Edward’s going to kill.

He’s killed before.

He’s thought about killing me.

He’s thought about worse.

“Our first time,” he had said.

He’s going to rape me.

He’s going to do it soon.

Not until his “guest” leaves though, right?

Who is his guest?

I’ll find out when he’s back from killing the mayor.

Edward’s going to kill the mayor.

Your thoughts ran in this circular nature and you began to spiral with them.

Jumping up, you looked desperately for something to distract yourself with. You began to snoop through Edward’s things, potential cameras be damned.

Based on the state of the living room, you weren’t surprised that his bedroom was somewhat of a mess. Despite his apparent penchant for minimalist decor, there were plenty of random knickknacks and articles of clothing strewn about.

You set your sights on the closet first. When you opened the doors, you expected something horrible to fall out (a skeleton in the closet, either proverbial or literal).

You were almost disappointed by the normality of its contents. He had only a few shirts and pants hanging there, and the bottom of the closet was filled with a pile of the rest of his clothes.

Briefly, you wondered if that was his dirty laundry or if he just couldn’t be bothered to hang them up. Probably a bit of both, knowing Edward.

Closing the doors, you moved on to his bedside table. It was surprisingly empty apart from a notepad and pen. As with the rest of his writing, it was practically unintelligible.

You expected more plots and plans, but the only thing the pad seemed to contain was a generic to-do list. It was probably the least incriminating piece of writing in the whole apartment.

Shaking your head, you sat down on the edge of the bed. Out of sheer boredom, you tried spinning the pen around your thumb. Most of the time it just fell in your lap.

“Ha!” you exclaimed in victory when you finally got it to spin. Immediately after, the pen dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed. You scowled.

Dropping to your hands and knees, you looked under the bed for it. Though you did find the pen, another object piqued your curiosity more.

Reaching past the writing utensil, you took hold of the shoe box you spotted and pulled it from under the bed. The box was clearly worn, but not dusty.

He must go in here a lot, you reasoned, standing back up and placing the box on the bed.

For a moment you hesitated, but your curiosity got the best of you and you flipped up the lid — and froze.

Right on top were Polaroids of you. In some you were sleeping, in some you were getting ready for work. In almost all of them, you were in some state of undress.

Your heart rate skyrocketed as you shuffled through them, each causing more duress than the last.

You should have stopped looking through the box then, but you couldn’t stop yourself. In morbid fascination, you delved further into his shrine to you.

The photographs had been resting on a pile of fabric you now recognized as the pair of panties you thought had gotten lost in the wash.

With revulsion, you noticed how unnaturally stiff most of the cotton was and immediately dropped the underwear. This wasn’t just a shrine — this was his pornography.

Your stomach twisted as you hastily threw the photographs back in and shoved the box under the bed where you had found it.

Sitting on the edge of his mattress again, you tried to calm your disturbed mind. When your nausea dissipated, all that remained was anger.

Just when you thought you knew of all his transgressions, you had found another. He did not view you as someone with autonomy- but no, that wasn’t quite true, was it?

He knew of your agency, and he got off on violating it. On taking it away from you.

Taking a few deep breaths, you tried to center yourself to no avail. Your hands were shaking with barely-contained fury, and you had to ball them in your lap to quell them.

In the rest of the time you were alone, your rage reached its zenith and then died down. Eventually, you managed to get a few hours of sleep in.

That sleep was interrupted when the front door banged open early in the morning. Unlike your room, Edward’s was not even remotely soundproof, and you woke up with a start.

Your heart leapt to your throat as you momentarily forgot where you were, and thought someone might be breaking into your apartment — until you heard his voice.

”Don’t worry, Commissioner, I’ve saved you our finest suite.”

Edward’s voice was muffled by the walls (and likely by his mask as well), but you knew it was him. There was a sound like something heavy being dragged across the hallway floor and then a door creaking open.

You listened with rapt attention, but no discernible sound came from the room.

After a few minutes, you heard the door slam shut and Edward’s footsteps down the hall. You quickly flipped onto your side with your back to the door and began taking deep breaths, feigning sleep.

