#edward nashton imagine

[angelofthenight]

Dano!Riddler: Free my girl (y/n), she not in jail she just in the wrong relationship

[imagine--if]

Can I ask for a Dano Riddler imagine? where him and Yn grew up together (she was in the girls wing of the orphanage and they talked through the walls, like him and the joker on the film) and she goes to see him in Arkham, and she's really sad that he's there, because they promissed each other that they'd never leave one another, and it's tearful and all, but he promisses her that he'll leave soon and never be apart ever again😭❤

A/N: I've just gotten round to reading the fourth issue of Riddler Year One so yessss I've totally got plenty of inspo for this imagine 😁 enjoy!!

Wordcount: 2.2K

"She doesn't say much. And when she does, it's hard to make it out. Shy little thing. Still, she'll get used to it. She'll have to."

You were only four or five when you were dumped in Gotham's orphanage, clutching onto your soft toy as an only source of comfort and some kind of stability in a terrifying world, and an even worse city. You were quiet, barely spoke, and when you did, it was in whispers, all wide, innocent eyes and secretive, the hood up on your little hoodie as you tried your best to hide yourself from everything and everyone. Just a toddler, with a sweet life twisted by death and misfortune that you barely understood as a toddler. You had shuffled meekly behind a carer who led you into the orphanage, a cold and cruel building that they expected you to call home.

The other kids there seemed so much bigger, loud and dominating and aggressive, half of them on drops, only around twelve years old. Others were plain bullies with filthy mouths and hateful glares, children's eyes glancing at you, assessing your small, shy form, before they carried on with what they were doing in disinterest.

You had buried your face in your toy and pulled the fabric of your hood up past your hair and head, over your forehead, shadowing your face, trying to disappear in it. You pulled your legs up to your chest and watched everything happen behind your toy, its fur pressed up against your face. A group of kids watched TV and fought over the remote, others played nearby outside, but from your spot hunched in a corner, opposite you, sat a boy almost as quiet as you. You gazed at him in silence for a few long minutes, absorbed in his puzzle book, and only when he looked up to get a fresh pencil did he notice your young, curious eyes fixed on him.

He was a few years older than you, with glasses pushed up his nose, making his murky green eyes twinkle as they looked back at you nervously. He gave you a small smile, the first genuine smile you'd received in maybe your whole life, awkward and hesitant. You blinked back at him timidly, hugging your toy closer with little hands, returning his smile bashfully. The boy seemed taken aback by the action, and beamed at you, a beat of hesitance passing before he offered you a pen. You stared at it, then at him, and wandered over, sitting beside him and accepting his offer. You barely knew how to read or write, and so you watched him instead, the quiet boy with a nice smile and lots of books, day after day.

And as the days went by, both of you becoming closer and more comfortable together, Edward would start talking to you in his small, sweet voice, writing answers to riddles with a hand over yours, pulling your littler form into his lap after a couple of weeks and reading to you, then helping you read, helping you speak up a little. He'd even speak for you with others, managing to push past his own shyness every so often to help you, to repeat your whispered, lispy voice to those who couldn't catch it. You'd trail after him throughout the day when you could, before you were taken back to the girls' dorm, and you'd linger in the separating corridor, afraid of the idea of you two parting and him never coming back out of his long, shared boys' room.

"I'll see you in the morning," He'd always say soothingly, giving you a warm hug, bending down slightly so you could return it properly. "I'll never leave you. You know that."

And you'd nod, because you knew Edward was telling the truth by the way he said it and looked at you with earnest, young eyes, letting you borrow a book to amuse yourself with if the nights got too long,

But then foster families and adoptees started popping up. And you, being a young, sweet-looking child, albeit a little shy, are swept up into the grips of a random 'family,' and the quickness of how your name's signed away to people you don't even know and have no say over makes your head spin. The orphanage was overcrowded anyway, and one less mouth to feed in exchange for money made all the difference.

Edward, on the other hand, was beside himself.

Newspapers and library books on adoption and rules and any ways to prevent what was happening piled up beside his bed, to the dorm he'd been disciplined to stay in for his shocking outbursts of frustration and hatred and upset. Thomas Wayne's renewal plan could help him, he thought. He'd already assured him that he could get to a special school to study and learn and have a brighter future.

So on the last night you could spend together, sneaking out of the corridor of a room you slept in with the other girls, Edward filled out the form in his shaky, uneven writing, stating on one line that he wanted to go to the school he'd talked about, and on the other, 'I want to stay with my best friend and stop them from being taken away by bad people.'

REJECTED.

The word stamped in bold, horrid red print was the response he got, the word that bled into his mind as you were made to pack a bag and wave goodbye and go, handing your young life over to strangers, and Edward couldn't do a thing about it. You were carted off out of Gotham to go to school and expected to become a whole new person.

But you couldn't.

The years went by agonisingly slowly, and with every one that passed, you thought about him, your friend, Edward. Did he get adopted too? Did he manage to find some source of happiness and hope afterwards? Would he even remember you if you went back?

Eventually, you save up enough money and have enough time to go back to where it all started, in the unfeeling streets of Gotham City. You had no idea where to look, and after hearing from someone that the orphanage had been burned down ages ago, your last resort was to ask at the GCPD.

"Sorry to bother you," you say with an awkward smile, as a detective greets you and asks if he can be any help; 'Lieutenant James Gordon,' his name tag reads, "I'm looking for someone who I think still lives here? We were friends a while ago, and... I'm sorry, you look busy."

"We are quite busy, Miss," Gordon tells you, looking a little overwhelmed. "We've just managed to catch some crazy psycho who's been letting hell loose recently."

Your eyes widen in confusion and interest. "Wow... that's... yeah, I'm sorry, it's okay."

"No, go on," Gordon nods, letting you into his office, "have you got a name, address or anything?"

"I don't know his address," you say in uncertainty. "We were friends as kids. His name's Edward. Edward Nashton?"

Jams Gordon stops abruptly, whirling around to face you with demanding, bewildered eyes.

"Excuse me?"

You frown. "What?"

"Are you trying to be funny?" Gordon says in shock. "Edward Nashton? That's who you're looking for?"

You nod slowly, and Gordon sighs, taking off his glasses and hiding his face in a hand.

"Look, Miss, I don't know how new you are to Gotham, but Edward Nashton has just been arrested and sent to Arkham Asylum for the crimes committed under the name of The Riddler. He was only just apprehended a few hours ago."

Your breath catches in your throat in disbelief, as Gordon's eyes narrow suspiciously, looking you up and down.

"And you really knew nothing about this? You aren't an accessory?"

"I- no," you shake your head, "I only just made it to Gotham this evening."

Gordon nods slowly, though he still doesn't seem convinced. He suddenly grabs his jacket and opens the office door, glancing back at you.

"Come with me."

You follow him meekly, as he leads you out of the building and into a police car. Are you going to be arrested? Could your Eddie really have done this? Why?

Gordon stops outside Arkham, opening the car door for you to step out, and leads you inside, showing his badge to the guards, who let you proceed. The walls are strong and metallic and thick, and the cells are sealed with heavy iron doors with a small, barred rectangular window at their tops. You try not to let your attention wander, sticking close to Gordon, until he reaches an interrogation room. A mad dressed in a jet-black bat suit already stands there with a frustrated look in his dark eyes, and Gordon signals for you to wait as he goes over to the Batman and whispers something you can't quite make out in his ear. The Batman looks over at you quickly, his expression unreadable, and then he approaches you.

"You know Nashton?" his deep, whispery voice states more than asks, and you nod.

Batman stares at you for another moment before marching back into the interrogation room, nodding at you impatiently to come in. You do, blinking at the hard lights and the security cameras glaring at you from the corners of the room. And, behind the strong, glass partition and metal desk, a young man sits staring at you in disbelief.

Clear, dorky glasses. Murky green eyes. Soft, sandy brown hair. It's definitely him.

"Edward?" you say breathlessly, going to step closer, but the Batman gives you a wary look. "Ed, is that really you?"

He nods wordlessly, his eyes wide and stunned. But beneath that familiar, comforting look he's always had, there's a layer you can only just make out, like a hidden spark of insanity, one that's made the whole city go into a frenzy and even The Batman apprehensive. Edward whispers your name like a prayer, his hands pressed up against the protective glass.

"You came back," he says in wonder, as Gordon and Batman glance between the two of you in uncertainty, but you're not focused on them at all, like the whole world is disappearing around you. "I- I knew you would..."

"What happened?" you say, overwhelmed by the whole scenario, staring in wonder at the now grown-up orphan labelled a criminal in front of you. "What did you do?"

"What I had to do," he smiles brightly, adoringly at you, that glimmer of insanity coming to the surface. "What they made me do. And I did it for you, too."

"Me?"

"Who else?" Edward giggles, standing up and moving closer to the glass, his hands cuffed and chained. "They tried to break us apart. But you came back. I've been waiting for so long..."

"What does she know about this?" The Batman slices through the moment, and Edward glances at him distractedly. "Have you been doing this together?"

"Of course not," Edward breathes, turning his attention back to you with a sweet smile. "She's too pure for that. Too shy, and lovely... it was me. But you inspired me," he insists, looking straight at you, "to make a clean slate, and clean it all up, so that it'd be perfect for us. And it will be, angel. You coming back was the last piece of the puzzle." Edward suddenly gives you that all-too familiar soft, loving look you'd seen back in the orphanage, and you have to fight to compose yourself, wanting so badly to run to him like you did so many times before. "You look so beautiful. You haven't changed a bit..."

You feel like crying, stunned by the casualness of what he's saying and admitting to. "I... oh Edward..." you shake your head, giving him a desperate look. "You're in Arkham."

"That's right," Batman interjects again, "you can't be together. You're a psychopath, Nashton. You're not getting out. I'm sending her back home."

"No, wait," you cut in desperately, still feeling just as drawn to the genius madman even after the dark truths, "please, I don't want to leave him, I can help..."

A guard interrupts, bursting into the interrogation room, and you all turn to him.

"There's been explosions," the guard announces, "the city walls have collapsed and the main road's flooded."

As he speaks, Edward giggles to himself, giving the masked vigilante a dark, unhinged look that makes your heart jump in your chest.

"She's not going anywhere," he says excitedly, grinning at you. "You're right where you need to be. We can watch the whole thing together."

The Batman dithers between leaving and staying, eventually rushing out of the room, along with Gordon, to deal with the flooding crisis, and a guard hustles you out of the room as Edward's voice calls out your name from behind you.

"You'll never leave me again! We were meant to be! You know it's true, darling! You know!"

You manage to glance back at him as you leave, studying his crazed, ecstatic look, that same softness in his eyes as the day you had to leave, but tainted with madness. But as you look, you can't help but smile back at him slightly, because you know it's true.

As the waters invade the city and the building erupts into panic along with the rest of Gotham, you know it's true. And maybe that'll make this all worth it.

