering you to calm down "I remember- I remember!" He concedes.

"Good." You smile, "So you have no doubts about why I'm here then."

"I get it- I get- you're hurt, I- I was just doing what was best for you, you'd gone down a wrong path, I was saving you!"

You tip your head back and laugh at his pathetic attempts to explain himself.

"HURT?" You shriek, "You think I'm just hurt?" You've backed the father's trembling body father up against a wall. "Father, do you have any idea what it's like to be a scared, hungry, sixteen-year-old girl- with no family, no money, and no hope for a decent future. DO YOU KNOW what it's like to wake up covered in your own blood as your body violently rejects what's growing inside of it- something, you didn't even know was there? DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE FOR YOUR BRAIN TO FORCE YOU TO MOURN THE LOSS OF SOMETHING YOU DIDN'T EVEN KNOW YOU HAD TO LOSE IN THE FIRST PLACE- something you didn't even WANT?"

You hold the knife at the Father's neck, keeping him pinned in place, his lip quivers, and tears are beginning to slip down his decrepit face. It's impossible to hide the insurmountable pleasure you receive from seeing the old man in peril. "And above all, Father," Your voice suddenly drops to just above a whisper as you shove your face close to Father Benjamin's, "Do you know what it's like to be ripped from the one person who has ever loved you?" You squint your eyes and tilt your head to the side before pulling the knife backward from where it had been against his neck, and plunging it into his stomach.

You can feel his body tissue busting under the pressure of the sharpened blade. Using all of your force you twist the blade in his stomach, which is met with an audible gasp from the Father. His mouth opens a few more times as he struggles to get a word out, but the sheer force of the knife in his weakened body is enough to keep him silent.

You grin as Father Benjamin's legs begin to kick under him, his knees buckling from the pain.

"Maybe now, you can feel just an ounce of the pain I felt that day." You lean in close and whisper in his ear before removing the blade from his stomach. Father Benjamin falls to the ground, unable to handle the force of the blade shoved under his skin, the old man hits the tile below with a loud crack, the noise felt ear-splitting, and the withering of bone against the hard surface sent shivers down your spine. The cold marble having done most of the dirty work for you had split the fragile man's head open, his feeble skull nearly crumbling under the sheer force he hit the floor.

Blood pours out of the broken skin of both his stomach and his head. The thinned-out liquid rushes from the wounds faster than you'd expected. You stood over the now truly decaying father, watching the life drain from his eyes as his mouth continued to open and close, desperate for a single sound to come out. Slowly, his body would stop its writhing as he lost his fight and his mouth would cease to move, his labored breathing now altogether coming to a stop. He was gone.

It was far less laborious, far less messy than you'd expected, you figured it would have taken more than one blow to the stomach to have taken the old man out. But, you'd not account for the weight of the fall, and the strength of the floor, that is what did the man in. And in that case, it wasn't really you who'd killed the man, sure, you were the catalyst, but, the tile flooring is what really took him out. Your reasoning, you supposed, could absolve what very little guilt you'd even had for killing the man.

It nearly frightened you how little guilt you'd felt watching the aged priest bleed out in front of you. The pool of blood around his busted head sent nearly no waves of sympathy through your shaking body. No, instead you'd felt more of an overwhelming calm. Despite the adrenaline-fueled tremors that shook every part of you, you felt calm. You were perfectly at peace with the monster who'd taken so much from you bleeding out on the ground below.

A stifled, manic laugh began to slip from your lips, you couldn't help yourself. You relished your role as Father Benjamin's judge, jury, and executioner, having finally brought justice to a man who thought he could get away with the world. How wrong he was.

You could rationalize your actions all you wanted, but deep down, you knew you just committed murder, and you needed to get the hell out of that church, and fast.

You spent little time watching the Father's blood continue to pool, instead, opting to not bask in the glory of your crime, for you could do that when the news hit the television. You turned right around, sprinting back down the aisle and out the door, careful not to leave any bloodied footprints trailing from your shoes. You slipped back into the cold, dark night, the rain beat down on the pavement harder than ever.

You made your way down the steps nonchalantly, careful not to call attention to yourself, despite there not being any passersby at this late hour. The rain once again fell upon you, drenching every inch of your body, each cold drop washed away the ache of the past. For the first time in your life, you were alive and Father Benjamin wasn't, he had no more power to be able to take from you. He could never take from anybody anymore. You were free, everyone was free, you felt, almost rebirthed in the rain. Yet, of course, that numb feeling still drilled at the back of your skull and that aching pit in your stomach was destined to be reopened once the adrenaline wore off. But at least for now, you could bask in the afterglow of this alleviated feeling.

You opened up the door to your apartment and stepped inside before closing it behind you. You nearly slammed your wet figure right onto the back of the door once you heard the latch click, signifying the door had been all the way closed. A satisfied grin spread across your face as your gloved fingers grazed the cool metal that hid inside your pocket. You killed him.

As you took a breath in, you understood why addicts so desperately chased the high of their choice, you could only imagine it felt something like this. The adrenaline that pumped through your veins made you feel like you were on cloud nine.

You stepped away from the door, slipping off your soggy beaten-up sneakers before peeling yourself out of your sopping jacket. You'd been feeling so blissful you'd hardly realized just how uncomfortable the rain had made the state of your clothes.

You made your way into the kitchen, pulling out the knife over the sink, your body involuntarily shivered at the sight of the dried splatter that covered the shiny metal blade. You turned on the faucet to a burning degree before placing the blade under the rushing water. With your hands still gloved, the scalding water had little effect on your skin, instead, it was a comforting dull warmth under the thick leather. You rubbed your thumb against the blade, scraping away the evidence of the crime, before placing the knife in the dishwasher, as if were just any other utensil.

Still relishing your high, you decided it was high time to clean up, the rain had left you feeling mildly filthy. You headed down the darkened hallway of your apartment, making a sharp turn into your bedroom and flipping on the light.

A loud gasp escaped your mouth and your stomach flipped right around once the soft warm light from above hit your room. There was someone in your bed. Your body stiffened and you tried not to scream as the paranoia set in, the figure moved. You tried to run but you couldn't, you felt glued to the spot right up against your doorframe.

They flipped over, and just as you felt yourself about to scream-

"Jesus fucking christ Ryan, you scared me!" You scolded, a sigh of relief leaving your lungs at the sight of a face you'd recognized, though, were not thrilled to have in your house. The high of the night immediately dissipated once the initial relief of not having a stranger laid in your bed set in. You ran a hand through your drenched hair as an overwhelming feeling of utter dread washed over you, why tonight. His being here most certainly put a very big wrench in your plans.

The man who laid in your bed, staring back at you, Ryan, you supposed you'd been... "dating" him for the last few months... you guess. Sometimes you felt more like he was dating you, but that you weren't dating him. There was little a spark between the two of you, or at least that's how you felt, but despite the man having the personality of a soggy napkin, he made you feel normal.

"I'm sorry baby." He said in a low chuckle, clearly finding your startled appearance humorous, "You just- you weren't answering your phone- no one could get into contact with you."

"So you broke into my house?" You suppressed a groan.

"Well, I, didn't break in... you told me where you keep the spare key." He defended with a sweet smile on his face.

You placed your hand on your forehead and rubbed for a moment, before slipping your fingertips back up to your scalp and carding them through your hair once more.

"I didn't tell you where that was so you could break into my house unannounced." You sigh, "I- whatever." You shake your head, deciding not to argue, you'd already had an eventful night.

You step further into your room, beginning to continue peeling yourself out of your damp clothing.

"Where were you tonight?"

"Had some errands to run." You said, your voice muffled by you pulling the hoodie you had on over your head. You discarded the wet garment, tossing it somewhere in your room.

"This late? In the rain?" He questioned.

"Yeah... I ran out of um-" You squeezed your eyes tight, Come on, think of something, think "-of... toilet paper... so I needed to... get some." You nodded, feigning confidence in your story. You took a deep breath in, anxiously awaiting his response.

"Oh. Makes sense... yeah."

You looked away from him once again to remove another soaking article of clothing. You reached your fingertips under the hem of your t-shirt, bringing the soggy material over your head.

"Hey y/n, who is he?"

"What?" You said, your muscles going a little bit rigid as you dropped your t-shirt on the floor. Was he accusing you of cheating? You turned around to face the man, "What are you talking about?"

"Him," He said, gesturing towards your bedside table. You furrowed your eyebrows, unsure of what he was talking about, you're not a fucking mind reader after all.

"What?" You repeat again. Ryan leans over the side of your bed and picks up the picture frame that resides on your bedside table. As his fingers touch the faded wood of the frame you're suddenly filled with nearly unjustifiable rage.

"Don't touch that!" You scold, making Ryan contort his face in shock at your sudden raise change of volume.