Slowly, you heard the bedroom door creak open. Edward called your name softly, testing to see if you were awake. You did not respond at first, but then he called it again a bit louder and you pretended to stir.

“Edward?” you tried to murmur drowsily.

“Are you awake?”

“Yeah, I am now,” you responded.

Not like you gave me much of a choice, you thought irritably.

He was hovering outside the doorway with an air of uncertainty, concealed by the shadows of the hall. Though you knew he was waiting for you to ask about his night, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Eventually, he took an impatient step into the room. You let out a gasp at the sight of him, your hand flying up to cover your mouth.

He was terrifying to behold. The mayor’s blood had dyed most of his clothing an almost-black shade of red. He still wore the mask, and his breath was coming through it heavy and wet.

The worst, though, was that he continued to approach you. All you could see were his eyes, but it was enough to strike fear in your heart.

His pupils were blown wide and his eyes jumped all across the room in a frenzy. Again, you wondered if he had a Drop habit. But his gait was too controlled for that, his movements too precise.

He stood before you, trembling in exhilaration. You didn’t dare speak, afraid of any reaction you might provoke. It didn’t stop him, though.

Reaching a gloved hand out, he caressed your cheek as he had so many times before. But this time you jerked away at the wet feeling of his glove.

You swiped your cheek and examined the residue he left behind. In horror, you realized that he had smeared blood on your face.

“Jesus Christ, Edward!” you shrieked, unable to control yourself as you tried to scramble away.

His hand closed over your collar, though, and he yanked you up to a kneeling position on the bed. You were almost eye-level with him like this, but desperately tried to look anywhere else beside his face.

He wasn’t having that.

His hand closed around your jaw, painting your face with more red and causing bile to rise in your throat.

“Riddler,” he hissed out. “Not Edward.”

You nodded frantically, too fearful to pull your face from his grasp. Tears were streaming down your cheeks, mixing with the blood as they continued their journey down your neck and to your chest.

Edward- no, the Riddler’s eyes followed their path with curiosity before snapping back up to meet your own.

“You look so pretty when you cry,” he crooned in that strange, altered voice.

He tried to wipe away your tears with his thumb, but ended up smudging a new streak of blood across your cheek. With his free hand he pulled off his mask, revealing the plastic wrap underneath.

“Take it off,” he commanded.

You quickly obeyed, unwinding the plastic and letting it fall to the ground. When you were done you started to lower your hands, but he caught one and brought it back up to his face.

For a moment, he simply held it there. You could see the hesitancy in his eyes as he deliberated before bringing your palm to his lips.

It was such a strangely intimate act, so incongruous with the violence of the situation that for a moment you forgot. Your lips parted and a soft, involuntary breath escaped them.

He paused, eyes flickering back up to yours at the noise. Then, he began to move again. He placed another kiss on your wrist, and trailed a few more up your forearm.

You were deathly still, unsure of what to do. He didn’t give you much time to think about it, though, as he suddenly crushed you against his chest.

His hungry mouth sought out your own as he kissed you sloppily. More aggressive than when he had kissed your palm, his teeth gnashed against yours and dug into the soft skin of your lips. You yelped in pain, but it just seemed to encourage him.

When you felt his hard length digging into your hip, you decided you had had enough. You pushed back from him, sucking in a deep breath to replenish your oxygen.

“The- the blood,” you lied, trying not to anger him. “The smell is making me nauseous.”

His hands were wrapped around your wrists. For a moment it seemed like he wouldn’t let go, but eventually he dropped them and left the room.

After a minute, you heard the shower turn on and breathed a sigh of relief. You glanced down at your stained clothes, vision swimming as it finally hit you that you were covered in a dead man’s blood.

Numbly, you traded your soiled clothes for a (hopefully clean) set of pajamas sitting on the chair in the corner of his room.

You turned off the light and climbed back into bed, though you knew you wouldn’t sleep.

A few minutes later, Edward joined you without asking. You did not protest.

Despite his shower and despite the fresh clothes, the smell of blood still lingered.