⭒❃.✮:▹ 𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ◃:✮.❃⭒ (message me know if you want to be removed. ghost blogs/dead accs have been removed.)

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[sweetums0kitty]

Good Things in Small Packages

Edward Nashton x Soft!Dom reader

Warnings: Bondage, edging, 18+, Minors DNI.

Summary: Eddie won't listen when you say he's beautiful, what better way to convince him than a game of cat and mouse

Commission for @lovesickrobotic

“Lovely, just lovely.” Placing a long revenant kiss onto the cherubic cheek of the man securely bound below you. His lengthy form contorted slightly pushing himself further into the mess of pillows you had set him against. Pouting you leaned over and gently grasped his flushed cheek tilting the rounded face of your beloved. Edward was caught instantly within the intensity of the gaze. From the way you held his face gently stroking the right side with your left hand while the other was tracing the tendons of his throat. His pulse was racing wildly causing a gentle giggle to bubble up and out of your chest. "Eddie!" cooing you lent forward and placed another kiss on his fervent skin eliciting a shrill whine that buzzed your lips pleasantly. Edward squirmed under your touch but it was no use the silken fabric contoured around his plush form binding him to your will. Which, presently was to absolutely drench his entire being with as much affection as you could. Usually, Eddie would shy away from your praise, ducking his head to avoid the intensive expressions of love you desperately longed to lavish him with. Well! No more could he dodge you, once and for all you were going to worship Eddie the way he deserved.

Moving your lips downward you began to pepper little pecks and licks into the lower portion of Edward's face. Making doubly sure to reserve your slowest kisses for those points on his neck that pulled the sweetest sounds from within. "Y-Y/N I-!" nipping lightly at his Adam's apple Edward was bucking below you wildly. The contact with your soft lips and curved form was entirely too much and nothing at all. Internally a war was brewing in your beloved. The softer part of Edward was clawing fiercely to accept your affections, sink himself back into the pillows, and stuffed toys you had placed around his bound form in devoted adoration. But no matter how he tried the nagging voice in his brain slithered in whispering that he wasn't worth your love, and didn't deserve to be cared for in this way. There wasn't a time before meeting and falling in love with you that Eddie was shown this level of care, why should he get used to it now? Why should he grow fond of the feeling of your lips on his feverish skin… When… when… Before the negative spiral could truly take root you had crashed your lips to his in a fervent kiss chasing away the storm clouds and refocusing Edward's attention on you.

"You're thinking too much!" cooing in a sing-song tone. Your nails gently scratched his scalp stroking Edward's soft brown hair. Leaning into your touch your boyfriend mewled forlornly. "Sorry… I guess I'm not good at this whole… being loved thing." shrugging to the best of his ability despite the bindings. Frowning slightly as you thought of how best to get Edward's mind focused where it really belonged. Slowly a wicked grin formed on your lips. "Eddie~!" purring seductively as you sensually stroked his protruding stomach. You adored every inch of his lengthy body but his tenderly soft tummy was your favorite. He was staring at you with a slightly concerned expression saying nothing. Kissing his cheek you leaned into his ear whispering lowly "You wanna play a game?" Words dripping with seduction watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed shallowly. "What kind of game?" came his nervous reply. Giggling you wrapped an arm around his shoulders as you tugged him flush to your body. The sides of your breasts were pressing into his pallid chest. With every breath you took, they pushed tantalizingly close to his. "One we can both win.. one that lets me open you up. You are my special gift aren't you?" With the way, the bright green pupils behind his lenses were dilated you knew you were on the right track. "I- uh.. yeah." the reply was lame but blood was quickly rushing out of Edward's brain as you began to kiss your way down his body.

"Wha-ahh-t's the game?" voice cracking as your warm, wet tongue swirled around his quickly hardening nipples. Causing a hissing sigh from his plush lips when you began to suck gently. Kissing and licking the buds. Your other hand rolled the pert nipple under your thumb. Eddie's chest heaved as he moaned from your worship. Popping off his chest you kissed between his collarbones and laid them into his sternum. "Mm, since you can't seem to find it in you to accept my praise.. even though it's the absolute truth! I thought we'd try a little "positive reinforcement" using your fingers to continue to massage his chest. "How are you going to that?" his voice melted into a high-pitched whine of disappointment as you moved downwards licking lazily around the ribbons that crissed and crossed over his stomach. Bits of him sagged over the bows. He was your beautiful gift. Time to start unraveling the wrappings that held Eddie to earth. Nibbling gently at the pudge that resided there. It always struck you dumb over how beautiful he was in all his soft curves and long features. There was a grace in how his brow furrowed while working out a puzzle, how fast his brilliant mind would work out a problem and find the answer. However, you found him most beautiful at the precipice between brilliance and pure animal lust. Emerald eyes locked onto your hand as it slowly drifted down between his soft thighs. Gently running your nails between the binds around his flesh, twirling around his already leaking cock. You giggled softly as his hips bucked into your phantom touches. "God Eddie…" breathing heavily as you pressed warm, worshipful kisses around the skin of his inner thighs, before drifting your mouth over and hotly kissing his weeping cockhead. Listening to the sweet sobs that fell from his throat all while you worshipped him. Suddenly you bent up from between his legs using the binds at his chest as leverage to bring him in for a kiss that was all passion, yet still gentle. Softly exploring the cavern of his mouth with your tongue. His danced along yours in a fluttering mating ritual that pulled a guttural groan from deep within your throat.

Pulling way to cradle his flushed cheeks you gazed down at his little love-drunk smile. Gently you moved back down his body sitting between his thighs. "You ready to play the game sweetie?" Looking up at him through your lashes catching sight of his quickly bobbing mess of tawny brown hair "M'ready….." hips squirming together to the best of his abilities, you sighed quickly pinning him down. "Easy Eddie!" Cooing you gently stoked his thigh letting your hand fall to the taught base of his cock, where your silky soft hand ghosted up the shaft gripping it firmly in the middle. Letting it rest as you looked directly into his blown-out eyes, nearly black with lust. "The game is simple, I'm going to play with your cock and every time I compliment you, you're going to repeat what I say back or I'll stop stroking. Gluping down the lump in his throat your sweet little gift nodded shallowly to show he understood. Smiling at his acceptance you placed your other hand on his lower stomach, petting the flushed skin that resided there. "Good boy."

It was then time for the game to begin. All at once you had spit into your hand and then began to slowly pump his cock. Up, down, up, down, it was methodical the way you were massaging his skin. Thumb traveling up to circle his red tip. Your hands were heaven on earth for Edward as low sobbing moans flowed out of him. Enjoying the way his chest heaved as all the mussels in his body strained against the ribbons. In a moment your hand stopped pulling his attention to your face. "Eddie… You're so beautiful, the most beautiful person in Gotham." Starting with a hard one probably wasn't fair, but it was for the best. Almost gagging on his words Eddie's broken little voice choked out "I-I'm beau-fuck!" Your pointer finger and thumb had formed a ring and that was what currently was rubbing against his throbbing shaft going from feather soft to tight against him in an instant. "I-I- I'm beautiful! T-the most beautiful person- in Gah-Gotham!" squealing at the end as your nails brushed his leaky slit. "Good job Eddie!" cooing his flushed, sweat-covered skin, the silly round smile painted onto his cheeks Time for a harder one." You matter so so much, I don't know what I would do without you." He squeaked as you kept rubbing his cock milking the compliments from his lips. The same way you were milking the pre-cum from his tip.

Edward squeezed his eyes shut, in an almost pained expression, Your words, he heard them, they slammed into his heart like a fright train but he just couldn't get them to repeat, "Y-Y/N I can't- I'm not!" babbling as his body kept pulling at the ribbons, thrashing back into the large squishmallow he was snuggled into. Tears had begun to form on long bottom lashes, and the pink rose petals of his bottom lip wobbled tragically. Still, your hand deftly continued to rub at him. "Yes you can baby, I know you can." crooning softly. Your warm lips kissed his stomach lazily as you rested your head on his lower abdomen. "You don't want me to stop do you?" before you could finish asking Eddie shrieked no. Laughing slightly at the response you smiled while using your other hand to wipe his tears. "Recite." firmly holding his cock in place.

"I… matter so, so much" Choking down a sob as you kept massaging his dick Eddie managed to continue his recitation. Over and over your words were pounded into his skull as you expertly kept him on the edge of his orgasm. Finally coming to the very last set of words for him to repeat. Smoothly you had settled into Eddie's side a fitting place to be when he reached his end. "I'm a very good boy, who is going to cum all over my hand." In his state of delirium, Eddie didn't notice your command. Too busy being a blushing fucked out mess he mumbled the words back. "M'a very good boy… Gunna cum all o'ver your hand." It wasn't until you were letting go of his cock and he felt the thick ropes of cum hitting his stomach that he realized the whining moans were his own. You soothed Eddie through his orgasm gently cradling him in your arms as you stroked his hair. "Thank you, baby, you did so good for me." Peppering kisses into his cheeks. Coming down for his high Edward snuggled into your arms. He was stripped bare and laid out before you. But instead of mocking him or ripping his heart out you took the parts of him that sagged with lack of love and filled it with your adoration for him. "I- love you Y/N.." gasping between heaving breaths. You simply returned your lips to his kissing Edward as if your lives depended on it.

[thedanoriddler]

I want to put my head on his bewbs

[undiscovered-horizon]

AHHHH UR WRITING IS JUST CHEF KISS I CANT GET ENOUGH OF IT, ITS SOO GOOD AND UR CHARACTERIZATION OF EDDIE IS JUST AMAZING IM OBSESSED, ALSO FLUSTERED EDDIE IS EVERYTHING MAN I LOVE HOW SHY HE IS ✋😫

Now make them kiss 🔫👹

Oh God oh shit don't shoot I haven't picked up my makeup order yet. Btw sorry this is so short ??

Imagine the Riddler being your secret admirer. - Part 4

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 5]

Eddie always insisted on walking you home. At first, you didn't want to trouble him but you soon realized that the little favour meant more to him than it did to you. There was something about you being left vulnerable to Gotham's cruelty that made him jittery; his clingy, anxious nature could paint true masterpieces of horror disguised as intrusive thoughts. Besides, it was a good pretext to stretch out your date for another thirty minutes or so.

His hands were always warm and soft, which was part of the reason why you like holding them so much. The other satisfying thing was the adorable bashfulness the act of affection elicited from him. Despite his vivid shyness, once he had a hold of your hand, he was committed - not letting go until absolutely necessary.

When you arrived at your apartment building, you quietly questioned whether the distance from the coffee shop you met at was always this short. It seemed as if anytime Eddie was walking you home, the streets of Gotham became suspiciously short as if specifically trying to spite the newly found lovers.