"I-Sorry, I've meant to ask before, but I- I just wanted to know who the next to you guy in the picture was..."

Having already dug up a little too much of your past today, you weren't exactly eager to answer Ryan's question. Your throat tightened as you answered,

"A childhood friend." You shook your head, "He's, a childhood friend."

"A friend?" Ryan asked back, "You just yelled at me for touching a picture of him, he's just a friend? What, is he dead or something?"

Oh, he'd done it now.

"That's not funny, don't talk like that!" You reprimand once again, a certain defensiveness in your voice.

"I'm sorry- I'm sorry. Come on now. You can be honest, who is he?"

"You're not going to drop this, are you?" You sigh.

"Nope." He responded, popping the P sound in the word. Deep down you knew he didn't know any better, but you were wildly disgusted at him for treating this situation with such little consideration.

You eye Ryan from where he sits on the bed, and then turn your gaze to yourself, looking down at what you could see of your lower body. There you stood, in front of this guy you'd been hooking up with for the last few months, soaked, in nothing but your underwear, having literally just killed someone to prove your loyalty to another man, and now you're about to bear one of your most protected childhood memories. What a fucking night.

Your emotions were seemingly everywhere, and nowhere all at once, and you sighed as you sat down on the edge of the bed, trying desperately to figure out how you were going to tell this story without losing your mind.

You looked down at your feet, unable to look Ryan in the eyes as you began.

"His name was Edward." You mumbled, "He was uh, we grew up together, in the orphanage- you know."

"Oh, so you two were pretty close?"

You picked your head up from where you'd been looking down, and you chuckled in your best attempt to hold back the choking sob that at this point was desperate to come out, "I- uh- yeah- I thought I was going to marry him, honestly." You look back down at the ground, trying your hardest to keep your voice light-hearted, sneaking in stifled little fake laughs here and there, "But, that's- it was stupid- we were just kids." You shake your head.

"So, what happened then?"

"I got into some trouble not too long after I turned 16..." An arm snakes around your side, holding itself firm against your exposed stomach, "I guess the members of the clergy thought it was best that I rehabilitated my behavior elsewhere- or whatever. Got shipped off to some boarding school for troubled youth in the middle of nowhere. Never saw him, or any of my friends again." You speak somewhat nonchalantly, trying your best to separate yourself from the memories that were threatening to come forth in your head.

"Oh... I'm sorry." Ryan speaks slowly, a hint of condolence in his voice, "What sort of trouble?"

You look over at the man, unwilling to give up so much to him so soon,

"I just made some stupid choices as a teenager" You shake your head, trying to play things cool, you throw a hand up in faked ambivalence, "Choices with some tough consequences. That's all." You swipe your hand across your nose, sniffling before tucking your hair behind your ears, "I'm not like a felon or anything, I never did anything too terrible- just by the church's standards." You laugh awkwardly.

"Oh- no- yeah I get it." He nods, "Surprised you came back to Gotham though, afterward- I mean."

"Yeah," You nod, "I guess- well by the time I was finished with school, I was just a scared 18-year-old with nowhere to go and- Gotham was the only place I was familiar with." You shrug.

Ryan clicks his tongue making a tsk sound as his head bounces slightly up and down. "Sorry about your friend though," He glances back over to the picture, "You looked happy with him."

"I was-" You scrunch your mouth to one side, and then the other before your face falls flat once more, "That picture," you point at the picture frame, "One of my school friends took it, she threw me a small party for my 16th birthday at her house, it's one of my happiest memories." You breathe in and tilt your head back slightly, trying to hold back the tears that were tempting your eyes. You blink a few times and shake your head, "But, god, It's okay, y'know, I haven't seen any of them in like-over 10 years, I'm sure we've all moved on since then."

"Well, at least you still have the memories."

"Yeah," You nod, choking back tears, you quickly turn your head back to Ryan, "I'm gonna... go take a shower."

"Without me?" He smirks as you begin to get off the bed.

"Yeah," You suck on your tongue for a second, "I feel pretty gross from the rain, I don't think it'll be very sexy. I'll be right back!" You scurry out of the room before he could answer, the lingering feelings of your prior conversation making you cringe as you head to the bathroom.

You shut the bathroom door behind you, and as soon as you heard it click shut you felt the tears begin to pour down your cheeks. You raised a hand to your face to wipe them away but the warm drops fell down your face too fast for you to consistently catch them all.

You rested your hand on the bridge of your nose, pressing the sides of your fingers hard into the cartilage, reflecting on the last 5 minutes of your night alone.

A friend? Your face twisted, scrunching up your nose as your mouth contorted into a scowl. You ran your tongue across your teeth, sucking lightly as you shook your head back and forth, disgusted with yourself. How could you sit there and just call him a friend?

You bit your lip, suppressing the urge to scream as you lifted your head. Your tears began to drip down to the back of your face. You scooped what you could of your sobs off your face and made your way to the shower, turning on the faucet. You backed away from the flowing water as the bathroom began to fill with steam. A warm, white misty haze settled all over the bland tile scape. Your hand reached around to your back, unclasping your bra and letting it fall against the ground before pulling your panties down your legs and kicking them off to the side.

A small jolt ran through your body as a leg entered the shower, unprepared for the water to have been so hot. You took ahold of the metal handle and turned the temperature of the water down slightly until a steady, warm stream rained down on you. The patter of the showerhead washed away the ever-present flow of tears on your face.

You let the water fall against your body for a moment, basking in its warmth, trying to calm down from everything you'd been through tonight. Flashes of memories peaked through your tightly closed eyes, the knife in Father Benjamin's chest, waking up to blood on your sheets, the feeling of soft lips against yours, that cold infirmary room, spending first period huddled over a school toilet, the night you met Ryan. Every inch of your life seemed to race by in small increments until you opened your eyes, unable to take the burden that each moment held. You shook away the thoughts, bending down to pump some shampoo into your hand.

You lather the light pearlescent substance into your hair, deeply massaging your scalp with the tips of your fingers. You made sure to get the suds in between each and all of the tens of thousands of strands of hair that sat on your head, tugging at your roots to wash away all of the rain's grime.

You tip your head back under the water, continuing to massage your scalp, as your eyes shut softly. Your thoughts began to disappear elsewhere as you recalled the picture Ryan had pointed out earlier, your smiling face as you clung to the side of that awkwardly lanky boy, the reflection of the camera in his taped-up glasses was clear as day in your mind. You breathed in deeply, as the memory began to consume you.

"Ooh! Me next! Open mine next!" The blonde girl next to you said, her voice over-bubbly with intoxication. With a smile, her hands pressed together as she claps excitedly. She picks up a bright pink wrapped box beside her and hands it to you.

"Thank you, Jessie," You give her a mildly intoxicated smile, taking the box and resting it in your lap. You peel off the matching sparkly pink bow from atop the box before digging your nails into one of the gaps in the paper, tearing it off. You grab the top of the box and let it slide off where you noticed whatever sat at the bottom was wrapped in hot pink tissue paper, you grinned at the coordination of everything. Your fingers pulled back the crinkled paper as your jaw dropped slightly at what was inside. "No fucking way!" You exclaim as you reach inside the box. You smile as your fingers graze over the fabric of a brand-new pair of jeans. God, you couldn't remember the last time you'd gotten clothes from somewhere other than the thrift store.

"What is it?" Another voice across the room asked, forcefully.

"Shut up, Allan!" Jessie retorts to the voice across the room before turning towards you, "Look! There's more under that!" She continues happily.

You look up at Jessie with a smile, before returning to the box, which unveiled a couple of shirts that had sat under the pair of jeans, shirts you specifically remember eyeing last time you went to the mall.

"Oh! Jessie!" You practically shout, "Thank you! Oh my god!" You smile wildly at the blonde girl, endlessly thankful for her kindness.

"Oh it's no biggie! It's your 16th birthday! That's big! You deserve it."

You place the box back on the floor in front of you.

"Okay!" Jessie announces, "Can you please open Edward's gift now! He won't tell any of us what it is! The anticipation is killing me!"

"Oh?" You raise an eyebrow at the boy who sits on the other side of you as you pick up a red plastic cup off the carpet. "Secretive, now are we?" Your inquisitive glare turns into a smile before you press the cup against your lips and tilt it back. You wince slightly as the taste of cheap liquor and warm soda hits your taste buds.

"Mhm." Edward nods, a sly smile on his boyish face. You place the cup down once again.

"Well, give it to me, hm?" You say, reaching out your arms. Edward grabs the well-wrapped box off his lap and hands it to you.

"I hope you like it." Edward's smile becomes a bit sheepish as you take the present into your hands.

"It's from you Eddie, of course, I already like it!" You giggle, eyeing him up and down fondly.

"God, y/n! When did you get so fucking corny?" Allan yells from across the room.