He didn’t realize it initially. Your first interaction was not in your shared abode, but in the nearby diner in which you worked. In order to break up the day, Edward would occasionally come down for a coffee.

During his first few visits, your coworkers Claudine and Donna served him. Neither was rude to him (this was a tip-based profession, after all), but both adhered to the polite societal constraints that apply when interacting with strangers.

You, on the other hand, did no such thing.

“Hi! I’ll be your server for today. What can I get for you?” Edward, who had been staring out the window, was startled by your chipper tone and nearly jumped out of his skin. He watched you smile apologetically at his reaction. “Sorry about that, I’m not great at the whole indoor voice thing. You know how it is.”

No, he really didn’t.

“Of course,” he replied politely with a tight smile, trying for whatever reason to assuage your guilt.

“So, what do you want?”

He was almost taken aback by the question before he realized you were simply taking his order.

“Um, just a latte. Please.” Internally, he winced at the sound of his feeble voice. You didn’t seem to notice though, as you just nodded.

“Sure thing, I’ll have that right out for you. If you need anything, just holler for me,” you instructed cheerfully, tapping your nametag with your index finger. When you returned to the kitchen, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

There was a certain tension that coiled in his muscles whenever someone spoke directly to him like that. He wasn’t used to eye contact or one-on-one conversation. Truthfully, he wasn’t used to any kind of conversation without his mask to hide behind.

Edward shook away the discomfort and turned back to the newspaper in front of him, folding over the pages until he reached the crossword puzzle. It proved to be an effective distraction. Too effective, in fact, as he was so wrapped up in it that when you brought over his drink he startled again and nearly knocked it out of your hands.

“I’m sorry,” you sputtered, trying to hold in a laugh but still letting out a grin. “I’m making a bad habit out of sneaking up on you.”

“Not a problem,” he assured you quietly again.

With one last apologetic grin (and a nosy look at the crossword he was working on), you told him to let you know if he needed anything and walked away.

The next time you returned, he was more aware of his surroundings. Still, he didn’t realize you had a slice of pie in your hand until you placed it on the table in front of him.

Blinking in confusion, Edward turned to face you. “I, uh… didn’t order this.”

“Oh, yeah, I know. I just felt so bad about scaring you twice and I figured I should try to make it up to you so… pie.” Under his microscopic gaze, you gestured to the slice and continued to babble. “Tyler makes them fresh every morning. This is pumpkin, but if there’s something else you’d like I can get you that. And we’re not charging you or anything, to be clear. Just me apologizing and hopefully convincing you that this place might be worth coming back to.”

He blinked at you once again, and then mumbled, “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

At his words, your easy smile returned and he felt a strange twist in his stomach that made him look down at the pie to break eye contact. You smiled at him. You wanted him to come back.

At his job, people mostly ignored him apart from the occasional message to assign him tasks. There was something off about him that made people uncomfortable in his presence, like rabbits sensing a fox nearby. It used to hurt. Now, though, he could only darkly chuckle at how apt the simile proved to be.

But you... you weren’t like that at all, were you? Did you simply lack a sense of self-preservation? Or did your kindness outweigh any trepidation you felt?

Either way, he was intrigued.

If Edward was being honest with himself, the lattes were fine. The pies? Adequate. Altogether, the diner’s menu was nothing to write home about.

But the service, however, that’s what brought him back over and over.

At first he would only visit on Sunday mornings, simply observing your behavior. He noted with whom you interacted and ascertained whether your cheery demeanor was a front or in earnest. Did you smile for everyone like that? Or just him?

As the weeks passed by he began visiting more frequently. He felt like a pathetic little worm, keeping track of your schedule and making sure to throw in a visit or two when you weren’t on the clock just so your coworkers wouldn’t get suspicious. But oh, those days were agony. Still, abstaining was important. It kept him disciplined, focused.

But anxiety gnawed away at Edward on the days when he couldn’t observe you. Were you disappointed when he didn’t show? Or relieved? He feared you might find him irritating or unsettling.