You pushed the door to building open, even letting one of your feet step over the threshold before you stopped altogether. There was something you'd been thinking about for the entire day, barely holding the urge in and now, when his longing stare was watching you disappear into the night, you let those recurring thoughts win.

Unable to hold back a smile, you turned around to face Eddie. "Actually, I nearly forgot to give you something."

"You... have something for me?" he asked while you were walking towards him. A blush appeared on his cheeks as it usually did when you showed him any kind of interest.

"Yeah, just a small thing," you answered with a shrug. For all he knew, you meant something completely insignificant.

Before Ed had an occasion to question you further about the enigmatic, if not elusive, gift, you leaned forward and placed a kiss on his lips. You could still taste the root spices from the pumpkin pie he and you ate.

Eddie froze. His mind was about as blank as it could physically get. You were kissing him and he definitely wasn't asleep. Lacking experience in that department, he tried to kiss you back as best as he could manage. He was probably going to overthink that beautiful moment when he gets back home, yelling at himself for being so awkward but at the moment no coherent thought could form in his mind: there was only you and the way your soft lips moved against his. A faint aroma of vanilla entered his nostrils - your lipstick must have been a scented one.

When you pulled away, the chill night air made his face feel unbearably cold. "Nearly forgot to give you a kiss," you whispered. Then you pecked the corner of his mouth and went inside your apartment building. The click of the front door locking shook Eddie awake.

All of this... actually... happened. He could die a happy man now.

[colorsofjun]

i made a playlist for all you dwayne/klitz/eddie/brian/calvin lovers + eli lol<3

(ALL THE LINKS ARE PINNED TO MY PROFILE!!<3)

….he’s so pretty i want to cry.

Should i make more of these playlist? Who should I do next?

[dimepdf]

WANNA BE YOURS. + THE RIDDLER

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? summary. Working the night shift in Gotham City, where sociopaths and criminals are constantly on the loose, makes you concerned about your own safety. Until you meet a dull man named Edward, whom you enjoy teasing during your work shift. What's the worst that could happen? author's note. hey horny people! porn this time!

[ ❥ ] pairing. riddler x fem!reader

[ ❥ ] word count. 5.3k sorry again

[ ❥ ] genre. +18, PWP

[ ❥ ] warnings. language, manipulation, musty ass reader, reader being a discord mod, obsessive behavior, bottom!riddler, dense reader, incel Edward, awkward flirting, car sex, slight hand kink, unprotected sex, choking, dense reader, unhealthy relationship, corruption kink?

[ ❥ ] You yawned into your palm, your fingers reaching up to subconsciously adjust the septum piercing that dangled from your nose as your fingers went back to finding themselves tapping against the keys of the overheating laptop that was nested on top of your hip bone.

Your head was angled to sit up by the excessive number of pillows at the headboard of your bed as your eyes were tiredly glued to the brightly lit computer screen.

You wet your chapped lips, your tongue dragging along your lips before taking your bottom lip in between your teeth as you scrolled through the discord channels of your active friend server.

You lived in Gotham your entire life. You were aware of the crime rates and all the bad shit that people would compare your city to, and honestly, you didn't blame them, as you were even too paranoid and filled with anxiety to leave your own house without being glued to the hip with your parents by your side.

You knew it was pathetic being a 20-year-old secret college dropout with a shitty night shift job at some diner just to help ease your subconscious mind of the seeping guilt you felt constantly mooching and freeloading off of your parent's funds. You were a grown woman yet felt so directionless, having graduated from high school. 

You sort of realized that people didn't care what you were truly doing with your life if it didn't benefit them or serve any purpose of entertainment. In your extended family's eyes, you were just simply the quiet cousin/niece that just followed orders from everyone, the cousin who was too spineless to stick up for themselves or got picked on and called a crybaby.

But what they didn't know was that you ruled another world, a world within the internet.

You were a very niche true-crime Youtuber, gaining your following from true crime compilations and edited documentaries on the sociopaths that caught the light of fame because they lived in your city.

You were Gotham's most adored faceless source of information other than the corrupted aired news that was controlled by the city. What people liked about you was that you were real. You didn't care about higher-ups or give in to the bribes of rich people trying to hide the criticism.

You were just another victim of your city's shit system and had used your channel to voice it. 

You welcomed the internet as your only safe space as the coded community welcomed you with open arms. You had actual friends and fans online and grew a pretty decent-sized community.

Of course, most of the "fans" were mostly just parasocial creeps with a fetish for criminals and tragedies, but it didn't matter because it wasn't like they could tell that secretly you were judging their lives since they didn't know your real name nor any information to discover your true identity.

You weren't undercover using an alias for the privacy of yourself and the safety of your family. 

Aside from the caped Bat who roamed the streets locally, you demonstrated yourself to be the most polished detective in the city. Your fans admired your ability to work safely in the shadows. Many of your parasocial fans even went as far as funding your lifestyle. Of course, you took all the gifts and money as the donations were very lucrative.

The amount that your fans would give wasn’t enough for the end goal. You aimed to move out of Gotham City and into a safer city. Also, in terms of your bad spending habits, you would find enjoyment in doordashing food from the comfort of your full-size bed.

You could count on your fingers how many times you’ve left the house in the last month, blessing the subscriber that funded enough money for you to have the high tech laptop that you could complete all of your blogs and edit videos on.

Aside from your family and the small number of coworkers and customers you had to tolerate, you didn't have much going for you outside of the internet.

You have to turn on your mic just to have any sort of social interaction in your life outside of your parents asking you to come down to eat dinner because all your friends are voices hidden behind stupid usernames.

A hum left your lips as you heard the annoying discord ping notification spam through your laptop speakers. You had managed to complete a small group of people into a more inner circle using the superfans as content mules, as they would commonly ramble about gossip that happened in the city like they walked the same streets as you.

As you opened the group chat and read the chat logs of your friends spamming links of a live streamer in Gotham going on a rampage. You never disclosed a lot of personal information with your internet friends. As much as they liked to believe, you didn't trust them.

The creeping fear that they would piece too much of your privacy together and ruin the persona of your only main source of income makes you shiver just by the thought of it. 

Your online username was gothicgrims, a play on words as your content was mainly about Gotham and its daily rising crime rate in the niche community of true crime.

You were the queen of the city news. Some of your blog posts even reached the modern news eye as they would use your blog as a credited source. Of course, the shout-out only made it harder for you to keep a low profile. You would take extra care that you wouldn't leave even the smallest traces of your identity anywhere in your words. 

Folktales: check this fucker out he’s planning something insane! 

Zobner: dude hes probably making a fucking BOMB LMAO 

gothicgrims: how is that funny? 

gothicgrims: he’s just another incel looking for the gotham news clout

Folktales: lol 

Marzbarz: yeah but are you gonna do a video on him?

Marzbarz: asking for a friend :eyestare:

gothicgrims: giving me something actually interesting to write about :yawn:

Folktales: yeah but his voice tho :lipbyte:

Zobner: not you being horny for another musty masked man on main 

Marzbarz: im tryna see what's under the mask :ughh:

gothicgrims: you all need serious therapy.

Though you were more serious in your comments, your friends were pretty dense and reflected most of your sarcastic remarks blinded by the power trip of you being a famous role model they looked up to, and you had admittedly gotten used to talking freely with your emotions to only the muggle group chat full of people.

cheeks puffed out as your cursor hovered over the highlighted link. You sighed, stretching your fingers before clicking on the link, waiting as your browser loaded the live streaming page.

Your brow furrowed at the contrast of neon green and dark background. You assumed the male was using his website to stream onto the platform, ticking off another mental red flag in your head as you quickly checked your VPN to ensure it was still active while logged in.

You sat up against your headboard, snuggling your back deeper into your pillows for a comfortable seat as the man on your screen seemed to be moving around as his camera shook the blur of his green mask, bloating the vertical screen as you pressed the volume key on your laptop.

Plugging in your old trusty head buds as you pressed the volume key on your laptop, bloating the vertical screen as you pressed the volume key on your keyboard, plugging in your old trusty head

The moment the man started speaking again, you tapped your volume keys a few more times to a higher volume as his gentle voice played through your headphones, a shiver of goosebumps running up your arms.

You placed a hand against your mouth, masking the embarrassed smirk from no one as you glanced at your bedroom door and jumped up from your mattress, shamelessly shedding your pants as you reached across your small bedroom and flicked the lock on your doorknob. 

A sigh left your lips as you crawled back under your blankets and tuned back into the stream, or more so, the male's voice once more.

You could tell he wasn't used to being in front of the camera by the way he uttered, but what piqued your interest was the pattern in which he spoke.

Even in his own company, he appeared nervous, but intelligent in the subject he was attempting to discuss.

Wait, was a fucking masked dork talking about making a bomb was turning you on?

As you traced your hands down your stomach, your fingers hesitated as they reached the material of your underwear. A wave of arousal mixed with shame washed over you.

The light poured in through the window. He sat behind a white blare that ate up half of the screen since he had placed the phone on the floor. The male appeared to be sitting on the floor, droning on about weaponry you were unfamiliar with.

It wasn't like you cared as your fingers finally broke through the barrier of your waistband. Quietly finding the warmth of your core, a low whimper escaped your mouth as your other hand teased your clothed buds that peaked from the cotton lounge shirt you had been wearing for a week straight.

You would pleasure yourself without interruption to the man's voice all the way until your orgasm. As post-nut clarity settled in, you slammed your laptop shut hard as you buried your face into your pillows, the sound of only your muffled frustration bouncing off the walls of your bedroom.

Another message ping interrupted your pity party as you turned your head against your fluffy pillow. Your arm swung lazily to grab your phone from the nightstand, where you cringed as you read the message notification.

Bitch ass boss: short notice Pam is bailed. 

Bitch ass boss: but need you to do closing tonight.

The message from your boss kills any remaining vestiges of your lady boner as you set a 6 pm alarm and then a 7 pm alarm, knowing you'd most likely hit snooze by accident, deciding to spend the rest of your free time before work cuddling into your blankets half-naked and falling down strange rabbit holes of YouTube videos you'd saved to watch later.

The diner you worked at was decorated in the classic 80s diner style, with neon signs, harsh counters, and strict musty costumes that featured far more skin than you were comfortable wearing while taking lunch orders from middle-aged couples.

When you first considered applying for the job, you were familiar with the drawbacks of working part-time for a boss who didn't care about his employees as long as he was making money.

Though your safety had never been in jeopardy, you had been working the same job since junior year of high school.

Dealing with rude coworkers and old creepy men who needed a strong reminder that they didn't walk into a Hooters and that groping you was not acceptable.

Your parents cared enough to buy you your own car, not wanting you to walk the few blocks at the break of dawn. 

It was a peaceful night, well as peaceful as it could get in Gotham. As you walked past one of your coworkers taking a smoke break in the back of the restaurant, you locked your car and tossed your tote back over your shoulder, the loud clicking of your car keys in hand.