"I'm not being corny! It's the truth!" You whip your head to the side and narrow your eyes at him.

"Shut up, Allan!" Jessie repeats once again.

"Whatever. Open it! Open it!" Allan urges.

"Okay! Jeez!" You begin to tear off the paper from the box until it was just bare and white. You dug a nail under the tape of the box, peeling that open as well before lifting the top.

"Edward!" You gasped as you looked down in the box. Below you sat packaged a small iPod and some nice-looking headphones. A huge smile overcame your face as your body began to heat up. "You didn't have to-oh! That's too much money." You look back up, placing one hand over Edward's as it lay in his lap.

Edward shook his head, "No, like Jessie said, you deserve it- I know you like your music and whatnot- and so- you know- I picked up some extra shifts at work."

"Awww!" Jessie interjected, directing her gaze to you, "He took extra shifts for you!" She then shifted her focus to both you and Edward, "Can you guys just admit you're in love already!"

You didn't need a mirror to know you'd turned bright pink, you felt the warmth pricking under your cheeks in a shameful blush. You nervously glanced over to Edward who looked the same as you assumed you'd looked. Edward looked down at his lap, pushing up his thin wire-rimmed glasses with his free hand, his fingertip grazing their taped-up center.

"Yeah, really, stop being pussies and just bone already, god!" Allan nagged at the two of you.

"Don't be gross!" Jessie scolded.

"Sorry- You laughed nervously, directing your attention towards Edward. "Really though, thank you, Eddie, even though your gift kind of makes me gifting you a book of crossword puzzles for your birthday look really fucking lame."

"I didn't think it was lame at all." Edward shook his head, "I use it every day."

"You're too sweet Eddie."

"You are too,"

Suddenly, a strange bout of confidence hit you as you gazed into Edward's naturally sad-looking eyes. "Thank you so much, Eddie," you grin before leaning forward and placing a small kiss against his lips.

The quick peck had Edward's face turning bright pink as you pulled back only a few inches with a goofy smile, trying your absolute best (and failing) to play it cool, pretending your heart wasn't racing in your chest. Edward raised his hand to graze your cheek, and with hesitance he leaned in again, kissing you this time.

Your eyes closed almost involuntarily as his lips touched yours, your head turning slightly so you could get closer to him. You placed both of your hands on his shoulders, and your fingers were placed firmly into his skin as if holding him in place. But as Edward's other hand came to hold your face you slipped your hands from his shoulders and wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, pushing yourself close to him. The sudden pressure of you leaning into Edward made his body fall backward slightly.

The kiss was only broken by Allan whistling loudly. The noise startled you both causing Edward's already fragile, trembling body to fall all the way backward, taking you down with him. You pull away once again, giggling as you look down at Edward from where he was laying below you. He's smiling back up at you, a real, genuine smile, something you weren't always used to from him which only makes you want to kiss him again, and again, and again if it means you can see him smile like that a few more times.

Allan yells some vulgar words of encouragement to Edward, but you can barely hear it over the sound of your heart beating. Edward removes his hand from your cheeks and without the small force of him holding you up you let your head fall against his chest. Just under his skin, you can hear a thumping similar to your own, making you smile as you push your cheek up against the worn-out fabric of his T-shirt.

"Hey, uh- can you just hang out in the living room real quick while I get dressed?" You stand at the entrance to your room, resting a bare shoulder against its wooden frame.

"What?" Ryan looks up at you, giving you a look that's somewhat akin to a lost puppy. The faked innocence on his face makes you want to shrivel up inside. He laughs with feigned confidence, "You know I've seen you naked before, right?"

"What's that have to do with anything?"

"Well if you're worried about me seeing you change it's nothing I haven't seen be-"

"I'm not worried." You cut him off, "I just want to get dressed by myself." You cross your arms over your towel-clad chest, trying your best to display your annoyance without being too harsh about it.

"Alright," Ryan says, stretching out the i sound and emphasizing the t, awkwardly nodding his head out of some minute embarrassment. He flashes you a shy smile as he walks past you in the doorway.

You cannot shut the door behind him fast enough, your heart beginning to race wildly as you eagerly raced to your bed, picking your laptop up from where it lay on the floor. You didn't care that you were still only dressed in your towel, your hair and body still sopping wet, you had more important things to tend to now. You bring the computer to your lap, your fingers type furiously on the keys, pulling up the Riddler's website.

You sigh, relieved that there have been no updates to the website in the few hours that it had been since you last checked it. You make your way to The Riddler's last post, your brain working furiously as it tried to drum up the right words to describe your work tonight. You clicked to add a comment before bringing your anxious fingers to your lips, you needed to make an impression, you needed to make him notice your comment out of all the others.

You moved your hand back to the keyboard and flexed your fingers a few times before finally resting them back on the keys as you nervously typed out your comment.

Riddler, I cannot thank you enough for your work. You have inspired me beyond words, I have a new hope for the city now, all thanks to you. Sometime in the early morning when the most devoted of Christ's followers awake to attend their morning mass they will be given quite a shock. Poor, poor Father Benjamin has met his demise, and what remains of his tainted blood is spilling from his brain and chest as I speak. Thank you for giving me the courage to do what I've been yearning for since I was young, Father Benjamin has taken so much from the innocent of our city, he leaves behind nothing but a legacy of corruption and grief, he's gotten what he deserved.

I hope you know what a mark you've left on your followers, I hope you understand our devotion. You symbolize a new hope for Gotham's forgotten, the proletariat, those not touched by the city's greed. I hope to prove to you that you are more than just a guy in a mask, you ARE the future of Gotham, YOU are vengeance, YOU are justice, and you are a revolutionary. This is only the beginning.

You lean back and reread your comment over and over again, nitpicking each and every little nuance, making sure it's perfect. You rubbed your now clammy hands together before holding them in a loose prayer position and pressing your fingers to your lips. Little in your life had ever made you this jumpy with excitement. Your brain for a split moment retreated to that 16th birthday party, that feeling of gentle hands on your cheeks had been imprinted on your skin permanently, like a scar. You quickly shook away the memory, trying your best not to let yourself get back in your head again, wishing your brain didn't fight so hard to live in those ephemeral halcyon days.

With a sharp breath in you posted your comment, you'd done a lot of risky shit in your life, but nothing had felt quite like this before. Anticipation knocked at your nerves, prompting you to get out of bed and walk around your room. You walked over to your dresser and hastily pulled out a t-shirt without looking.

You dropped your towel and pulled the shirt over your head, pausing momentarily as you went to bring the shirt down your midsection, your fingers passing over the fabric, feeling just how soft this shirt was in particular from being so worn. Your eyes widened as you let the shirt fall over the rest of your body. Just your luck. You snapped your head towards your mirror, staring at yourself in its reflection. Your mouth fell into a small frown as you placed your fingers on your chest, softly grazing over the faded-out Radiohead logo.

For once in your life, you were thankful you didn't have breakfast as you kneeled hunched over the school toilet, spitting out what remained of the bile and saliva in your mouth.

You couldn't understand, this was the third day in a row you'd found yourself getting sick. There was some sort of ever-present nausea that you couldn't get rid of. You feared that this was not a one-off instance like you'd originally thought, acute panic set in at the realization that something may actually be wrong with you.

You picked your head up from where it had been bent over, screwing your eyes shut tight as you flushed the toilet, opting not to look at the remains of what little you'd eaten over the last few days. You got off your knees as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and rested back against the stall door, blinking away the tears that were welling up in your eyes. God, how embarrassing this was.

You took a deep breath in, realizing just how hot you'd gotten and just how disgusting you felt. You looked down at yourself, a small, light orange stain on your white shirt catching your eye. The sight nearly made you gag all over again. You hit your head against the stall door, "Fuck!" you let out, exasperated, trying to think of what to do. You squeezed your eyes tight, trying to figure out where you could possibly find a change of clothes.

If you remembered correctly, you had one safe bet of getting a new shirt. Mustering up all your strength, your shaky knees nearly buckling, you pick yourself up off the bathroom floor and let yourself out of the stall. You head to the sink, pinching the rusted metal handles to turn on the tap. You held back your hair with a tight fist as you pushed your face under the cold running water, letting it fall into your mouth. The poorly-filtered water had a bitter, metallic taste, but anything was better than the warm acerbic aftertaste of your stomach acids.

You picked your head up from the tap and swished the water around your mouth before spitting it out back into the sink. You looked at your reflection as your head whipped up once more, noticing how drained of color your face had gotten. Deciding to worry about your health another time, you hastily left the bathroom, rushing to get to your destination before the bell rang.

You traversed what seemed like endless hallways until finally reached where you needed to be, with a couple seconds to spare. You leaned against the crumbling tile wall outside one of the classrooms, fidgeting with your fingers and rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. Your head turned back and forth, looking up and down the hallways on either side of you until the bell rang. You watched intently as students hurried out of the classroom until you finally caught sight of who you needed.

