riddler-coded (autistic) 💚🩷

current anons (for tagging, use emoji then anon with no spaces like for example 💚anon):

🫖teapot anon

👾space invader anon

🐓rooster anon

🎶music anon

🧚‍♀️fairy anon

🪽wing anon

🐦‍⬛crow anon

🌙crescent moon anon

🌧️rain anon

🧩jigsaw anon

🎀💜🎀bows anon

❓question mark anon

🪲 beetle anon

🦢 swan anon

🦆 duck anon

Your restful sleep was interrupted, once again, by Eddie's selfish streak. It was impossible to tell sometimes whether he truly didn't realise how much of a disruption he could be and therefor made no efforts to change this, or whether he was so self-important that he chose to ignore your peace instead of ever altering the way he interacted with your world. Either way, you would forgive him. You always did, given that the purpose of your existence was to please him. And despite your dangerous levels of sleep deprivation, something that came with the job, with the relationship, you were awake and giddy the moment he stepped into the bedroom.

"Eddie! It's so late… I can't believe you're only coming to bed now."

He offered no response but an indeterminable grunt, focusing mainly on shrugging off his shirt to reveal his filthy, stained vest underneath. His arms, now visible, had a distinct line where the short sleeves of his top layer protected his skin from the grime of his work. Like tan lines, but where dirt ceased to mark him. Then his belts were unbuckled, kept within the loops of the cargo pants that he wriggled free of before letting them fall to the floor in an easy to access pile that he would reach for in a few hours when he got up again. No shower, no changing of underwear or his top, just straight into the bed. Exactly as you liked him.

Watching Eddie as he worked on his various projects was the highlight of your day, usually. Seeing him exert the kind of competency that came with his skill and intelligence, the strong sense of masculinity in the work he did that he tended not to exude at any other time of the day or in any other situation. The scents of the motor oil, metallic heat, dust, and his sweat. They were the notes of your arousal. And when he entered the bedroom straight from his workshop without any intentions of showering or changing, it meant you could spend the whole night revelling in his scent. It called to you, pulled you like a magnet. So much so that by the time he had shuffled himself onto the mattress and under the sheets, you were curling around his side. One leg against his, another over the top to pin him there on his back. Your hands moved to him immediately, one playing gently with the dark strands atop his head, careful to avoid the point at the rear where it had begun to thin much the same as the pattern baldness at his temples and the receding hairline on his forehead, the other stroking the lighter, greying hair on his torso that protruded above the low neck line of his vest.

"I missed you so much."

As you stroked his chest, you began to nuzzle yourself into his side, breathing deeply to take in his scent. You leaned across him, trying to hug him tighter, but he let out a gentle groan of protest and shifted himself up a little, his spine at an angle that better suited the aches that plagued him. His age was far more obvious these days, something you were pleased by, but despite being well past the starting point of middle-age, you suspected a lot of what caused him to appear older could be attributed to his horrendous lifestyle choices rather than anything naturally biological. His mind was still sharp, his body still capable and surprisingly strong. But his hair greyed, his face wrinkled deeply with well-worn scorn and frustration, and his tolerance levels made him seem far grumpier than someone with the optimism of youth might have been. All of that, of course, only meant that you found yourself loving him more. You appreciated every little bit of him, all of the things that changed and all of the things that stayed the same.

You were entirely unable to keep yourself from of him, particularly when he was so tired and lacking the will to wave you off. Normally he would pretend to loathe the attention and the affection that you so desperately desired to impart on him, but when he was laying comfortably under the sheets it was another story. Then, and often only then, did he actually want you to touch him. More than accepted it, he craved it. And with no shame he told you as much when you questioned what kind of mood he was in, trying to gauge how receptive he might be to your advances.

"Is this OK, Eddie? I know sometimes I can be a little bit… overbearing, maybe, but-"

"This is more than acceptable. You can soothe me. Even a mind like mine can benefit from being quietened every so often. Any chance at relaxation assists in new synapses forming, cells refreshing, cognitive processing. It's a task I'm happy for you to assist with."

You were perfectly aware of what the underlying message was in his statement. He'd remarked before about how relieving the tension he collected so easily was a certified way to assure that his efforts the next day would be of a higher quality. Laying with him, on top or below, and letting him pummel his stresses into your body with clumsy ruts and guttural moaning seemed to lighten his load, for want of a better analogy. So you got to work, your hands moving less in a gentle comforting manner and far more lasciviously now, intentions unmistakable as you traced his chest hair down past his sternum, over his navel, and down under the band of his underwear.