As you entered the building, you gave them a tightly closed mouth smile, instantly wincing from the bright restaurant overhead light beaming all along the kitchen roof.

You took a turn to the restrooms to change into your uniform, your back against the door just in case someone tried to open the door as you were changing.

You yawned giving yourself a once over in the dirty mirror, your hands reaching down to flatten the skirt of your dress as you wiped your nose with the back of your hand not bothering to wash your hands as you exited the restroom you locked your bag into one of the employee lockers or at least attempted too as most of the locks were busted from everyone always trying to steal from them. 

You were wise enough to keep your car keys and phone in your pockets at all times, leaving only your purse and a change of clothes in your bag.

The restaurant wasn't busy, just a few lingering people sitting in booths talking amongst themselves already situated, you only assumed an earlier server got to them before your shift started as you exhaled plopping yourself in front of the cash restaurant and instantly taking out your phone, you decided now was the perfect time to do a deep dive on the male you were using as wank bank material earlier. 

You rested your chin in your palm, your elbow on the counter, and used your thumb to scroll through the rest of his saved live streams.

You made the best of your repetitive shift. As you tapped one of the older streams, your eyes were glued to your phone. Looking up and scanning the environment, you quickly realized that no one gave a fuck that you were sitting there as you turned up the volume just loud enough to make out some of the words he was saying but not loud enough for the others across the room to hear.

They were pretty much all in the same format you would study, the male asking for help from the weird community of people that watched his videos. 

You assumed it was some weird 4chan group wanting attention but the farther you scanned through his page the more you would realize how seriously dangerous his plans truly were.

A deep panic creeps up your skin as you were hung up on every word that came from the masked male's mouth. “Excuse me.” You slammed your phone down on the counter making the standing male across from you slight flinch, his nature instantly coming off timid as he gave you a feared glance you awkwardly chuckled off your frightened reaction.

Putting on your customer service smile trying to milk your way into getting milk with every opportunity, “sorry about that, can I get you anything?” you tone a falsely sweet tone as you slide your phone back into your pocket glancing at the man quickly you could already tell he was staring at your exposed cleavage.

His cheeks a pinch of pale pink as his eyes seemed to just fall into a trance of your boobs you crossed your arms in front of your chest the man looking up at you in confusion almost like he didn't even realize himself that he was staring until breaking away from from the trance.

His fingers fidgeted as he looked around the entire place, everything except the person in front of him. "Uh, I'm sorry…" his voice was gentle when he spoke almost like he was afraid that you reached over the counter and smack the shit out of him.

A smile couldn't help but to creep onto your lips as you only chuckled placing a washed mug in front of him, "awe man, it's alright as long as you're only looking and not touching we won't have a problem, you a coffee guy?" and from the one question that bloomed, you bonded with the man who would soon be your regular.

That made the closing shift not too bad with his constant bright and calm demeanor presence. In contrast to your highly sarcastic and blunt personality, you were surprised at how natural the friendship had formed between the two of you from behind the counter.

You grew so close to each other enough to know and exchange names with each other that you would come to realize that he was one of the first actual friends that you could talk to face to face in a while. Unbeknownst to you, Edward felt the same way, and that fucking terrified him every night.

You were the distraction he never wanted to come into his life at the worst time. He would constantly worry about you and his connection revealing the worst side of him.

The creeping fear that you found about his alter ego and dehumanizing him was one of his biggest fears as he would spend the late nights staying up just to talk to you on the same bar stool getting the same order every day. "You have to try the fucking pumpkin pie here. It's insane. It's like Sal sold his fucking soul for it to come out that perfect."

You would vouch for all the food he would order, though your conversations were always involved with him spending money, not to mention the times you would force him to tip you.

Sometimes your conversations would have him thinking about you for days, your words lingering in the back of his mind at the worst possible time. You'd often linger in these thoughts, his fist angrily tugging at his cock as he kneeled against his carpeted floors, his cock flushed with anger as his tip leaked cum right into his hand.

You two had one thing in common, both perverts with a knack for justice. Edward would instantly undercover your little YouTube channel even your full name and identity just in under the first week of knowing you. 

He was not some silly 20-year-old with a hobby; he was a fucking sociopath with a plan, and that plan had taken him many years to develop since he stepped foot out of that horrible orphanage. He was angry nonetheless.

You had proved to be heavy destruction, a speed bump as he leaned his head against his wall for more stability. Edward didn't bother hiding his grunting and moaning as he angrily beat his cock to an image of you that was posted on your mother's Facebook.

It was your 20th birthday picture. The picture was taken at an upward angle as you stared up into the camera with big doe eyes. You had white frosting all over your face, having just had your birthday smashed against your face as a prank. After blowing your candles, your pointer finger rested in your mouth, your plump lips wrapping around the knuckle.

Your tongue stuck out from the underside of the finger. Edward imagines himself in your mouth, his big harsh manly palms caressing your cheek, his thumb brushing against your lips as you sucked his finger with the same flirtatious look; God, you were driving him insane.

Edward sat on his legs, his head leaning to rest his forehead on the same floor, as he came undone with the pump of his fist. His cum just rested inches away from his face, soaking into the carpet.

You had too much power over him.

He hated that his mind spiraled with every mistake, every fuckup that you would manage to cause by just existing, and then he finally decided... you had to go.

Your shift started like every other night, changing in the bathroom to having too much downtime. The only difference between today and yesterday was that Edward was waiting for you this time. 

You moved behind the counter and in front of him, tilting your head and squinting at the man.

Noticing his pumpkin pie plate and a warm-looking cup of coffee in front of him. "You fucking cheater! I thought I was your one and only favorite waitress!" you exclaimed, crossing your arms over your chest. 

Edward considered how well your arms pushed up against your breasts, how you managed to show off your body to him without realizing how much you were displaying yourself to him.

"Just wanted to try something new before it was too late." You were dense. Edward quickly discovered his words that held greater meaning seemed to just slip into your ear and go out the other. 

It was that way for a lot of people he had met in his lifetime. Though he found your ignorance endearing, dotting the way your head would tilt in confusion when he rambled on about something you didn't understand or how you would always use your humor to hide how much of a dummy you were.

He wished he could keep you forever, preserve you from the harm of the world.

Don't get him wrong, he has considered kidnapping you from the comfort of your own home and dragging your body to his apartment, chaining your feet to the radiator in the corner of his apartment living room.

He would be able to control everything you did, but at least you were smart when it came to defending yourself.

 You overpowered him in strength, no doubt. Edward, no matter how much height he had on you, was not the type to engage in any form of arm exercise, as he frequently defeated his enemies with weapons.

He knew that if he were to get into an altercation with you, you would manage to catch him off guard by using pure strength.

"What's one thing you always wanted to do before you died?" The question was unprompted as you simply glanced at Edward from your phone screen, your mindless scrolling on Twitter coming to a halt as you sat your phone down on the counter, starting to ponder as you bit your bottom lip. 

Edward waited patiently with the same slight smile on his face. His eyes considered kind as his arms rested on the counter of the table. He was dragging his fingers along the mug of his coffee as he gave you his full attention.

You lifted your pointer finger in the air. "My first kiss, I mean, I want to have my first kiss, you know, like the whole feeling of fireworks and roses flowing around me."

The answer was not what Edward was expecting. As he lifted his brow, you quickly took notice of how he was staring at you. "What, you think you're the only adult virgin here, buddy?" You chuckled, your attention going back to your phone screen.

 "I want—what if I could help you with that?" Your attention perched as you lowered your phone once more, a deep smirk setting on your lips as you used your elbows to lean closer towards Edward's face.

You were flirting again, an activity that would often leave Edward flushed pink and you triumphant as you had managed to fluster the man to the point of stuttering and stumbling. It was a fun pastime for you. 

"You wanna kiss me, Eddy?" He hated nicknames, especially the times you would use them.

He just didn't see the point of you shortening his already short name. He liked the way his last name rolled off your tongue, almost like you were saying it just to tease him. 

"If that's the only thing you want, I'm happy to offer your last wish." You thought it was weird how suddenly forward Edward was tonight.

You thought it was even more weird seeing him set a briefcase down on the counter before following you outside. But the fear instantly went away as he linked his fingers in between yours, giving you that same shy look as he peered up at you over his glasses.

You would admit how much you were a hopeless romantic as you clocked out for a break and led Edward outside to the front of the restaurant. Leaning on your car hood, as Edward stood awkwardly across from you, you reached your arms out to grab his wrist and pull him in between your legs. 

"Don't get all shy on me now, Eddy." God, he really fucking hated that nickname. The way you smirked up at him with those big fucking eyes, he let his actions get ahead of his thoughts as his thumb traced over your chin.

He ignored your slight flinch reaction as his fingers seemed to study the structure of your face. He might as well soak it all in while he can.

"You're into some kinky shit Eds." You gagged, his pointer finger shoving into his mouth as his chest rose from the warm feeling of your tongue wrapping around the digit almost instantly.

Spoke in a slight mumble, careful to not bring your teeth down as you spoke. He still couldn't believe that he was getting away with the action as his other hand tilted your head up farther so you could peer up at him through your lashes.

The way your dark eyes glistened as you looked up at him expecting something made him remember what you would look like kneeling to the ground begging his name.

"I want to do more than kiss you." His confession was dull as he stared at your mouth.

The way your lips wrapped around his pointer, a slight chuckle making your teeth flash from your mouth as Edward looked at you looking for any sign of discomfort.

You pulled your head around from his hands, wetting your lips. As you leaned back against your hood, a groan left your throat as you buried your face in your hands.

Edward was ready to back out in an instant as he backed away from your hand and shot out to grab his arm.

"You're so fucking unbearable, Edward," you grumbled, yanking the male closer as your head slumped into his chest.

He quickly realized, looking down at you, that you were more embarrassed and nervous than him. Given the situation, he felt an even more flaming desire as he glanced at his wrist for the time being. He needed everything to go on schedule.

"Can we... do it?" You snorted a laugh into his chest, tilting your head up to look at him again for a second before pushing the male away to stand up ."Only if you want to." It was the first time he’d ever seen you so flustered because of him.

Edward nodded his head in approval the instant the question left your lips. You smiled at him, biting your bottom lip, unlocking your car as you both slid into the back.

Your skin was already hot as you were convinced he could hear the sound of your heart beating so hard against your ribs as you both sat in a minute of silence. 

Edward sighed before grabbing your face and smashing his lips into yours. You hissed into his mouth as your teeth clashed together from the force.

But you both quickly recovered as you crawled into his lap, his hands finding your hips as he thrust up between your legs. 

You trailed kisses against his neck. Edward leaned his head to the side to give you better access as you sucked a small trail down against his throat.