You reached out and grabbed Edward's scrawny arm, pulling him away from the hoard of his classmates. He jumped slightly under your touch, his startled look quickly fading into a smile as his eyes met you.

"You scared me I didn't expect you to gra- hey, are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost?" His smile slowly faded to a look of concern.

You looked back and forth once more, tapping your shoe against the tile floor, waiting for the area to clear out. You looked back at Edward, eyeing his clothes up and down, relieved when you saw an ill-fitting flannel layered over a Radiohead T-shirt he'd found at a charity shop a few months ago.

"Can I have your shirt?" You ask poking him in the stomach slightly as you point forwards, making him flinch.

"Of course," he nods, "What's wrong?" His eyebrows furrow behind his glasses.

"I uhhh..." You trail off as someone walks past the two of you. You reach out and grab both of Edward's hands, holding them out in front of you before pulling him a little closer to you. His lanky frame stands over you, and he looks down with a small smile, giving your hands a small, reassuring squeeze. Now determining the coast was clear you start back up once more just above a whisper, "I- got sick again. And-" You try to hide your disgust as best as you can, trying to keep your face as straight as possible, "Some of it got on my shirt, I guess." You wince.

Edward's head cocks to the side and his mouth drops slightly. One of his hands escapes from your grasp and comes up to rest on the back of your neck, "Y/n..." He starts in a quiet voice, "I think we should I don't know, go to the doctor or something- I'm worried about you, this is the third day in a row."

"Edward," You shake your head, "I'm worried too but can we please just not have this conversation right now." You look up at him with pleading eyes. "I just need your shirt."

"Alright. It's worth having some time, at least. Even if you just go to the nurse maybe she cou-"

"Edward." You cut him off. His hand drops from the back of your neck and he nods.

"Yeah- just let me change."

You drop his other hand as the two of you walk towards the bathrooms. The hallways are empty as the bell rings again, signifying the start of the next period, but, you'd never cared much about your attendance.

"I'll be right out," Edward says as the two of you reach the boy's bathroom. You give him a sharp nod, tightening your lips into a thin line as he walks off into the bathroom.

You stand against the wall and resume rocking back and forth, your thumb rests just against your lip as you anxiously bite at the nail. The fingers on your opposite hand drum at the side of your thigh as your mind races with possibilities of what could be wrong with you. You shiver at the thought of any of them, hoping that this was simply just brought about by stress, or maybe you were just getting your period soon.

Maybe deep down you knew that the way you'd been feeling was far too severe for it to be either of those things, but, they were pretty little solutions you could use to keep you distracted from the almost glaringly obvious.

You see Edward come out of the bathroom out of the corner of your eye and you quickly turn to him. His T-shirt is crumpled up in a ball as he stands in front of you, his loose flannel sits upon his gangly frame. The ill-fitting fabric droops down at his front, slightly exposing a collarbone. You look up at him, his glasses are slightly crooked on his face, and his hair is just barely out of place. His appearance makes a smile grow on your face and you nearly forget all of the anxieties from mear seconds ago. You stand up on your toes and smooth out Edward's shaggy hair before adjusting his glasses against his nose.

"Oh." Edward chuckles, seemingly unaware of his disheveled appearance.

"You're too cute." You giggle before giving him a small kiss on the cheek. "Too cute Eddie." He's blushing at your adulation, squeezing the balled-up T-shirt in his hands between his fingers. "Wait-ew" You furrow your eyebrows and shake your head, laughing a little, "Sorry, should've waited until I could brush my teeth." You drop your feet down flat again.

"No-no it's okay, I don't mind."

"You're too lenient with me Eddie," You chuckle as you adjust the flannel on his shoulders. "There we go." You say, satisfied with his fixed appearance.

Edward outstretches his arms to hand you his shirt, "I'll wait here for you." He gives you a small smile, nudging the balled-up shirt towards you. You give him a nod, taking the fabric from his hands.

You're back in the bathroom stall now, dropping your backpack and stripping off your stained shirt. You peel the sullied fabric away from your sticky, sweat-stricken skin and replace it with Edward's T-shirt.

A smile pulled at your cheeks almost reflexively when the garment passed over your head. The soft, worn garment carried Eddie's faint scent, making you blush as warm thoughts of him moved through your brain. The shirt fell the rest of the way down your midsection, and you grabbed your backpack and left the stall.

You quickly glanced past the mirror to briefly check out your reflection. The t-shirt was ill-fitted for your body, but you found it hard to mind, rather you focused on the strange overjoyed feeling that filled you from wearing Edward's clothes.

You walked out of the bathroom, the sound of the opening door alerting Edward of your presence. He turns to look at you and you notice him take a deep breath in as he looks at you with a stunned look on his face.

"Are you alright, Edward?" You frown.

"Yeah- yeah I'm okay." Edward shoves his hands deep in his pockets and steps up on the balls of his feet before falling back on his heels, anxiously repeating the action a few times over, "It's just- wow." He shakes his head, "You are so beautiful."

You awoke in a state of confusion, as the nearly-afternoon sun shone in your eyes as they opened slightly.

You peered out of your still nearly entirely closed eyes, your sleep obfuscated gaze focusing on the spot next to you, nobody was there. You pushed the heavy comforter off your body with a sudden burst of energy and picked your upper body up with what little strength the morning brought your lower arms. Your clothes were still on.

You rubbed your eyes as you rested your sat-up body against a pillow, finally feeling fit to open your eyes completely. You looked around at your room, then back at the empty spot next to you.

Ryan must have gone home, you deduced as you thought back to last night.

Shit. Last night.

Scrambling, you frantically reached over the side of your bed as the beating in your chest began to pick up. You grabbed your laptop from off your floor and pulled it up to your lap, anxious. You tapped at the space just below the keyboard, waiting for the computer to turn on.

The bright light of the sign-in screen finally hit your eyes and you frantically entered in your password.

"Come on, come on." You egged on the inanimate object, your leg shaking below you. Finally, you were signed in and you scrambled to your search engine, furiously making your way to the Riddler's website. Your stomach flipped as you began typing in the URL, the frequently visited website quickly filling in the autocomplete.

As you pressed 'enter' you felt your heart drop right down to your stomach. You'd not been taken to the usual Riddler's website, instead, you were greeted with a black screen, a small, blinking question mark sat in the upper left corner.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." You cursed, "What the fuck!"

Soon the green question mark disappeared, instead now being replaced with an insertion point. You swallowed harshly as text began to appear on the page.

I've been waiting for you...

Your eyes went wide, was this - no way. You stared at your computer screen for a few moments, unsure of what to do. Had the website been compromised? Who was talking to you?

Cat got your tongue?

A new line of dialogue appeared. You placed your hands on the keyboard,

Who is this?

Come on, I thought you were smarter than this, who else would it be?

Are you the Riddler?

You type fervently, your body racked with anxiety at the thought that you could really be talking to The Riddler right now.

There we go... now we're thinking!

"Holy fucking shit." Your fingers grazed over your computer's keys, restraining yourself from making some sort of crazed proclamation of love. You tapped against the keys, dumbfounded, at a complete and utter loss of what to say.

I saw the news... what an act of dedication! I've nearly been moved to tears knowing I've made such an impact.

Your face becomes flushed with a bright pink, a smile forming across your face. He noticed, he really really noticed you.

You noticed...

Of course, I noticed... That's why I just had to speak with you.

You placed your hand over your mouth, your fingers rubbed over your lips, unsure of how to even respond at such a comment. You took a sharp breath in,

You don't know what that means to me. I hope you understand your words have changed my life.

That's always been the goal. Change. Father Benjamin was a loathsome man. Still, I'm almost surprised someone got the job done before me.

He knew about the Father.

You know of Father Benjamin's ills?

I grew up from a seed, as tough as a weed. But in a mansion, in a slum, I'll never know where I come from. Do you know what I am?

You read the text a few times over again, racking your brain as to what he could have possibly meant. You were never very good at Riddles.

Mansion... in a slum... shit. You had it.

An orphan?

Precisely. Given your grievances with the Father, may I presume you are too?

You furrowed your eyebrows, entirely dumbfounded. The Riddler had been an orphan too?

Yes. I was. And Father Benjamin took EVERYTHING from me.

As he did for I.

A smile found its way onto your face, and your heart beat wildly at your newfound discovery of how much you and The Riddler had in common.

How about we unmask Father Benjamin together?

Just when you thought the manic grin on your face could not possibly get any wider. You'd wanted to get the Riddler's attention, but this, this was far more than you could have ever imagined. He wanted to work with you. Your breathing turned to a dangerous heave.

Are you still there?

Yes. Please. I want nothing more than to unmask that man. With you.

Good. Meet me where it all began. 19:00.