But the more narcissistic optimistic part of him hoped that you might enjoy seeing him as much as he enjoyed seeing you.

You were certainly pleased enough to greet him by name when he arrived (you had taken to calling him “Eddie,” a nickname he normally despised — it didn’t sound that bad when it fell from your lips).

To his dismay, his budding interest turned into a burning crush. You consumed his thoughts, which became particularly frustrating when he was trying to work. One moment he was designing a death trap and then next he was imagining what you would say if he were to ask you out to dinner.

In his fantasies, he was a more confident, suave man. He would flirt with you, charm you, woo you. And if things went well, he would walk you home, kiss you at the doorstep with enough passion that you would invite him in, and once you made it back to your apartment…

He only entertained those kinds of thoughts when he was alone — it was too dangerous to think that way in front of you, lest certain bodily functions give his thoughts away.

After a particularly long day, he stopped by in the evening for the first time and stayed until closing. It was difficult to come up with excuses for why he spent so much time there. Most days he brought along a puzzle or a book to make it seem more like a routine. But truthfully, he was a lonely moon revolving around the bright sun that was you.

On this particular night, he was pondering another crossword when you leaned over his shoulder.

“Lecherous.”

His heart nearly stopped. “Pardon?”

You pointed to the clue, seemingly unaware of his panic. “Lewd or salacious. It starts with an L and ends in OUS, but that letter has to be an R so that knocks out lascivious and licentious — I think both of those are one letter too long anyway…”

“Oh, I see. Thank you.”

Misreading his discomfited tone, you sheepishly grinned. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to spoil it for you.”

It was something you did often, he noticed, this over-apologizing. Even when you hadn’t wronged someone, you tended to apologize for simply existing. It made his stomach churn, thinking about where the habit came from.

Did someone hurt you? A family member, a lover? Or was it religious in nature, like his own upbringing? Even now he squirmed remembering the nuns at the orphanage who drilled into him that almost every pleasurable action was sinful.

Realizing he was taking too long to respond, he quickly reassured you. “No, not at all! I was actually stuck on that one. The late hour must be getting to me.”

You smiled gratefully at Edward, and he once again felt a wave of pleasure knowing that he had made you happy.

“Sweetheart, I’m heading out for the night!” Tyler called from the now-closed kitchen. A flare of jealousy ignited within Edward at the cook’s pet name for you. “Do you mind locking up?”

“Sure thing, get home safely!” you replied. “Sorry, Eddie, looks like we gotta wrap this up.”

There she goes apologizing again, he mused. “Not a problem. I should be getting to bed anyway.” Edward wasn’t sure what compelled him, but before he could think his words through he blurted out, “Would you like me to walk you home?”

“What?” you asked, not having heard his question.

Alarmed that he might have just made a fatal error, Edward began stumbling over his words just as you realized what he asked and replied.

“Just because it’s so dark and late-”

“Yeah, that’d be great!”

“And Gotham isn’t really ever safe- oh.” He shut up when he realized you said yes. Though being raised by Catholics had driven every ounce of religion from his mind, he still sent up a silent thanks to whomever might have let the stars align this way.

“I’m just a short while away, so hopefully I won’t derail you too much from getting home.” You said bashfully as you locked up the diner and led the way. The path was obviously familiar, but he didn’t dare to hope until you stopped in front of his apartment building and said, “Well, this is me.”

And it was there, standing in front of the home you shared where he realized his feelings for you went far beyond a crush. That was where his real problem began.

Of course, he really couldn’t justify what he was doing now — that is, standing in the middle of your living room while you were at work. Ever since he realized you lived just down the hall, he had been tempted to take a quick peek; but now that he was inside, he knew he wouldn’t be leaving any time soon.

As with many of the other dilapidated apartment buildings in this part of the city, the locks were laughably easy to pick. He was concerned a neighbor might spot him fidgeting with your door, but all it had taken was the swipe of a credit card between the door and the jamb to open the lock.