Your hands trailed down his chest and to the belt buckle that held up his jeans. As you fumbled to pull at the buckle, you groaned in frustration, your head snapping up to look up at him with concentration glistening in your eyes.

"Help me please." Edward was convinced that most of his blood had already made its way to his dick, as the simple request caused him to become dizzy, causing him to shift his hips up to unbuckle his belt and pull his jeans down to his thighs.

He hesitated before pulling down his boxers as well, exposing his cock as it yanked from the material springing to his chest.

You breathed out. Your legs spread on each side of Eds as you lifted yourself and pushed your underwear aside with your thighs.

While you gripped his cock and guided the inches deeper into your core, your stomach began to burn as you buried your face into the man's neck. You groan as you lower yourself further down.

Edward groaned, his hand resting on your hip as the other fisted the roof of your car, every twitch and groan melting him farther into you as he leaned his head back and let you set the pace.

As you bottomed out, you both groaned with his cocked buried inside. You paused to catch your breath, feeling yourself throb around his length as Edward whimpered. You pulled back your arm using the headrest behind you as your other hand rested on his chest. 

Edwards squeezed his eyes shut so hard that he was seeing white spots. He was finding it difficult to sit still and not react to your cunt squeezing his dick. "If you cum in me, I'll fucking kill you," you grunt, pressing your chest against his as you slowly lift yourself, wincing as your body desperately tries to adjust to being fucked.

Your legs shook as you practically bounced against his dick. The air in the car is hot and stuffy as you both begin to sweat from each other's body heat, moaning into each other's mouths. His hands were trailing up your shirt, desperately groping your chest through your bra as you ground your hips into his lap. 

All that could be heard was the sound of your skin slapping together along with Edward's low whimpering and your moaning. The car jerked every time you would slam down into his lap.

The more you got the hang of it, the more arousing it became as you wrapped your arms over his shoulder to hold yourself closer to him. Your legs began to tire as you sat in his lap and ground your hips to chase the new sensation building in the pit of your stomach.

Then Edward began thrusting his hip into yours as you leaned your head back and strung together moans. Your legs were shaking as you came undone.

Edward quickly followed your orgasm, raising you slightly to pull his cock out and onto the front of your dress.

"I have to walk back inside covered in cum now." You nibbled at his lip as you leaned down to passionately kiss the fucked speechless Edward, before using his shirt to smear some of the stains off of your dress and readjusting your underwear.

"What time is it?" You groaned, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

You shifted yourself over to sit in the other backseat as Edward pulled himself together, tucking himself back into his underwear and pulling up his pants.

Almost fucking him dumb as he had almost forgotten to check the time on his wristwatch. The moment the question settled in his brain, he recognized the situation once more, the plan almost slipping from his mind.

"You should probably go back inside now." When he mumbled, fixing his belt and refusing to meet your eyes, you assumed the innocent reasoning and assumed he was the type to get nervous after inanimate solutions, so you followed suit to his request.

Leaving the man in the car as you went to clock back into work, you stayed in the kitchen of the diner for a bit, using a wet cloth to wipe any remaining stains from the front of your dress.

As you shuffled back to your usual spot behind the counter, your phone rested face down in the same spot you'd left it, and you pressed the power button, your lock screen flooded with notifications of missed discord calls to your friends messaging you. You quickly tapped on the Discord icon and scrolled through the messages.

Folktales: HE’S STREAMING AGAIN!

Folktales: our crazy hot mask bf awooga

Marzbarz: ours???? No mf YOURS

Zobner: where is he even at??

Marzbarz: looks like some shitty diner 

Folktales: LMAO HES GONNA BLWO IT UP I BET!!

Zobner: LMAO

Marzbarz: wait.

Zobner: ???

Marzbarz: does that phone case look familiar to you?

Folktales: gothic has the same one 

Zobner: thats her ringtone…

Marzbarz: guys something doesnt seem right

You frowned, swiping up and tapping on the Livestream notification link, your phone instantly redirecting to the familiar black and neon green page. This time the Livestream was the thing that caught you off guard, as it was a live feed of a security camera.

The camera was pointed directly towards you. As your head jerked in the direction of the camera mounted to the wall. You froze, your blood running cold as you tried to piece together everything. The only thing you managed to think about was how Edward still hadn't walked into the restaurant.

His seat was empty. The only thing occupying his space was the same strange briefcase. Your curiosity getting the best of you, you grabbed the handle of the case. You froze.

A loud beeping sound rang out throughout the diner as you quickly unclasped the case and yanked it open, revealing a bomb and a small note inside.

It's better this way; the world is too filthy for kindhearted people like you. I adore you too much to lose you by another's hand.

“Oh you fucking–”

[ ❥ ] taglist. @lluvin @lovemedaddy-666 @toy-cars-and-grape-juice

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[shuichisweave]

Bimbo Reader and The Riddler

[wallydarlingsnumber1]

DANO!EDWARD NASHTON x READER

Edward Nashton. A odd, and fascinating man.

You walked out the lounge room, hearing others chatter in the lounge room about work, family, vice versa, and 'Edweird'. He was odd. You dont talk much about him really. But you would sometimes just observe him far away. He was interesting. You had heard he was a orphan, and all that.

"Oh crap..." You heard someone mumble. And here he is— the man himself. He had dropped some paperwork on the floor. "Hey. Need help?" You asked, looking at him. He eyed you suspiciously. Standing there silent. You raised an eyebrow, "Oh well..." you said to yourself and picked the papers up and gave it to him. "Y/n. Y/n L/n. I've heard all about you, so you don't need to tell me your name. Bye." You said, walking away from him.

He turned as his cheeks were becoming a light pink. Smiling and turned back to walk and deliver the papers.

[madwomansapologist]

fan behavior | Edward Nigma

Masterlist | Taglist | Library | More Edward Nigma | AO3

synopsis: When the Riddler send you a letter, you thought that the day of your death was near. How could you be so wrong about someone?

warnings: Arkham. he is kinda of obssessed. its fluff. convos about murder, death and violence. i swear its fluff. you will understand this later: i love poems and you can do nothing about it.

People believe that to live in Gotham is to live with fear. You once was like that. Thinking about every possibility. It was like drowning in a shallow lake. All that panic, and for nothing. Every person you did suspect, every siuation you did overthink, every sound that scared you: you were waiting for danger, prepared for it, but it never came.

Everyone shall die, all those news channels make sure that no one could forget that, but you don't know how it will happen. When. You may die because Joker didn't like your face, but you also could die because your heart couldn't take it any longer. Or you could die when you're so old that people won't even say that it was unfair, but that you needed to rest.

You were sick of living with fear. Sick of not living because of fear. Of making yourself smaller, quieter, to fit into spaces that you don't want to fit in. So you changed. You decided to be honest with your soul, and to respect that deal. You decided to live.

So you wrote a book. Not your first, not even close, but the first that wasn't fiction. A non-fiction novel about how a violent and corrupted city could kill the soul of their citizens. You told the stories that mainstream media was affraid to. About students, widowers, orphans, homeless, survivors. The stories about fear, and grief, and trauma, and hope. About dreams and nightmares. About finding your strength and losing it. About deciding life wasn't worth or finding out that it was.

And it was a best-seller. Awarded. It was... Damn. You had a good career, writing mostly romances and a little bit of fantasy, but not that good. Money, interviews, awards. You had authors you idolize saying things like "brutally frank", "a milestone of her maturity as a story teller", "disciple of Truman Capote".

It was your peak. It really was. It was everything you ever dreamed about it. You didn't need a parallel job anymore, you could just write. If it was the end of your story it would be perfect. But you didn't want it to be the end. So you tried to find a new ideia. Something that could comunicate with your soul. Something you really wanted to write.

Coming back home after a meeting with your editor and your agent, the train stopped in between stations and you made home just late a night. Gotham, right? You were scheduled to give another interview. Its a big channel, so they were preparing you for some questions that could be made.

In front of your door step you found something different. Something interesting. Its been long gone the time were writers received letters. Now, its emails. But it happened for you to receive letters at your home or at your company some few times, maybe less then five. But now you weren't facing just a letter. It was a really big emerald box, with a scarlet envelope adressed to you.

You were so naive to though it would be just a gift. You really did think it could be something from the TV show you gonna be interviewed. So, without thinking twice about it, you held the heavy box and entered your home with a bright smile.

You couldn't imagine that, but people would make sure he knew you had smiled.

First things first: you put everything on your table and prepared a hot bath. You needed that bath. That moment of relaxation. Everyone deserves that after dealing with Gotham. Smelling like roses, you wrapped yourself in a towel and went to find something to eat. You could hear your grandma screaming at you for opening the refrigerator wearing just a towel, but you were starving.

Devouring a piece of your favorite cake, you remembered about the box on your table. You took the scarlet envelope. Using a knife, you opened it.

My dearest writer,

When I overflow with words I don't have

When the candle that heat my heart starts to erase

And I ask myself in which mirror did my face get lost

I discover that lost in your words the summer is eternal

You are my North, my South, my East and my West

And because of you my madness is divinest sense

Your smile was so big. It was... so sweet. So considerate. No other channel had done something so lovely for you. This is not just a poem. With just one look you can see that those verses are references to books and poems you loved. They even saw your interviews talking about your inspirations!

The first line was a Faulkner reference. The second: Tolstoi and his wonderful Ana Karenina. Then a little bit of brazillian literature with Cecília Meireles on the third line. A clear reference to Shakespeare on the fourth. The next was a snippet of your favourite poem: Funeral Blues. And the last one, you had to think about before coming to a conclusion, was Emily Dickinson.

Smiling like a teenager, you go after the box. It was so heavy, you keep wondering what is inside it. Carefully, you put the envelope on your table and opened the emerald box. And it was... a vault. A black one, with digits to put a password. It was like in the movies, but the difference is that the keyboard has letters on it.

Looking at the open flap of the box, you noticed a yellow post-it.

First things first. It can't be that difficult, can it?

Laughting to yourself you agreed with a head movement, even tho no one was there to look at you. Of course you didn't know that a camera was recording it on the other side of the street, so that wasn't a lie. Just a silly little mistake.

First things first.

You wrote William Faulkner on the keyboard and hoped it would work. With a little click, the vault opened. And inside of it, you found another vault. Smaller this time. You quickly realized what you need do to. So you keep writing the name of the next writer, getting an even smaller vault, until the very last line of the poem dedicated to you.

When the name of Emily Dickinson was wrote, you didn't knew what to expect. Another click, the vault was now open, and inside it you found... another envelope? This was as emerald as the box. You took the letter inside it.

Arkham Asylum, Intensive Treatment Center, Cell 140D. Tomorrow.

And as easy as it came, your smile faded away. You should've know better. A emerald package. How did you not look at it and immediately notice it was made by the Riddler. "Oh, fuck."

What have you done? Did you say something about him during a interview? No. No, you didn't. What could make you a target? What you did wrong? What will he do with you?

