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

"Are you just about ready yet? I know that your intelligence is far inferior to mine, but I do expect you to be able to get dressed without some assistance."

You could hear Edward's insults loud and clear from the adjacent room and you wanted to respond with something just as sharp and cutting, but unfortunately he was right. Or at least, somewhat correct. You were perfectly capable of getting dressed on your own, of course, but the outfit he had provided you was proving to be a little difficult to wriggle into.

Edward Nygma changed his aesthetics as often as he changed his underwear, it seemed. A frequent update of his wardrobe was the least challenging aspect of his idiosyncratic nature for the most part, but sometimes it came with it's own significant problems. Like now.

"What was wrong with the three piece suit?" You muttered under your breath as you pulled your foot through the last limb of the tight but stretching fabric. Once you had it on, or rather, once you were covered in the purple material patterned with question marks, you took a look in the mirror and tried to make the best of the situation you found yourself in, but there were few positives to find. "At least the suits left it all to the imagination. This is… This is a choice, I can say that much."

"If you are not out in 15 seconds I will have to terminate your contract. And your existence. Please don't make me do that. I just bought this suit to your measurements, I'd hate to have to wait for another one to arrive for your replacement."

Edward's threats had lost their potency, since he'd threatened to kill you so often without reaching that point. They were empty and harmless, but the tone with which he uttered this one suggested he was reaching a point of irritation that would at least make the rest of your working day a nightmare if you let him cross that line.

"Coming, coming. There. How's it look?"

As you stepped into his view, he had to keep his jaw from falling open and fought to relax his eyes which bulged out, straining to get a closer look at the form fitting spandex suit you wore for him, at his request. The longer he stared, the more he realised it would be hard to come back from, harder to explain, so he pushed down his barely concealed lust with immediacy and furrowed his brows into their usual stern expression.

"No, no, no. This won't do at all."

"Ah, I see. Staring at the many imperfections. I noticed a few myself, so why don't we-"

"It's sitting in all the wrong places! Are you doing this on purpose?"

"What? Am I purposefully… being… shaped the way that I am?"

Eddie grumbled and frowned at you, pushing aside the urge to offer a retort to your sardonic comment, instead opting to continue his charade by further insulting your outfit. It ran the risk of sounding like he was overcompensating, but it was better than admitting that you looked good and, god forbid, paying you a compliment.

"It has nothing to do with how you are, but what you are doing!"

"As usual, your wit and intelligence are far beyond me. Maybe you could give me a better explanation in simpler terms."

This time he stared at you with an unimpressed grimace and half-lidded eyes that told you he was tired of your attitude already.

"Well, for starters, look at your posture. You should be carrying yourself with pride while you bear my insignia! You are a brand ambassador, an extension of me. So please, stand up straight."

You adjusted your stance to your best approximation of what he deemed to be a respectable posture.

"Like this?"

In response, Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, the exhale turning quickly into a groan which turned into his exasperated words.

"Oh good lord! Must I do everything for you?"

Before you could say anything to your defence, he was behind you, one hand firmly on your shoulder, the other at your lower back, finger outstretched and pressing once, hard, into the base of your spine. It made you jolt upright, and once you were in that position, he grabbed your other shoulder and pulled them both back until you were standing straight and pressed against his chest. You could feel the heat of him, his heart beat thumping against you, your own heart skipping a beat as his hand traced down the curve of your spine and stopped short of anything untoward at your lower back.

"You're pushing your rear out."

"Oh!"

You hadn't quite noticed it, but you were curving yourself to fit against the shape of him, and now he had pointed it out you jerked away in shame.

"You must tuck your hips in. I don't want you trying to sell my name or get my work done like that. I don't have to utilise those played out methods to garner attention, thank you."

He had to admit though, it might work on him. The old adage, sex sells, could prove to be truer than he'd like it to be. After all, his gaze still lingered on your rear, even though you were now trying to awkwardly tilt your hips forward in an attempt to hide any curvature that would send out the wrong message.

Aware that he had been staring silently for a little too long, Eddie tutted and moved around to your front, and you fell in line immediately. Straightening up, squaring your shoulders, lifting your head and your gaze from him while he mused over your body, one hand under his chin as he pondered which part of you to scrutinise next.

"It looks awful baggy at the top. I need to… If I could just…"

He was stuttering over the words as he placed his hands on your waist. Too much physical touch shorted out his brain, he often found, and this particular situation had the additional pleasure of being wholly awkward to boot. But he had to keep going. To pull back now would mean that you might sense something was wrong. Or worse, you might see the beet red colour he knew his cheeks had turned, given the heat he could feel from them. So he brought his mind back to focus and tried to grab at the fabric without grabbing your body, teasing it down a little to stretch the accumulated fabric at your shoulders.

But then, as he stood back to check on what needed to be done next, he noticed that he'd stretched it down over your chest too, a little too tight, noticing the way it was clinging to the curves of the more plentiful flesh there. Trying to divert his attention away from the lure of your form, he cast his eyes downwards, noting the collected fabric at your knees.

"Now look! It's all wrinkled. Just one thing after another."

"Y'know, this isn't any more pleasant for me…"

Although that was a lie. You did quite like standing there, completely still, just for him. Letting him adjust you, model you, like you were a doll for him to play with. It was a thought that had just crossed Eddie's mind too as you mentioned your discomfort. He liked it when you were a little grumpy, a little resilient in tone but submissive in body. A sweet dichotomy that fed into his ego. And now he was on his hands and knees in front of you, tidying you up, making sure you looked good enough for him. There was something so inadvertently complimentary about that fact that he at least thought he could gussy you up to his standards. It was promising, if nothing else. Though if you'd known how he felt in that moment it would have been more of a certainty.

Eddie took the loose fabric at your knees between his fingers and began to pull it down and then up, trying to get it to even out across your legs. In an attempt to make sure the lines of the suit were sitting perfectly, he let his fingers trail over it to smooth it down, only realising far too late that he had been caressing your legs, the tips of his digits skating over your inner thighs where they now stopped, pressing in to steady you as he pulled firmly at the fabric with his other hand. The fabric finally sat as he wanted it to, a task he was grateful to complete, but as he inspected it one final time his eyes caught sight of the way it sat at your crotch. Tight, too tight. He could see the outline of your lips, the fabric pushing between them just a little, stretching over the rounding of your mound. He reached without thinking, but pulled his fingers back with wide eyes and a renewed blush.

"Uh, perhaps you would be better suited to do the last of the adjustments… Uh… There… Yourself…"

You followed his gaze and the sort of ineffective gesture he made towards your lower half, heart skipping a little at the idea of him suggesting your sex. Though as he stood up, you could tell he had been thinking about more than just the suggestion. He'd clearly found something to be pleased with in the outfit after all, the tenting at the front of his own pants a telling indication of that much.

"You might need to do a little adjusting of your own, Eddie."

"C'mere and get an idea of what a real man is like, babe!"

George grabbed you before you could protest, one strong arm around your waist pulling you into an embrace that, had he asked politely for, you would have agreed to, but which felt all the more sinful and tempting by the sheer fact that he'd pushed it upon you.

"Get a good whiff, fill your nostrils with that!"

The way he had pinned you to his torso meant your face was pressed into his armpit, nose tickling from the hairs, sense overwhelmed by the rugged stench of his sweat and his natural musk plus the addition of a cheap deoderant he'd sprayed on at least three days prior.