It was appalling, in fact, and if he were a more confrontational man he might bring it up to the landlord. You were a woman living alone in a seedy part of town. It simply wasn’t safe. Any creep with nefarious intentions and a little bit of time could break in and you would be none the wiser.

(The irony here was not completely lost on him, but he reassured himself that he had nothing but your best interests at heart. And some of his own interests as well.)

Edward cautiously stepped about the room, looking for personal items that might lend him insight into who you really were. There was not much of interest to be found in the main area, and so he made his way down the short hallway and opened the door on his left.

Your bathroom was considerably small, even compared to his. Everything was so crammed in, he mused, that a person could likely wash their hands while still on the toilet. He didn’t want to dirty your tub with his shoes, but he did lean in and examine the various bottles and sprays on your shower shelves. Flicking open the shampoo, he inhaled the pomegranate scent that he got a whiff of every time you flipped your hair over your shoulder. No wonder you smelled good enough to eat.

He went through your medicine cabinet, but quickly lost interest when he found only over-the-counter medicines and skincare products. Shutting the cabinet door, he crossed the hall to the last door.

Already trembling, Edward’s sweaty palm gripped the knob and opened the door into your bedroom. This was what he had come for. This was the room where you would stow away items not suitable for guests to see — a thrill went through him as he imagined what that might entail.

Frankly, it was a mess. Not dirty, but certainly disorganized. It looked like you had left in a rush that morning, as clothes and makeup products were strewn about the room.

Starting at your desk, Edward pulled open each drawer and checked for any potential diaries. He wondered what you might write about him. Would you call him strange? Mysterious? Would you write about him at all? It was both a relief and a disappointment when he found no such thing.

Next he wandered over to your wardrobe, pawing rather indelicately through your clothes until he reached your underwear drawer. His breath was coming out wet and heavy as he slid his hands into the folded fabric. Latching onto a pair in the back of the drawer, he considered it for a moment.

Surely you wouldn’t notice one pair missing? Especially ones as innocuous as these, just plain white cotton trimmed with lace- he paused and tried to shake the thought of you wearing them (and the thought of you sliding them off) out of his head. Half-erect already and with a lust-addled mind, he shoved the pair into his pocket. Maybe you’d think you had lost them on the way to the laundry room…

Saving the best for last, he finally arrived at your bed. He was teasing himself a bit now though, looking through your nightstand first. Most of the contents were underwhelming, just face masks and chargers and the like — that is, until he reached into the back of the drawer and his fingers grazed a box.

Edward pulled it out and took the lid off — and froze. As if unable to stand from the shock, he plopped onto the edge of your bed. Greedily, he stroked the vibrator contained within. Without thinking, he lifted it to his face and smelled it. Though it was clean, underneath the smell of soap there was something else… you.

Overwhelmed by the small device still in his hands, Edward laid stomach-down on the bed, face shoved into your pillows. That only exacerbated the issue though, as he was enveloped by your smell. It might as well have been pheromones with the effect it had on him.

He panted heavily, hard as a brick now and envisioning you stretched out in the same spot. With a stuttering breath, he propped himself up from the pillow and turned on the vibrator. The quiet humming was almost inviting, and he fantasized about how you used it.

He had seen no lube in the drawer. Did you tease yourself with it first to make yourself wet? Maybe run it across your lips (the way he was now doing, driven mad as he tried desperately to take in more of your scent)? Or perhaps you’d suck on the end and use your own spit as lubricant?

Without a second thought, he took it into his mouth and groaned at the visual of you shoving the device now covered in his spit into your hungry cunt.

Unable to help himself, Edward ground his hips down into the bed, pretending you were there underneath him. He needed something more substantial though. Whimpering, he shoved your pillow between his legs, sandwiching the buzzing vibrator between the fabric and his bulge. Almost an afterthought, he took your underwear from his pocket and shoved the pair down his pants to cover the head of his cock.

If only you could see him now, he thought, whining on your bed and dry-humping your pillow like a teenager. If he weren’t afraid of getting cum on your sheets, he would fold the pillow in half and fuck it, cock wedged right where you laid that angelic head every night. He giggled perversely at the thought of you unknowingly resting your face against a pillowcase soiled with his release.