You analyzed every vault. You must had missed something. Shouldn't his riddlers have a punishment for those who don't know the asnwers? But they were just vaults. You took his letters, looking for any subtle threat that you didn't notice before.

Why the first envelope was red? It didn't make sense. His color is green. Everything is green when it comes about him. But reading the letters again... they sound affectionate. Even now knowing that he was the one that made it, it don't seen like a threat.

He called you his dearest writer. The first few verses formed the image of someone who is not in a great moment in live. Someone that is losing hope, who can't recognize himself, who can't even put it into words. And then, this person find peace. Someone whos summer is eternal. His personal compass. Someone who made his madness seen divinest.

If he wanted to threatened you, shouldn't he write about bad things? Or even just put a bomb inside one of the vaults. And why he want to see you? But deep inside you knew that he was the only one that could asnwer those questions. The only question you should be worrying about was: will you go?

And could just stay at home. You could have purchased a one-way ticked to Metropolis. You could have run to Commissioner Gordon and beged him to call Batman. You could have done a lot of things.

But fear and curiosity would eat you whole.

You never been in Arkham before. You saw it on television, but this was way different than you could've imagined. Outside, it seen like a hauting mansion. If a ghost came from it, you wouldn't have blink an eye. But inside it... it was even worse.

Not hanted: it was inhuman. Lifeless. No one could live in a place so dark, and visceral, and threatning. You heard laughs when the guards took you to the maximum security area. You don't think someone could experience something worth a laugh on a place like this.

"Don't touch him." One of the guards told you before opening the last door. "Don't give him anything. You can get out of there anytime you want. Scream if you need help."

Glaring at the last thing between you and he, you breath in and nodded. When you entered the room, you took a few second to get used to the light. It was a white room, with a tiny white bed, white sheets and white chairs. You would go crazy with you had to stay a day there.

And chained to his bed, Riddler admired every move you made. Almost embarrased by his powerful presence, you made your way to the white chair. You couldn't do this while standing. It was weird to see him without a mask. It felt wrong. But you couldn't help but to analyze every single feature of his face. Riddler look like a normal guy. Like someone you could see at the bus stop.

"Here you are." His voice alone gave you goosebumps. "I started to think you wouldn't come over."

The sunset was a few hours ago. You recorded the interview, but all the time you were thinking about what would happen when you were in front of him. "You invited me."

"Invited?" Riddler smiled. He rubbed his tights, it was like he would start laughing just like the crazy guy you heard on the corridor. "Yes, I did. My manners: welcome to my temporary house."

"Temporary?" The smartest thing you could do was to act nice. Maybe he would put you on his good side and decided not to do anything with you. His others victims didn't have a chance to talk to him before they were murdered. But if he wants to kill, he will. Nothing you could do would change that. This probably is just a game to him. So he better be prepared because you ain't going to be scared. Never again. "You killed the major. This is your forever-home."

"That was mean," his smile didn't fade away, it just got bigger. Even his voice changed. It was almost a purr. He liked the way you talked to him? It appears like he did. "Are you scared of me? Thats why you think that I should be there until the day I die?"

"I am not scared of you. I am angry." You crossed your arms. "Why am I here? And don't say that I am here because I was invited. Why you want me here?"

Riddler was in silence for a few minutes. Not smiling anymore, he didn't even look at you. "30 seconds."

"What?"

"Thats what took you to solve my riddle." He told you. "You were smiling the whole time. Glowing. You were glowing the whole time. I could see in your eyes: the moment you read the poem you knew what it really means. Did you have fun?"

"I... did." What was going on? Why was he acting sad? "You saw me?"

"You getting home, so stressed and tired, and your smile when you found my gift. You hold it so gently. You solving it so easily, drops of water running down your body... It was a divine vision. Are you a god, by the way?"

You could felt your cheeks burning. You were only using a towel and he was seeing you. No. Not him. He is there, right in front of you, so it must have beeing one of his fans. They recorded you to show to him?

"Are you really angry with me?" He pout. "You had fun, didn't you?"

"You threatened me." Now you were uncertain of that. "You demanded me to see you today. You were spying on me."

"Threatened you? I could never do that!" He really sounded offended. "It was a gift. I spend so much time making something you would love. I watched all your interviews. Read all your favourite books. I even know your favourite color is scarlet. The color of passion. It was gift. And a invitation. And I wasn't spying on you. I was just seeing your reaction."

Now you couldn't put any words together. What does that... What does that even mean? "You won't kill me?"

"No!" Riddler punch his bed. "Oh... the things they say about writers is true. They won't understand you love them even after a love letter."

"What?" You gasped. "Love letter?"

"My dearest writer. When I overflow with words I don't have. When the candle that heat my heart starts to erase. And I ask myself in which mirror did my face get lost. I discover that lost in your words the summer is eternal. You are my North, my South, my East and my West. And because of you my madness is divinest sense."

So... you were right about it. There were nothing threatening about the letter. It all sounded so romantic when he chanted. So pure. "You... love me?"

"Most ardently."

"Jane Austen." You recognized without missing a bet. "Its another riddle?"

"No." Suddenly, he was standing. He wasn't chained anymore, they all fall to the floor. Riddler smiled. "It is a confession."

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[angelofthenight]

Dano!Riddler: Can’t wait for (y/n) to break up with their boyfriend so we can finally be happy

[imagine--if]

(A/N: The results for my Riddler fanfic poll was basically 50/50 😂 so this is based off of the last issue of Riddler Year One, #6, as I copied the intro to the comic, but I'll work up to the movie too 😊 enjoy!!)

Wordcount: 1.7K

A knock at the door. Silence.

You frown slightly, glancing at the clock. It's late, really late, for anyone to be calling for you. You're not expecting anyone, and you're used to the trouble that comes with living in the middle of Gotham City, giving you every reason not to answer the door and stay quiet until whoever it is gets bored and goes away.

Another knock, sounding a little desperate, five soft bangs on the door's study steel, echoing through your small stretch of hallway and to the main room, where you sit on the sofa, laptop on your lap, scrolling boredly. You stare at the door warily, as if you could somehow see through to whatever drophead was trying to get your attention, before hesitantly raising your voice in answer.

"Who is it?"

Silence again.

You roll your eyes and sigh after a beat of nothing, pushing your laptop off you and onto the sofa, quietly approaching the door and taking a sceptical look through the peephole. Nothing. No one. Just the hard bright light of the dirty stairway and landing of the floor in the apartment block you live in, which snaps off after no motion to keep it alive, and the door opposite you, shut and locked, no sound coming from anywhere except muffled music and arguing from somewhere downstairs, as per normal here.

You go to open the door, but then pause, cautious enough to wait it out for a while, five minutes, ten minutes, before letting yourself open it and look outside. You don't want to be the next poor person who gets robbed or jumped or whatever rank thing you could expect from living down in Gotham, but there's still no one to greet you when your door squeaks faintly as you pull it open, black bristles dragging across the floor from beneath it. You wince slightly as the harsh light blinks back on, revealing an empty landing, empty staircase, nothing but your breaths echoing in the space...

And an envelope at your feet.

Your frown deepens when you go to close the door again and notice it, lying there outside the door, a medium white envelope inked with a messy green symbol of some kind. A question mark, with dashes at its sides, top and bottom, scratching into the paper boldly, no name or address or postmark anywhere, nothing to indicate where it came from or who it's for. But it's at your door, and after a few seconds' inspection and another look down the landing and the stairs, you sigh and pick it up, your thumb sliding under the triangular fold as you close the door with your body whilst opening it.

There are two things sealed in this envelope.

A Polaroid picture... and a card.

You sit down with your eyes fixed on the envelope's contents, laptop ignored at your side, as you take out the card first. It's like some kind of vintage cartoon, a little beaming squirrel holding one nut in its paws, a few others at its feet, a heart around its body. Above it, bold calligraphic text says:

I'm NUTS about you!

Your face screws up in bewilderment and amusement, your eyes flitting over the cheesy sentiment and picture, before you open it up to see contrasting, messy handwriting, gone over a few times to make it readable enough. It almost looks childish.

The rich people want it, wise people know it, the poor people need it, and kind people show it. What am I?

You blink, confused at the sudden question. A riddle? You glance at the question symbol on the opened envelope, before returning your attention to the card.

"Rich people want it..." you mutter under your breath in thought, "kind people- what, love?"

You read the last bit of writing under the riddle, then read it again. And again.

I see you work with the rats, but you don't become one. I see you give the homeless something warm when the city is cold, cold, COLD. I see you trying to tell the police the bad things you know, but no one can hear us. You are an angel in a cesspool of a city... And I will make a heaven for you.

You let out a long, shaky breath, finally looking up from the card in a whirl of confusion, fear and curiosity. Your eyes instinctively glance to the windows, the curtains open a little to show the dreary, dark nightlife of Gotham below, dully glowing streetlamps, some lightbulbs dead or smashed, interrupting the neat lines guiding drivers. You almost expect to see a pair of eyes staring at you, watching you from somewhere.

Who the hell is this person? This was the way they showed their 'love'? A sixties-styled valentines card, with a riddle and a baffling message?

"Working with rats?" You question aloud.

If by rats, they meant the jerks and businessmen who came to the Iceberg Lounge to find clients and friends every other evening, then... well, they weren't wrong. You have to work there to earn enough to pay rent and everything else to make some kind of a life for yourself in Gotham. Not that you wanted to, but it was a last resort, and you steered clear of the infamous Penguin, and that horrible Falcone character, whenever you were there. But you can't help overhearing things to the grabby, drunken, smug people you waitress to there, but at this point, you'd learnt that half the GCPD weren't nearly as credible as they acted, a handful of them involved in the scandals they were brewing at the nightclub, and who else was there to tell without them telling the wrong guy and ending with you being silenced at gunpoint?

As for the homeless, believe it or not, they weren't all off their heads with drops. Some of them were just people trying to survive out on the streets of a broken-down town, young and older people cowering on street corners, some beaten by gangs, others jumpy and aware, ready to run at the smallest hint of danger. It was the ones who were simply too tired to do anything that made you stop in your tracks every now and then, as you walked home from work, before you gave in to your impulses, told them to give you a minute, and dashed into the nearest diner, grabbing something small to eat, or a hot drink to-go, the waiter bored and friendly enough to give you a smile and a nod as you went, the young man who often stayed there scribbling in a little book or typing up work-related things too shy to meet your eye, which was kind of cute, sandy-brown hair barely hiding the flush of his round cheeks, murky green eyes forced to focus on his book instead of looking up.

Was that enough to make you an angel? Really?

A few acts of kindness usually earned you a judgemental scoff, or suspicions of intentions, as no one's were really ever pure. But apparently, it's earned you an admirer, and from the looks of things, one who's more than a little unhinged.