It had taken you a moment to figure out what the Riddler had meant, where it all began. But, having thought on it, there was only one possible place that it could have been. The orphanage.

Part of you debating not turning up, perhaps this had all been an elaborate scheme, a set-up by the cops. You'd paced your apartment like a madwoman for hours, arguing with yourself back and forth about what to do before ultimately deciding to go. You'd worshipped this man, the Riddler gave your life meaning again, and you'd be damned if you were going to miss your shot at teaming up with him.

The building had fallen apart, most of it reduced to ash and rubble after that fire a few years back. All that was left were some meager remnants of rooms and hallways. Even prior to the fire, it had always been hard to imagine that the orphanage was once a grand mansion where Gotham's most elite family found themselves living out their day-to-day.

With cautious moves, clad in black from head to toe, and a simple mask hung across the lower half of your face (you, clearly, did not have the same time for elaborate costuming like the Riddler) you wandered nearer in to the decaying orphanage. Your building anticipation of meeting your masked idol was still, simply not strong enough to repress the memories you'd had here.

Your shoes kicked up dust as you walked along a barren hallway, painfully aware of where you were even given the destitute state of your surroundings. You peered off to your side, your eyes landing on what remained of a cold, white room, involuntarily, your throat constricted at the sight.

Finally mustering up some strength you removed your arms from your aching stomach and gently stepped down from the exam table, trying your best not to collapse to the ground as your knees threatened to buckle under you. You sniffed loudly, wiping away the tears from your reddened cheeks that had been nearly rubbed raw by now.

Any semblance of self-worth you possessed had seemed to dissipate, perhaps the father was right, maybe you were filthy, maybe you didn't belong here. The future looked morose- but maybe that's what you deserved.

Your teeth gnawed at the insides of your cheeks as you made your hesitant journey over to the door to exit the infirmary. There was no easy way to explain what had happened today, but you knew you owed Edward that much- and he could pass the news onto the rest of your friends, seeing you wouldn't be around in Gotham long enough to say goodbye.

You touched your hand to the cool metal of the doorknob, taking a deep breath in before turning it. As the door swung open you're caught off guard by Edward standing right in front of you out in the hallway. Your bottom lip begins to quiver under his careful gaze, he looks sadder than usual.

"How long have you been there?" You ask, halfway hiding behind the door.

"Awhile." His answer is short and sullen.

"How much did you hear?"

"Why is he sending you away- I don't understand- what happened?" Edward's voice suddenly picks up and he's panicked. "I just- I've been waiting here since I woke up- everyone's been talking, something about bloody sheets..." His voice trails off, "I don't understand."

"What do you mean everyone's been talking?" You step out from your spot behind the door, but only slightly, "What have they been saying?"

"Some of the girls- they said they woke up and you weren't there- all that was left behind was your sheets- covered in blood- Y/n please- I don't understand, what happened, where are you going?"

"Oh." You finally step out into the hallway completely. You look into Edward's eyes, hoping to find some hope that he's at least on the track of figuring out what's happened so you could avoid the explanation. But all you find is lost desperation in those sad, wet eyes. "You haven't figured it out?"

"Figured, what out y/n? Please just tell me." His voice cracks and you can tell he's close to tears.

"Edward..." You trail off to a whisper, your eyes screw closed, your mouth pursing into a straight line to prevent a loud sob from escaping your lips. A tear escapes down your cheek as you open your eyes back up and you inhale, "I've been getting sick, and now I- I woke up bleeding." You explain, hoping Edward could just put the two together. He was so good at solving things, this was much easier than a riddle. Why couldn't he just get it?

Edward's mouth drops slightly and he shakes his head, "No-" He cuts himself off before speaking again, "It was only once- we were safe- I didn't get you-"

You nodded your head- he solved it.

"Oh god." He inhales, and his mouth hangs open for a moment as he shakes his head, panicked. "This is all my fault." His eyes open wide and a few tears escape.

"Eddie-" You start, "Please, no- please don't blame yourself. If I just listened to you when I first got sick I could have taken care of it- but now." You look down at the floor, "I guess my body's done that for me." You look back up at Edward who's still staring dumbfounded but you don't know what to say- there's nothing you could possibly say to make this any easier for either of you.

You just about throw yourself against Edward, "I don't know why it happened-" You begin to sob into the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms around his back. You grip onto his T-shirt so tight that your knuckles turn white. "It just- it did- and I'm in so much pain- and I feel so sad like someone's died, and now I'm- Father Benjamin is sending me away- he told me that I'm filthy for what I've done- that I don't belong here." Your words are muffled by your choked sobs and Edward's skin, but they're still comprehendable.

Edward's arms wrap around you and he holds you far tighter than you've ever been held before. As much as he tries to stifle his sobs, you can hear him crying too, which breaks your heart right in half. "You're not filthy. You're such a sweet girl" His broken voice barely manages out. "My sweet girl. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." He weeps into your shoulder, "I don't understand- you don't deserve this."

Despite having gone through one of the most traumatic events your body can naturally put itself through, somehow your heart seemed to ache more for Eddie- for as long as you could remember he had been your everything. Your oldest friend- at times even your only friend. You knew you were young but, you were certain you'd never feel this way for someone again. You let out a hysterical weep into his shoulder, stinging your throat as the high-pitched noise moves through your strained vocal cords. The sound of your cry only makes Edward hold you tighter, letting out a soft, soothing "shhh" between his lips.

"Eddie?" You sniffle.

"Yes?"

"You know, whenever I can't sleep at night, I just- I think about you- about you and I- about us. I imagine us all grown up and happy, and in love- and god it's so cheesy, it's so embarrassing- but it makes me so happy- and I- I just want you to know I won't ever let go of that fantasy." You continue to cry into his shoulder, your tears soaking the fabric of his shirt. "I'm going to love you forever Eddie, until I die, I swear."

"Me too Y/n," His breath is warm against the skin of your neck, as he exhales, "Forever."

You lift your head from where it lies on Edward's shoulder, your entire face is now red and puffy, and your head throbs from all of the water you've lost today through your eyes alone. Edward's head rises as well, and you both look at each other through teary eyes. Edward's hands come up to hold either side of your face, wiping away your tears with his thumb.

He still looks so beautiful, even as his face is stricken with unimaginable grief, his eyes red and puffy under his crooked glasses, and his nose irritated and runny.

"God, who's going to fix your hair- and your glasses when I'm gone. You're going to look like a mess!" You try to laugh through the tears, lifting up your hands to straighten out his glasses.

"When you're gone it won't matter if I look a mess since I won't have anyone I want to look nice for." Edward gives you a weak chuckle.

"Oh Eddie," You sigh, giving him a frown, "I love you so much."

"I love you too Y/n."

After a long shared glance through teary eyes Edward presses his lips to yours, and you savor the taste, knowing this could very well be one of the last times you ever feel his lips on yours.

You're pulled from your somber thoughts by the sound of heavy boots shuffling behind you. You take in a sharp inhale, the tears that were forming in your eyes seem to desiccate almost instantly.

"You came." A muffled voice says from behind you. Your body goes stiff and you suddenly lift up your back, fixing your posture at the familiar voice. The Riddler.

You spin around on your heels, and there he is standing not but a few feet away. You're spellbound from the moment your eyes turn upon him, he's real- and he's in front of you. As scary as he came off in his videos, he was much more intimidating in person, only a vague outline of a person with nearly no sign of animate life aside from his piercing green eyes that look to be staring right through you. He's taller than you expect, even from a distance he appears to tower over you.

You can barely manage a breath out, strained, you try your best, "Of course I did." Your words only barely muffled by the fabric of your mask.

"There's no need to be nervous." He steps closer, "I only bite those with bitter blood."

You shake your head, and clasp your now clammy hands together behind your back, "No, I'm not worried about being hurt." You respond, awestruck, looking up at him with big eyes full of adoration, "You're just- you've inspired me so. I can't believe I'm here with you."

He lets out a chuckle that goes on for just a little too long, and is just a little too animalistic.

"I appreciate the flattery- but it's you I should be thanking, for your devotion, for your dedication to making a change." The way he speaks is nearly theatrical, it's almost identical to the same histrionics he exhibits in his videos.

"Father Benjamin needed to be taken care of, you helped me recognize that."

"Good." He lets out a long exhale, "We will unmask that vermin together then."

You nod.

The Riddler is now finally standing right in front of you. He takes a moment to look you up and down with a careful eye, his intense gaze sending shivers down your spine. You attempt not to squirm under his gaze, a task which you find difficult from the overwhelming power he exudes alone. As he looks you can quickly see a glimmer of something in his eyes before it fades away and you're left questioning what it is that he saw that made him perk up like that.

"Now, I must ask, if we are to unmask the man, do you have any personal grievances with the father? Outside of his, greedy nature."