His cock was flaccid, twitching only slightly to life as you wrapped your fingers around it and began to squeeze firmly. Stroking it up and down brought sighs to Eddie's lips, and he moved his arms behind his head, getting comfortable. It was a sight to see, Edward Nigma finally at rest, allowing someone else to take control. But as the minutes passed you could tell there was something not quite right. He squirmed uncomfortably, adjusting his position, breathing in and out softly at first, then in deep, exaggerated motions, grumbling under his breath the whole time. He wasn't hard. He wasn't getting hard. You were working his length the way you knew he liked, but it wasn't having the same effect it usually did.

In a bid to try and change things up, to see if something new might make a difference, you tried twisting your wrist as you moved your palm up and down. A long strand of drool dropped from your lips and you slicked his cock by spreading it with your palm. Your heart sank as he interrupted you.

"No… No, that isn't working. I think I might need a minute longer to…"

Eddie let his words trail off, unable to find the words for this particularly embarrassing situation. Over-explaining himself would seem like admitting there was an issue, and he couldn't be to blame. Nothing was ever his fault, of course. He hated that he wanted to blame you, despite the fact you were the only positive sensation he'd experienced the whole day, but it was just his nature. He couldn't lash out at himself, and you were the only one there.

"Oh for f- This is ridiculous! Could you stop for a second, you're not making this better! Or easier. Give me a minute to just- I just…"

He'd grown frustrated with himself, at his inability to rise to the occasion. Was he really that old? That stressed? That useless? This was a first, but it was a difficult situation to navigate, new or otherwise. But in his frustration, he had lashed out at you, the one person who was not to blame at all. In his mind, he could catch himself, adjust his attitude, and recognise that you were not at fault. It might never reach his lips, but the sentiments of regret were there, and he realigned himself, taking a breath and placing his hand atop yours in a gesture of affection that he could tolerate. Another deep and steady inhale, and he put all of his brainpower towards being a human being, one capable of being perhaps not nice but at the very least, not cruel.

"I… I apologise. I shouldn't- I'm just- Stressed, or- Not stressed, it's just… This isn't-"

"It's OK. Honestly. It happens."

Normally, you would be on the receiving end of a ferocious lecture on manners when interrupting him, but he let this one slide. You were helping him out of a hole he was digging for himself, and he was grateful. Your delicate approach to the source of his ire was precisely what he needed, and he hated to feel like he was punishing you for it. He couldn't exactly change his tone, that wasn't in his nature, but he could opt for silence. No words were better than cruel ones.

"Eddie, it's fine. I'm here for you. All I ever want is to make you happy, or make your life a little bit easier. Whatever you want from me, you'll get it."

He paused for a moment, his eyes closed, relaxing into his thoughts.

"I want you to keep going. It might not… End… With anything. But I feel the journey may be more important in this particular situation."

"It always is to me, Eddie."

With his permission to keep going, you moved your palms to his testicles, cupping them with a firm grip, enjoying the weight of them in your hand. You had no intention of trying to coax an erection from him, now. This was about adoration, about worship. Those came so easily to you where Eddie was concerned. And so did the urge to taste. It wasn't enough to see, to touch, to smell him. You wanted the tang of his body on your tongue. So you move your head towards his soft cock, placing your lips along the length in whispering kisses before attempting, rather clumsily, to get it between your lips. Once you had it there, limp but filling, you started sucking it, slow but with enthusiasm. It was nice, soothing almost. You could easily find yourself comforted to the point of total relaxation just from the sensation of his easy to manage cock against your tongue.

Normally, when you serviced Eddie like that, he could be a little bit aggressive. Forceful. Demanding a lot from your mouth and your lungs. And as much as you appreciated knowing how desperate he was, how badly he wanted to feel your tongue and your throat, it was nice to be in control of it for a change.

He was muttering, incomprehensibly immediately, and you wondered at first if you were unable to make it out because of the sound of your drool and slurping, but you realised quickly he was mumbling as he fell asleep. Eddie had been so stressed, so exhausted, that the minute you allowed him the space to just sit back and stop overthinking or worrying about his ability to perform for you, his body had given in to his human needs, the ones he ignored so often.