You pick up the Polaroid last of all, and then your breath catches in shock as you stare at it, barely blinking.

It's a guy who's been making moves on you for a good few weeks now, more than double your age, packets of drops making his pockets rustle with thin plastic and his eyes unfocused. A frequent visitor to the Iceberg Lounge, who wouldn't leave you alone after you gave him his first drink of the first night, running drunkenly outside to offer you a lift when you put your arm out for a cab, trying to hold onto some part of the uncomfortably tight clothing you were expected to wear working in a place like the Iceberg Lounge.

He's slumped against a wall covered with some kind of fabric spray painted with the same question mark symbol on the envelope, though the green is blemished with crimson spatter, a rat running across his leg, blurred slightly in the shot. A laptop is in the background, where the ordeal is actually being filmed or streamed somewhere, names and comments too small in the picture to make out, though several unfocused red shapes that are most likely hearts streak up the laptop screen from its viewers. Your stomach twists and untwists into a knot, repulsed and shocked.

They killed some stupid guy... for you?

They killed a person, on a livestream... for you.

The Polaroid slips from your loosened grip, fluttering in the air for a split second before it lands beside your laptop. It makes you blink back into awareness, and you eye the card and Polaroid as if they might jump up at you.

Do you call the police? The GCPD won't ignore you, surely, if it's this level of harassment? If a person has died?

The thought of someone watching you, trying to understand you, almost worshipping you in some twisted way, brings so many thoughts and feelings up that it makes you dizzy, not knowing what to pin down as your reaction to it. Scared? Disgusted? Flattered? Curious?

What if they've been in your apartment? If they know where you live... and with Gotham's measly security, someone like this person could have found a way to break in, pick the lock or something. Is anything out of place? Hidden cameras anywhere?

Paranoia makes a shiver snake down your spine, and you sigh heavily, fingers threading through and out of your hair as you run your hands up your face and past your head.

First, check for cameras. Then, call the police. Right?

Right...

You pick up the Polaroid from beside your laptop, and your eyes flick up to the darkened screen, the small black circle of a camera at its top. Should you put some tape over it or something? Do a deep scan to check for viruses or any weird apps?

Suddenly, the screen flashes brighter, back to life, though you never touched the mousepad, and you flinch. Your eyes widen as the screen glitches and goes black, and you press down on several keys, trying to escape from whatever page it's gone on, power it off, restart.

The screen glitches for a few more moments, and then a green, pixelated question mark between some pointers slides across the screen.

Figured it out yet?

⭒❃.✮:▹ 𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ◃:✮.❃⭒ (message me know if you want to be removed. ghost blogs/dead accs have been removed.)

@misadventures0fdes @junebugp @simestandswithtaylorswift-blog @carley-carley-carley @lostbunn @dragovegogrimborn @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @edwardspumpkinpie @murderbimbo00 @sweetums0kitty @beel-mcburger @cml-san @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @bimboanime @phoenixgurl030 @dangerouslittlefairy @yoyoanaria @yaeyuuki @vinxlsketches @beenz-beenz @ghoulsgraveyard @birds-have-teeth @repostingmyfavs @r3ptiliaaa @for3v3rda1sy @glitterycheesecakegladiator @moonwritesblog @lilyevans1 @httpsunflowersleep @hxney-lemcn @callsigncrash @bokksieu @skateb0red @philiasoul@felicityofbakerstreet @deadlights-darling @ireadandream @tinyryder @kpopgirlbtssvt @truecobblepot @jessicainhell

[sweetums0kitty]

I’ll Be Home For Christmas: Chapter 1: Baby It’s Cold Outside Edward Nashton X Reader

Once upon a time winter was a dreaded time of year for Edward, the cycle of the seasons; death and rebirth never more apparent than when Jack Frost’s icy fingers would slip in through the cracks of the orphanage and steal the life from one of the unfortunate urchins left to rot. But in the present blissfully curled against you in a mess of blankets and limbs the bitter chill brought on by the blankets of snow currently covering Gotham had no way to reach him now.

Sighing contentedly you snuggled yourself deeper into Eddie, turning inward more laying your cheek onto his chest. He was caught in a love-drunk haze gently tracing question marks into your back while occasionally tracing the tendons of your spine through the sleep shirt you were wearing. The night was almost perfect save for the question rattling around in your mind. The holidays were hard on him, you knew that Eddie tended to retreat into his shell this time of year. It couldn’t be exactly easy to be bombarded with images of family togetherness and warmth when that was something you had never known. Plucking up the courage you had you shut your eyes and spoke. “Eddie?” Gently you ghosted the whisper of his name. No response on his end, still giving you that dreamy-eyed look, paired with a silly little smile printed on his cubby cheeks. Reaching your hand up you lightly tapped the tip of his nose with your pointer finger, at the boop life blinked back into his deep green eyes.

Suddenly, his soft yet deceptively strong arms were rolling and lifting you gently from your place snuggled into his side to a new position. Being placed so you were laying across Edward’s long body. Once you settled comfortably where his chest was your pillow and the wonderfully plush flesh of his stomach served as a sort of cushion for the lower half of you. Legs bundled together. “Hi.” he whispers voice warm with affection as the tips of his fingers hold your chin, thumb gently grazing the bottom of your right cheek, while his other arm was thrown protectively over the middle of your back keeping you flush with his body and radiating with the heat from within the nest of blankets and the scorching intensity with which his gaze held yours. “H-hi.” was all that squeaked past the frozen features of your face. Dexterous fingers danced up the chin as his large thumb began to methodically stroke your lower lip. Instantly flushing everything that wasn’t the crushing waves of his adoration and all thoughts out of your pretty, little skull. “Eddie!” Shrill whines breaking past your lips as you flop your face into his chest. Mouth muffled by the well-worn jersey of his “There Might Be Giants Shirt.” Giggles erupt from both of you as you shyly look up from his chest. A rosy blush covers his cherubic cheeks as he speaks. “Sorry Pumpkin, but you’re just too cute!” Giggling as his fingers delve into your sides tickling you and eliciting shrieks of laughter. “Stop-“You whine adding extra o’s into the stop as you attempt to swat his wandering digits from your hips. “Can’t stop, won’t stop!” He insists pressing soft kisses into your forehead, right cheek, left, and finally your chin!

Lips almost capturing yours as you chase after him, but always pulling away at the final second. Pouting, you coo “Be serious!” As you lean up to grip his cheeks and finally press his soft and all at once slightly chapped lips to yours. Humming into the kiss as the arm at your back snakes up to tangle itself at the back of your skull lightly gripping your hair and holding you still. The other had moved to hold your cheek. Your thumbs tenderly massaging the apples of his cheeks turn the hum into a groan, but before the moment can deepen you pull away with a sharp breath. Whining at the loss of contact, it’s then Edward’s turn to attempt to chase after your lips. “Edward, honey-“ you said eyes scanning his face and tone slightly concerned. “can I ask you something?” At your question, your dorky boyfriend almost looked offended that you would even think to ask him before telling him something. You were his angel, his beloved, his soulmate! The only shining light in this infernal cesspool of a city. He would insist that you were a lighthouse in the swirling, storming seas of his mind. There was nothing you could or would do that could stop him from loving you! Before Edward could once again tell you all this you cut him off. “And I know you say that I can tell or ask you anything but this-“ trailing off and tearing your gaze from his eyes as you began to chew your lower lip out of anxiety “-would be a huge step for us! Only if you say yes!” Frantically spitting out the ending of your rambles. Anxiety began to gnaw at his mind as all the possibilities for what you would want and all the ways he could possibly ruin it for you began to plague his mind. But before the fear could congeal you spit out what had you both so worried.

“Would you want to come home with me for Christmas?” Said all in a rush, with a puff of air shoved out as if the words flying out of your mouth had burned you. To say Edward was shocked would be an understatement. Not a bad shock in the ways his mind had twisted and spewed. But the good kind- the kind that caused warmth to bloom in his chest and grow as a soft, golden heat throughout his body. “Home for Christmas…” he mused internally. Imagining waking up snuggled in your bed, in your childhood home, getting to seeing your baby pictures, and meeting your family! Truly view the people who helped foster your beautiful soul.” Sure there was a lingering sense of pain and the niggling self-loathing that floated in his brain but it was covered mainly by the fact that you wanted him to come home with you! To meet your family! Your parents! Your siblings! Everything! The warmth had turned his brain to a pile of warm, sticky mush so caught up in his lovesick musings he failed to hear you nearly panicking and taking his silence as a rejection.

As soon as you asked him, you desperately wished you could take it back. The words belly-flopped out of your mouth with all the grace a sack of Jell-O would have if it attempted a swan dive. Shame with its good friends; regret and self-loathing began to weave a tapestry in your mind of all the ways this was a terrible thing to ask. “Great job, come home with me so I can rub having a nice family and good childhood right in your face Eddie.” Bitterly the thoughts kept swirling until he looked down at you and smiled like you had hung the stars in the sky just for him and whispered.

“I would love to.”

[thedanoriddler]

Want to write either breeding-kink!Eddie or dad!Eddie but idk I’m not sure if I’m just projecting or if that’s something people would be into lol

[undiscovered-horizon]

Bestie we need a part two 💳💥💥💳💥💥💳💳💥💥💳💳💳 ASAP u can’t leave this beautifully made fanfic without a  sequel, this made me kick my feet in the air and giggle like schoolgirl 😀 lolll I’m down bad for Eddie/riddler

yo call me FedEx because I deliver (not sure this the package you wanted tho)

Imagine the Riddler being your secret admirer. - Part 2

[Part 1] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

What you thought was a single, queer occasion, became something regular. The notes and cards would appear every other day and soon you found yourself expecting them with excitement. You had your own little, deliciously sweet secret. Realizing how the situation might look to others, you didn't dare tell anyone else about the strangeness you've been a part of - they wouldn't understand. People were quick to jump to conclusions, to assume the worst of others even if there was no malice. Just like there was none in the bizarre friendship or relationship, you had with someone whose identity you couldn't even begin to guess.

The question of the secret admirer's identity was something that wouldn't let you sleep. Some occurrences were too tailored to you and your mundane life for the enigmatic person to be someone completely estranged. Like that one day when the whole world seemed to be against you and nothing would go the way you wanted, you found a cinnamon bun with a birthday candle at your doorstep. So whoever they were, they simply cared.

Was there a piece of you that remained wary? Yes, of course, there was - if your life did not transform into a chick flick, it sure became a good buildup to a horror movie. That part of you, however, was silent most of the time. After all, what kind of malice, if any, could reside in a heart of someone who showered you with small gifts and words of affection?

That day, you were greeted with a bouquet of pink and red flowers strung together with raffia. A small tag was tied to the decoration:

What flowers are kissable?

You looked closer at the flowers in the bouquet - they were all of one kind...