You swallow harshly, wondering if you should tell him,

"I do- but it's not necessarily something I want out."

"Then why are we doing this if not to air our grievances? If the Father has done something corrupt it is the right of the citizens of Gotham to know!" The Riddler becomes agitated, his sudden change of tone frightens you, and most of all you worry you'll disappoint him.

"Okay, okay." You nod, "I just- I haven't told anyone this since it happened."

"No one needs to know it was you, that's the best part about wearing a mask- the truth won't come back to bite you. Go on, spill." He urges with a forceful tone in his voice.

You looked up at The Riddler, your heart beating wildly as you prepared to tell this strange man the most intimate details of your life, getting ready to say the words you'd barely even said to Edward at the time. With a nervous swallow you began,

"When I was 16..." You began, "My- uh- my boyfriend who was also an orphan he- he got me pregnant. And I guess I um- before I realized I was even pregnant- I guess I- I miscarried-" You could feel the tears beginning to form in your eyes, threatening to roll down your cheeks with even the slightest movement. "It was early on, only a few weeks so it was nothing brutal but- both the clergy and I found out when I woke up having bled through my sheets. And Father Benjamin, having decided I was unclean for having premarital sex, sent me to some, god, some crazy religious boarding school- and I never saw my boyfriend or any of my friends again." You're no longer looking at the Riddler, instead, your eyes are down at your feet as you fit your lip between your teeth, trying not to cry.

Suddenly you feel a pair of hands on your cheeks, catching you off guard.

"Y/n?" He asks. The sudden mention of your name catches you even more off guard than him touching you. Your stomach throws itself for a loop as you fling your head up. In between the mask and his big thick glasses you can barely tell that his eyes are wet, as if he's about to cry. You stare into his eyes just a little harder, and your jaw drops, It couldn't be.

"Edward?" You suck in a breath, on the verge of tears. Both of The Riddler's hands move back a little to remove the loops of your mask from behind your ears, gently lifting it off your face,

"It is you," His voice is somehow both breathy and breathless. Suddenly, you're taking off the Riddler's glasses, no warning given to him, before flinging off his thick green mask.

His face is still obfuscated by the cling wrap that surrounds his head, but you can tell who it is.

"Edward." You say, this time as a statement as you're clawing at the cellophane on his face. You toss the broken plastic wrap aside, and the two of you stare at each other with heavy glances for a moment. He looked more or less the same as he did when he was younger, he still had those soft round cheeks and gentle stare. His hair was shorter now than it was when you'd grown up with him, now that he could probably afford a haircut. He was still perfect, still Eddie.

You're acutely aware of how quickly your chest rises and falls, "I thought I was never going to see you again." You choke.

"S-so you didn't forget about me." His gloved hand caresses your cheek, and you feel at peace under his touch. Even after all these years, even knowing he's a fucking serial killer he's just as warm.

"No." You shake your head, "I- I think about you every single day." You feel a tear begin to slip down your cheek, which Edward quickly brushes away.

"I do too- hey- is it okay if I kiss you?" His demeanor is suddenly different from that when he's behind the mask. He's timid, soft-spoken, just as he'd been as a boy.

"That's all I've wanted for the last 12 years."

Edward's lips pressed against yours, and you kissed back instantaneously. His lips moved hesitantly at first, working their way back into the motions. It had been so long, but at the same time, it had seemed just yesterday that you and Edward had shared your last kiss. You felt moved to pinch yourself, just to make sure you hadn't gotten caught up in one of your many fantasies or daydreams. Nothing in your life had ever felt this good as this simple kiss. 12 years of what felt like nothing but pain, and grief simply just, slipped away while your lips melted into Eddie's.

Not really wanting to break the kiss, still, you pulled away in pure disbeleif.

"I should have known it was you," You let out a small, breathy chuckle, "Oh, who else could it have been?" You shook your head in disbelief that it ever took you this long to realize who the Riddler was. Edward chuckled slightly,

"You think it's fitting?" He asks with a smile, that same smile you'd been so desperate to see for years now.

"The Riddler..." You start, a grin appearing on your face, "it's, perfect. Perfect for you Eddie." You start to stutter a little, "I think- I think I'm just- I'm so glad we've finally stood up for yourselves- you gave me the courage to stand up for myself. Even if I... didn't really know it was you."

"You've been through so much," Edward shakes his head before caressing your cheek with his thumb, "I'm so proud of you, I've always been so proud of you."

You sniffle a little at Edward's proclamation, after all the hell you've put up with your entire life, it was all worth it just to hear Eddie utter those words.

Realizing you still had Edward's glasses in your hands, you slipped them back on over his nose, adjusting them so they were straight. Simultaneously, the two of you let out a small laugh, the action reminding you of old times.

"You know, Eddie," You exhale, "Whenever I can't sleep at night, I still think of us, now all grown up, happy, and in love. I told you I'd never let go of that fantasy." You shake your head as another tear slips down your cheek, "I never let go, I could never even try to fight it. I still love you so much."

"Y/n, you're the only person who's ever told me you loved me. And as strange as it sounds, I wouldn't change that for the world. I've never wanted to be loved by anyone that wasn't you."

You admit, your heart stings a little at his admission, but a selfish part of you enjoys it that way, unwilling to share Eddie with anyone.

"And you're the only person I've ever meant it to when I've said 'I love you."

Edward gives you a tight lipped smile, the corners of his mouth extending so far up you're afraid they might leave his face.

"I love you too Y/n, more than you could ever believe- you're why I do this- all the pain, and hurt this city has caused you- all the nights you stayed up cold and crying, you deserved so much better."

"We deserved better, Eddie, we."

Edward agreed with a nod before the two of you found yourselves with your lips interlocking again. You grabbed each side of his face with your hands before the kiss deepened slightly and you found them sliding up to his hair, gently pulling at the strands, eliciting a soft groan from him. Edward's hands moved from your cheeks to your waist, pulling you into him.

In a small act of desperation, you found yourself pressing your front against Edward as your tongue slipped into the kiss. You whined slightly as Edward playfully pinched your side before pulling back, out of breath and needy, "Please, Eddie," You whimper, "I need you."

tags (blue could not be tagged): @chaiteaandromedaa - @virginhore @ghoulsgraveyard @mommy-maia @sapphicandserendipityyy @crabravee @mothgutz-cos @babyhoneystvles @moo-is-tired @bloodypantomine

a/n: OHHHHH BOY THAT WAS A LONG ONE... I HOPE YOU ENJOYED AND, IF YOU WOULD LIKE (which I highly recommend) PLEASE LOOK AT pt2 which is out, as we speak (right now!!!!)

#edward nashton #edward nashton x reader #the riddler #the riddler x reader #paul dano #edward nashton fic #dano! riddler #dano! riddler x reader #the batman #edward nashton smut #the riddler smut

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adromedaichi · 3 years ago

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Unmatched: .1 Affection

Ushijima Wakatoshi x Fem! Reader

A/n: This was originally intended to be a series, and could still be but I don’t know. If there’s interest in more, I have outlines for both Oikawa and Daichi. I hope you enjoy my little short story that dives into Utopia that borders Dystopia from the themes.

Summary: Since The Administration began testing and matching everyone to careers, studies, and even relationships, there has never been an incident in which someone asked to be rematched. If it’s perfect, then why are you still struggling to believe in the system?

Word count: 4.2k

Genre: Smut, ANGST, v plot heavy

Warnings: Breeding kink, ANGST, pregnancy (let me know if you want more tagged!).

Network: @hqintheclub | Tips

—

Profile:

Name: ------, -----

Age: 25

Affiliation: Project Management

Current Placement: Tier 6

Status: Unmatched

Looking at the tablet in front of you, you enter your credentials, opening up the menu for the Administration’s tests modules. Taking a deep breath you prepare for the matching test. Your fingers are trembling, despite knowing this test of the three is the easiest. Rolling your head back and around to relax your tensed muscles, you finally allow yourself to breathe.

Are you ready to choose?

“Yes,” you respond vocally, despite just needing to click the button, nerves adamantly sticking around.

Before you choose, remember to consult your profile first. It is suggested you follow the plan we’ve given you. While there are no repercussions for deciding to pick for yourself, there is no guarantee for success if you veer from our suggestions for your matching process. Those who have followed our guidance have reported 99% satisfaction with their match and life.

If you are given the suggestion to wait on marital bliss, you are allowed to retest in five years to see if you may move forward to something more with your match. This is the only way you may retest, but remember, you will not be given a new match. Those of you that are suggested to jump into marriage does not mean you must marry and produce children immediately, just that you are ready for this if you so desire.

The disclaimer isn’t surprising, but it’s still strange to see. You have never had the option between pathways before, only placed in your affinity and pushed towards your career. Opening your profile on the top right of the screen, you’re presented with your identification photo and a list of facts about yourself. A new icon has appeared, a small pink and blue square with a heart, making you laugh at the novelty of it all.