"Tulips?" you slowly said to yourself. You couldn't help but laugh. "God, you're so corny."

Shaking your head with amusement, you entered your apartment and went straight to your bedside table to change one mysterious bouquet for another. The previous flowers barely even began to wilt.

"Wish you had a name," you said as your hand caressed the tag attached to the flowers.

Having let out a heavy sigh, you decided to change into something more comfortable. You let your thoughts wander, conjuring up various possibilities about the secret admirer, as you took off your top and pants - completely oblivious to the lovesick voyeur following each of your steps.

He felt a little ashamed for not immediately looking away. But, in the end, it wasn't his fault, was it? How could he ever be blamed for succumbing to your luring beauty? Could sailors truly be responsible for following the siren's song?

Although his eyes were still fixed on you, his mind was already fantasizing about the next gift he should make for you but most importantly - the little wish you had made that he couldn't help but grant. Truthfully, Ed couldn't deny you anything; he was but a humble servant to your ethereal glory.

The next day, when you were about to leave the comfort of your home and face the responsibilities of the real world, you found another envelope laying on the doormat outside your front door. Inside, there was another cheesy card to add to your abundant collection. This one, however, did not have a riddle written on it but a torn-out page from what looked like a vintage collection of poems:

My lady hath of charms her lion’s share; Grace, beauty, wit and a sweet thoughtfulness, Which rests serenely on her gentle face, Sweet as the flowers are, and pure as air.

Below the ripped-out page was a small scribble that made you audibly gasp, although softly: '- Ed'.

"So you do have a name... Eddie." You smiled to yourself feeling how easily the name rolled off your tongue.

His heart stopped for a moment. The world grew silent and the only thing that mattered, truly mattered, was the soft affection with which you spoke his name.

[devilfic]

ok but Edward when he was still in the orphanage falling in love with a kid he constantly sees when he goes to church, like a childish and innocent love (I just want edward kid to receive a little affection) 😔

❝first snow❞

plot: life wasn’t all pain, there was you. there was you. pairing: child!edward nashton x child!gn!reader. cw: fluff, light angst, choir boy eddie, mentions of bullying, childhood trauma. words: 1.9k.

a/n: ever since I received this request I’ve just fawned over how sweet it is. here you go, anon

Edward is aware of how timid his voice sounds. It was a reflex, the wobbly authority of it, because he’d learned early on that he wasn’t much of an authority on anything except dodging the older kids’ punches. He could pretend he hadn’t said anything if you turned around and gave him that look he was so used to getting. Meant for squirmy vermin like him.

But you don’t snap at him or look at him like he’s used to. Your eyes are shock-wide and frantic when his words finally settle in: “You shouldn’t be here.” But your eyes shoot up at first, taller than himself (were you expecting someone else?), and when they land on him shivering in his choir boy robe they all but melt. He’d never been looked at like that. Your little hands grip the massive church door a little less tightly and then you smile, “It’s snowing.”

Edward blinks. Of course it’s snowing. It’s December in Gotham. It always snows in December.

But by the look on your face, Edward could‘be been convinced it had never snowed before. That snow had been a construct of childhood, like Santa for the kids who got to be lied to about Santa, and that all kids your age knew by now that snow wasn’t real. And then you’d opened that church door and suddenly it was.

The breeze coming in would be enough to make the orphanage’s scary wardens shiver and complain about wanting to go home early while Edward’s fingers go numb for the night, but he finds himself moving closer to you.

You pull the door a little wider and suddenly you’re waving him over, beckoning him beside you. He can see the snow past your head. “You’ll catch a cold.” He tries, a little louder, a warning with experience. “They’ll notice we’re not in service.”

Still, he comes closer.

When Edward is right beside you, he can hear the chatter of your teeth and see your breaths clouding the space between you both. For a moment, he thinks that this might be a trick and turns quickly to catch some burly monster of a teenager before they could shove him out into the cold to freeze to death, but no such thing happens. It’s just you two in the foyer, and the echo of the priest in the main hall.

“Does it always snow like this?” You bypass his warning.

Edward looks out at the white coating the Gotham streets, adults rushing through the light snowfall knowing what would await if they stayed in it too long. Even beautiful things in Gotham were deadly. “Yeah, it’s winter. It always snows in winter.”

Your eyes narrow a little indignantly, “Not where I’m from.”

Edward remembers. Your father, the imposing figure he was, had mentioned a place warm and very far away from Gotham. He also remembered wondering why anyone from such a nice place would move here. Your pristine clothing had told Edward you were from a much, much better place, but he hadn’t had it in him to be as upset about that as he usually would be.

In fact, he finds himself a little nervous standing right next to you. “What’s it like where you’re from?” He asks, as if he hadn’t gone to the Gotham Public Library weeks ago and asked one of the librarians about it after you’d first arrived. The other kids would only ever tell him it was somewhere he’d “never get to go”.

“It only ever gets cold really late in winter, and it never lasts long. Mom had to get me new clothes for Gotham because it gets too cold here and it never snows back home.” Then you make a face and correct yourself, “Back there.”

You hadn’t looked too fond of your new situation upon moving here. Your father had said your family was joyous at joining the church, and yet your face had been filled with grief. As if it had only settled in on that Sunday that you would never be leaving Gotham.

Your eyes start to fog over with the same grief again, and… it’s strange. Edward doesn’t like seeing you like that. He finds himself fumbling for something to talk about that other kids his age would like, something he wasn’t very good at, and settles on a memory, “When the wardens feel generous, they sometimes take us to Gotham Square. They put a really big Christmas tree up and give out free hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. If you sing,” his body had long since accustomed to the Gotham winter, but only now does he feel his cheeks warm under your curious gaze, “they always make us sing.”

“Why do you call them wardens?”

“Huh?”

“You’re from the orphanage, right? Why do you call them wardens? It sounds kind of mean.”

Edward blinks, having never had to think about it. That was one thing the other kids could agree on, “Because they’re mean.”

He should hate it, the flash of sympathy on your face. He doesn’t need sympathy from people like you or Bruce Wayne or anyone. What he needs is a jacket. It’s getting really cold standing by the open door with you.

“You’re a pretty singer.”

Edward actually makes a noise. It’s strained, like the cats that loiter outside the orphanage for scraps that’ll never come, “What?”

“You’re a pretty singer, you have a pretty voice,” you clarify, using the word pretty, pretty, pretty, you’re pretty, pretty, “my mom thinks so too. She said I should sound more like you.”

“Can you not sing?” His voice stutters as does his little, gentle heart. Not used to the kindness.

You shake your head and push the door closed a little, the cold getting too much for you, he thinks, “Apparently, I sound like I’m in pain.” And then, to Edward’s surprise, you demonstrate with a little shriek you call holding a note.

And he doesn’t mean to because it’s impolite to laugh at others (as if it ever stopped anyone from laughing at him), but he bursts into such an uncontrollable fit of giggles that his glasses fog up and he can only just see your mouth turn from an “o” into a smile. He grabs at his stomach to stop the shaking of his laughter but it barely helps.

He should be more worried that someone will hear. But you don’t look bothered. He feels safe right now. Something else he’s not used to.

“See! That’s unfair. You have a pretty laugh too.” You complain, though your tone is playfully annoyed.

“No, I- I don’t,” he wheezes through heavy breaths, “you’re crazy.”

“Am not!”

Edward wipes under his glasses at the small tear forming in his eye, coming down from his fit to see you proudly smiling with your hands now behind your back. It comes out of his mouth before he has a chance to stop himself, “You must have hypothermia.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, confused, “Hippo- what?”

“Hypothermia… it happens when you get too cold. You can get confused.” Edward winces explaining, wondering if you’d catch on that you actually didn’t like talking to him soon, “Delirious.” He tries instead, as if the word would be any more familiar to you if you didn’t pore over books and word puzzles like he did all hours of the day.

“Oh.” You blink, your silence a tiny trigger on a shotgun pointed at his self-esteem. He shouldn’t have confused you, brought you out of the fun. You’d think he was dull now. Like the other kids do. “Is that why I feel this way?”

“What?” It’s Edward’s turn to be confused now. You don’t clarify this time, jaw clenching like you’d said the wrong thing. He worries suddenly that he’d been right on the money.

He steps closer and presses his hand to your forehead on instinct like he would the babies at the orphanage, checking warmth through the night and hoping for sunrise. Out from your mouth escapes a little peep at the contact and he pulls his hand back very quickly, now worried he’d overstepped the boundary. Crossed over too quickly into familiarity, into fondness. Your skin was burning warm. What had you meant by “this way”?

Your mouth opens to form a word when the door you’re leaning on suddenly shuts under a heavier weight. The two of you hadn’t even noticed your mother now standing there, furiously concerned and wrapping her coat around your shoulders, “What are you thinking? It’s freezing outside! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Edward feels a pang in his heart when your mother cups your cheek, feeling for what he’d felt for moments ago. He gets that nasty little feeling twisting in his heart again. Remembering who you are and who he is.

You have a mother to keep you warm. Why should he worry?

He’s halfway in a turn when your mother suddenly looks at him, and then touches him on the cheek too and he jolts away from the unfamiliar (soft) contact. Her hand retracts with quiet concern, “Are you alright, dear? You look flushed. You both really shouldn’t be out here.”

Edward presses the back of his hand to his own face and notes that she’s right.

You look up at your mother and then back at Edward, “Sorry. It’s my fault. I wanted to watch the snow with Eddie.”

Eddie? You knew his name?

The kids in the home called him that with condescension, because “Edward” was too dignified and full of itself and there was nothing Edward needed more than to be knocked down a few pegs. Of course.

You, on the other hand, said it like a friend. Like you two had known each other forever. Like you knew him too well to just keep calling him “Edward”.

“Well, service is almost over. Shall I escort you both back to your pews?” Your mother’s sweetness is so strange to hear. When she holds out her hand to him, he is too shocked to jump away this time, “You can sit with us if you’d like, Eddie.” She has a glint of out-of-place warmth in her eyes just like you.

Edward wants nothing more than to accept, but the other kids would notice and the warden would drag him by the scruff into the old, rickety orphanage bus and tell him that he’d get no dinner tonight for embarrassing them. His stomach turns at the thought. “No thank you, ma’am.”

“At least come get warm.” She beckons, ushering you both back to the main hall.

Edward follows you, a step behind, until he simply can’t and must return to the pews with the other church boys who watch him with wide eyes. One of the wardens looks furious when she finally spots him off with you. He feels her eyes burn into the back of his head even when he sits down, rigid with his hands shoved between his thighs to warm them up again. He stares ahead, unmoving, not even answering the boys nearest him and their questions about where he’d been.

Edward stares ahead until he just can’t anymore. You’re staring right at him from across the aisle, hands cupped around your mouth as he watches you make out a word: Hippo-term-ia.

It’s hard to pass off his laugh as a cough.

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