Clicking on it, the analysis of your personality, preferences, and expected future is laid out for you. Most of it isn’t new information, it’s just presented in a new way to you. Adding it all up, the Administration has determined a traditional family life would be better suited for you. You don’t disagree, the idea of casually dating never really being in your mindset. After all, they’ve always been right. There hasn't been an instant in your life where they led you wrong, so you know what you must do.

Closing your profile you continue the test, finding it to be the easiest but making you feel incredibly vulnerable. As the test progresses you notice your answers are shifting more right-sided than left, making you wonder why there are two sides to this path. After a few more rather invasive questions the seal of the Administration appears and excuses you from the testing booth.

It’ll take a full week for you to be matched, the standard for all the tests. Until then you know you’ll be a wreck waiting to see who you end up with for this run. Knowing you chose the traditional path, this person is meant to be it forever, and even with the guarantee from The Administration you worry.

Wakatoshi Ushijima, 26.

The image of him not smiling is off-putting, but who really has a good government identification photo? Not many people, you’re sure. A sudden wave of fear washes through you as you think about him doing the same thing, judging you based on these awful photos issued by the administration profiles.

Shaking your head, you try to rid yourself of the thought. As you flip through the pages of his profile you admire the different test scores they’ve included, short blurbs of his childhood, a list of his interests, and likes and dislikes. However, an old picture catches your eye.

Ushijima towers over most of his teammates, standing in front of the net on a volleyball court. He looks just as serious in this photo as all the others, except a select few from his childhood where he’s grinning up at his mom. Maybe he just doesn’t like taking pictures, you think, closing the profile and logging out of the database to go back to your usual routine in the evening.

Tomorrow everything will be different, but for tonight you can enjoy this last bit of alone time in your last apartment. Tomorrow you move into a real home with your match. You wonder how the process will go. Your parents never really fell madly in love, but were always happy and stable. Something you valued over love, at least, that’s what you want to hold onto going forward. Expecting the minimum.

After all, before the system many people loved one another and the divorce rate was higher than ever. Now, there is no need to worry about that. The Administration has the perfect system.

Stepping inside your new home pulling a single suitcase behind you, you take in a deep breath. While you know your match won’t be joining you until later, you can’t help but feel the nerves setting in now. As you unpack, you think about the stories your mother told you about meeting her match, and how it used to be under the supervision of the Administration before they got the glitches worked out in their matching system.

Some part of you thinks that would be better than this. While there’s no obligation for you to do anything other than chat some to get to know one another, it seems… unwelcoming just moving into a home together without having ever said hello to one another. Sure, you know everything his profile told you, but that doesn’t inform you on the best strategies for communication or any little quirks he may have that could potentially annoy you into an early grave.

After unpacking your things in the master bedroom, you have to tiptoe around the movers bringing the rest of your things and your match’s things in. Sitting in the living room on your comfortable new furniture, you scroll through the emails on your phone for work, trying not to peek into his boxes. While you have a month off to readjust to this new lifestyle, you can’t help but do something while waiting around. Before, there used to be weddings, honeymoons, oh... and dating. While none of this is technically taboo, there’s no point in them anymore when you have a match out there waiting for you.

The door closing and locking makes you jump, sitting up from your relaxed position on the couch you look around your now-empty home. It’s decorated sparingly, leaving room for a relationship and family to grow and fill it. That excited you, something warm and fuzzy building in your chest and replacing the walls you’ve mentally been building since stepping inside.

Pulling up the profile for Wakatoshi you find his food preference list, seeing Hayashi rice as his favorite meal. You figure making a good impression wouldn’t hurt. Ordering the groceries for delivery takes just a few moments. Only a few more hours until he’s home.

“Nice to meet you,” Wakatoshi’s smile is warmer than you expected.

Something in the way his eyes close makes him look younger, approachable. Maybe it was the photos, or maybe it was your anxiety, that gave you the impression he’d be cold and distant until eventually opening up to you. You’re glad you were wrong.

“I made you dinner,” you stammer out. Fidgeting with your apron, you show him to the dining room. All of this feels too domesticated too soon, but you’re going with it. “I hope your profile was up to date. I made your fav-”

“You didn’t have to do that,” his hand on your shoulder makes you smile and look away. He’s easy not to look in the eye given his height, perfect for hiding at this moment.

“I wanted you to feel at home.”

What you don’t expect is an embrace, face squished against his broad chest. He smells good, the cologne he wore to work still clinging to his dark grey button-up. Your arms wrap around his waist, and you revel in the warmth of his body. He pulls away and you release him.

“Thank you. I didn’t expect this.” He sits at the table in front of the plate you prepared him.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I can go use a guest room, really.” Wakatoshi jumps up from the bed. “I guess it is weird to share a bed the first night. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

After dinner, he went to go shower and you cleaned up the kitchen while he was away. You wanted to do the same and walked into your new room, with him in his briefs and a white t-shirt watching a volleyball game play out on the TV. You knew he walked into this room and you knew he’d used this bathroom to shower. However, you never considered sharing this room, for whatever reason. It simply never crossed your mind. Even your parents never shared a room when you were growing up.

You quietly gathered pajamas to shower and change in the bathroom before coming back out. When he saw you about to leave the room, he got startled and jumped up, apologizing profusely.

“No, I don’t want you to have to not sleep in your bed.”

“Ours.”

“What?”

“It’s our bed.”

It’s an obvious statement and the matter-of-fact tone he holds indicates he knows that too. You feel a bit silly, scared to sleep in a bed with your match on the first night. You drop your dirty clothes into the laundry basket by the closet and then go to the other side of the bed.

“Our bed,” you confirm and try not to laugh. “I’m sorry I’m being awkward.”

Wakatoshi lets out a long sigh and throws himself back onto the bed, making you bounce. “I’m glad you brought it up. I’ve been anxious about all of this and trying to hold it together.”

You giggle, “It’s weird, right? They don’t even let us meet before moving in together.”

“Very weird.” He confirms. A comfortable laugh leaves his body and you relax a little. “My parents never shared a room, so I guess it’s not that shocking you were worried about it. I just… I don’t like thinking about being with someone and not falling for them,” he lays back against the pillow, tucking his folded hands under his head and looking up to the ceiling.

You try to hide the smile creeping on your cheeks. It’s refreshing to know he’s not going to be a brick wall of a man, trying to get him to share with you. “I… I mean, my parents were also like that. I guess that’s why I was surprised to see you here.”

“Are you sure you’re comfortable with it?”

“Yeah,” you smile laying down beside him, still keeping a comfortable distance for now. “I am.”

“Why volleyball?” You ask, looking up through your lashes at Toshi.

He strokes your cheek with his thumb, and you relax more against his chest. “My dad liked it and introduced it to me when I was younger. I just never stopped from there.”

“Ah,” you answer, not sure how to continue the conversation from there.

He looks down at you, meeting your gaze and you look away. It’s been two weeks and you finally have a feeling of familiarity with him, but it’s still strange. You don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable with you looking at him, but the more and more time you spend with him the lovelier he becomes.

He’s obviously attractive, everything about his body makes you think he was sculpted by the gods that be. His facial features sharp, but somehow still soft enough to be approachable. Over the course of the last 14 days, you’ve found yourself wondering if he realizes this too. He becomes softer the longer you’re around him.

“Do you have anything you’re passionate about?”

The question catches you off guard. While you like many things, you’re struggling to come up with a clean-cut answer that you think he wants.

“I-” you stutter, feeling extremely embarrassed by this. “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.”

So much of your life up until now has been about meeting standards and focusing on work. Have you ever given yourself a chance to breathe? A chance to live for you? You don’t think you have and feel utterly defeated at this moment.

“I’m a patient man, no need to give me an answer now.” He laughs and his chest rumbles under your cheek. The vibrations warm and welcoming, making you snuggle closer. “I have forever with you, after all.”

Forever. Forever, with no passion sounds like a life sentence of misery.

Profile

Name: Ushijima, -----

Age: 26

Affiliation: Project Management

Current Placement: Tier 7

Status: Matched

A year has passed and everything feels like a whirlwind. Toshi transferred from the university he originally coached at to one closer to your home, making his commute significantly shorter than before. A promotion at your company has given you more time at home, learning more and more about your match and the life you’ll have together. It’s unusual to earn a new placement so soon, but the fact the Administration granted it before the standard just proved that you’d been doing well.

Everything fell right into place, which felt uneasy at first. After conversations with coworkers and your parents, you realized it was more common for matches to just coexist more as roommates who never fought than it was to fall in love with them. Only one other girl in your department had actually fallen for her match, making you feel at ease and finally have someone to confide in.

However, the good news of your love for Toshi to your parents only made them pressure you more into creating a family.

You can’t remember who brought it up first, your mother or Toshi. You have to soon, you know that, or else the options are narrowed and you won’t be able to carry them yourself. You know that and you want to do it yourself. However, it feels rushed… like everything else so far…. but the way his eyes light up whenever he talks about children… you can’t say no to him.

“Tell me what you want,” the raspiness in his voice was enough to send you over the edge. Cumming around him, you dig your nails into his back.

“I-I” you stutter unable to focus on his question. He’s so deep, filling you until you can’t even think straight. “Want-”

“Speak up baby,” he chuckles, looking down at you. His brown eyes focused on your face.

“Want your cum,” you mutter between gasps as he thrusts slowly and deep inside you.

Your legs ache, thrown over his shoulders and pressed against your body. He’s relentless though, encouraged by you telling him what he wanted to hear.

“Of course you do. You want me to fill that little cunt up and make you mine.”

You were shocked the first time you had sex and he was so vocal. You hadn’t expected it. The contrast between Toshi in life and Toshi in bed, scaring you slightly but… something inside of you knew this is exactly what you needed. You love the way he makes you feel smaller than him, pumping his cum inside of you with filthy words to follow.

He grunts loudly, dipping his head down against your shoulder and releases inside of you. You cry out as he rides out his orgasm on top of you, his cock hitting depths you didn’t think possible. He stills, not moving as you both regain your normal breathing.

“Don’t move,” he tells you, pulling out but keeping your legs against your chest with his hands.

“Why?” You ask feeling a bit too exposed, despite the acts just performed.

“I just have a feeling. This is the time you’ll get pregnant. I want to give them all a fighting chance.”

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous,” you laugh, swatting his hands away. “That’s not really how this works.”

“It could help!” He argues laughing and letting go of your legs. He kisses you, holding your cheek with his palm. “I love you, ----.”

“I love you,” you whisper, kissing him back and closing your eyes.

“You’re due soon,” your mother comments over lunch.

Obviously, you want to say, but you don’t. Choosing to smile and play nice. Rubbing your hand over your swollen stomach, you can’t help but feel the tension and nerves build in your chest. Toshi had been right. That feeling he had after sex turned out to not be so lame as you originally thought it.

“Momma,” you say softly. “I’m scared.”

“Why would you be scared?” She asks looking up from her salad. “Everything will go smoothly, and you don’t even have to feel anything if you don’t want to. When I had you I-”

“Mom!” You drop your fork and look up at her. “It’s not about that. I just-” you sigh. “I’m worried about being her mom.” You stroke over your stomach again. “What if I’m not-”

“Baby,” she sighs, reaching across and taking your hand in hers. “You’ll be a wonderful mother. I know it.”

You smile and squeeze her hand back. These nerves are probably the same as every other woman who decides to have her own baby, but it’s not something you’re remotely used to. Thinking about the way your parents brought you up made it all look so easy. However, you can’t help but think back to the way things slowly shifted with each passing year.

“Thank you, Momma.” She releases your hand and continues eating, and you push the anxiety away.

“Plus, you’re lucky to have such a great match. He seems to be well adjusted and not to mention how in love he is with you. I still can’t believe my daughter is lucky enough to have love with her match…” she begins rambling on about her slight jealousy over the situation.

Toshi hasn’t brought up any nervous thoughts or concerns since you became pregnant. Instead, he’s been the perfect model of what a father should be. Helping you out with anything around the house, massaging your feet, and even putting together your daughter’s room before you brought up the idea.

He’s always so prepared. So ready to give you everything you need.

Why can’t you be ready for this?

Profile

Name: Ushijima, -----

Age: 29

Affiliation: Project Management

Current Placement: Tier 7

Status: Matched

Wakatoshi tosses your giggling daughter into the air once more, her laughter increasing to a shrill scream making you laugh while watching closely. Your hand twitches, part of you wanting to scold him for tossing her too high. You let it go on for a few more tosses before calling for him to bring her back to the park bench with you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks while sitting beside you and placing her on your lap.

“I don’t want you to drop her,” you tell him while fixing her messy curls in their pink butterfly hair pins so they stop falling onto her forehead. “You wouldn’t want to get hurt would you?” you ask her while holding her close.

“No, mommy!” She giggles looking at you like you’ve said something absurd.

“See?” You raise your eyebrow at him and he throws his hands up in defeat before wrapping his arm around you.

“I give up,” he jokes. “No more fun for me or you,” he pokes your daughters nose and she laughs burying her face in your shirt and clinging to you. She yawns, closing her eyes and going lax in your arms.

“She’s tired. We should head home,” you stand up, strapping her into the stroller and handing her a stuffed rabbit while Toshi grabs the diaper bag.

“I love you,” he hums, kissing your forehead before taking the stroller from you and walking a step in front of you.

You sigh, looking up to the sky wondering if it’s true.

Maybe it’s the hormones from the second pregnancy, or maybe it’s just your intuition, but you’ve realized something has changed. Wakatoshi’s actions never changed. His words never lost their spark. But, there was always that nagging feeling you couldn’t get rid of.

Why was he so perfect for you?

Obviously, he had to be the best match for you or you wouldn’t have been paired, but… you’re left wondering if the circumstances of his upbringing had made him want to work harder into making sure his match was really in love with him. Had he been forcing himself to love you despite being unsure if he actually wanted it?

It eats at you, slowly. Your anxiety creeps in as you watch your coworker continue to gush about her match. How happy they were with their third child. How in love she was with him. Why did her love feel so genuine while you were here doubting if yours was. No, your love wasn’t ingenuine.

However, it does feel a tad fabricated, and as if you were forcing Wakatoshi to love you by working hard to not be your parents. When, in reality, there was nothing wrong with how either of your parent’s relationships functioned. The Administration never promised love, they promised a match. He is through and through a perfect match for you, but the idea of ruining it by falling too deeply in love and dependent on him is too much pressure.

Love isn't necessary. Commitment was. Love could make things messy. Love could potentially destroy what you have. That’s why the Administration created the matching system, to prevent failed relationships and the heartbreak and discomfort that comes with that. This was the reason you chose to be matched instead of choosing to explore your options more.

And you are anything but uncommitted to Wakatoshi.

You lay your son in his crib, flipping the light switch off and carefully closing the door so as not to wake him, holding the baby monitor close to your chest as you lean against the door letting out an exhausted sigh. He’s been a lot more difficult than your first, wearing both you and Wakatoshi down.

“Finally asleep?” You’re startled by his figure in the hallway, turning to look at him. He’s shirtless, wearing plaid pajama pants that cling to his hips. His hair is still damp, he must have showered while you rocked your child to sleep.

“Finally wore himself to sleep screaming,” you say with a laugh. “I think I should look into hearing aides. He might have busted an eardrum tonight.”

“I couldn’t hear him in the shower, so I think you’ll be alright.” He smiles at you awkwardly.

Silence fills the hallway, both of you too tired to say anything. Looking at Wakatoshi you can see the bags darkening under his eyes. How long have they been like that? It’s new, maybe even coinciding with the short time your child has been in the world. Or perhaps it had been longer, maybe even since you stopped sharing a bed.

“-----,” he says softly, his hand reaching for yours and bringing it to his cheek. “Please, come to bed.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” You tell him with a sigh, Every part of your body is reaching for him, begging you to give in and go back to sharing the room. “We’ve had this talk before.”

“You’ve talked at me. I don’t remember agreeing to this.” He releases your hand and gestures between the two of you. “What are you scared of?” His voice is desperate and needy.

“I’m not scared of anything. I just-” want to be with you. You don’t tell him, worried this codependency will only make it worse. “I just think it's more realistic for us to have boundaries now. We have young eyes watching us all the time.”

“Do you think it's good for them to see us apart?”

“That’s normal, Toshi!” You stop yourself from yelling. Exhaustion clearly making you become agitated. “Do you remember that first night? We talked about how our parents never shared a room. How we both grew up happy. There were never spats. Just, good memories.”

“Do you truly believe they’re satisfied with that?”

“Why else would anyone decide to be matched then? If you wanted more you could have decided not to be matched, find someone on your own and live the messy life from before!” It crushes you thinking about him with someone else, but you know you’re right.

No one has to be matched. It's up to you, a commitment to one person, and to make it work until your time comes. There are no repercussions for deciding to search for love on your own and letting it play out. All of this has been about choice, since the beginning.

“What happened?” He asks after several moments of silence.

“I don’t know,” you lie. Turning away and walking towards your bedroom, you ignore the sound of him hitting the floor and the stifled sobs.

#♓️.writing #🌌.writing #🌌.hq #haikyuu x fem reader #hq x female reader #ushijima wakatoshi x fem reader #wakatoshi ushijima x fem reader #ushijima smut #ushijima wakatoshi smut #ushijima x fem reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu angst

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