It was almost too good to pass up, but he restrained himself, content with the idea that tonight your head would lie on the pillow he was now pantomiming fucking. He whimpered at the thought of you walking in on him like this. God, how pathetic you’d find him. You’d probably be so disgusted by him you’d never speak to him again.

Part of him almost wanted you to find him like this. Quiet, demure Eddie from the diner now enacting a depraved display in your sanctum sanctorum. He could imagine those sweet doe eyes looking upon him in horror, those plush lips contorting to call him filthy, dirty, perverted.

His hips began slamming into the pillow even harder at the idea.

But you wouldn’t be able to tear your eyes away, would you? No, he giggled, you wouldn’t want to admit it but you’d be turned on too. Maybe you’d threaten to scream or call the cops, but then he would sweep you into his arms and rub his pounding erection against your hip like a dog in heat.

Edward imagined you whimpering, trying to fight the more debased side of yourself until you’d finally give in and fall to your knees. Knowing your place, his mind hissed in arousal.

And then he’d really show you your role in this world — kneeling before him with your pretty little mouth wrapped around his cock. He’d try to be gentle at first, truly he would. But when you moaned at the pleasure of satisfying him, he would need to take back control.

Without separating your mouth from his cock, he would lay you flat on the ground and fuck your face. Oh, how beautiful you’d look with tears streaming down your face, your cunt glistening with arousal, his cock ramming down into your throat as you gagged. And when you started sobbing in pain and pleasure and he could feel the vibrations of your vocal cords running along his cock, then he’d cum in your mouth, forcing you to take his whole, hot load, not removing his cock until you’d swallowed every drop and choked on it while trying to thank him for choosing you as the vessel for his seed-

This was the thought that pushed Edward over the edge and made him cum against your pillow. It’s a good thing I didn’t take my pants off, he hazily mused as stream after stream pulsated out into his pants. Gradually, his hips slowed down to a stop and he just laid there, stewing in his own satisfaction.

When he recovered enough to think straight, he awkwardly shuffled to your bathroom and cleaned himself up. He returned to your bedroom to straighten things out, suddenly embarrassed about what he had done (though not enough to make him regret it). When he was sure the bed looked untouched, he crept out of the apartment and locked the door behind him.

Idly, he decided to bring you flowers to the diner tomorrow. He was a romantic, after all.

With his other hand, he’d trail his fingers down your throat to your breasts, stuffing his hand down the front of your shirt and shifting your bra out of the way so he could run a thumb over your nipples until they perked up at his touch.

“Eddie,” your voice shook around that ridiculous fucking pet name — but he’d allow it, as long as it was you saying it. “This is moving too fast.”

At that, he smirked cruelly at you. “I disagree.”

He practically shoved you back against the wall, the hand that had been on your tits now bracing your neck.

“I think whores like you are always ready and willing, aren’t you? Walking holes,” he hummed with a giggle.

You shook your head with wide eyes and he tutted condescendingly. “Will you tell the truth? Or shall I prove you’re lying?”

Without giving you a chance to answer, he let his hand drop from your throat and breach the waistband of your pants — just your pants.

“Not even wearing underwear, whore? Did you run out? Or did you want to remove as many boundaries as possible between my cock and your cunt?” There was a sadistic grin on his face.

You whimpered pitifully at this, the noise growing louder as he dropped his fingers between your legs. Swirling his fingertips around your entrance and drawing delicious noises out of you, Edward penetrated you with his fingers in a swift movement, causing you to cry out in discomfort and arousal.

“Barely wet, yet you take me so easily,” he cooed. “I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose. I’m sure you’ve been fucked enough that you’re more used to something being in there than it being empty.”

You moaned at his words, your cunt holding him tight as he probed you. Then, as quickly as he had shoved them in, he took them out. You whined in protest, rubbing your thighs together at the loss of friction.

“Oh, did you think I’d make you cum, slut? Fuck you with my fingers? No, lying whores don’t deserve that — you need to be punished.”

Your eyes widened in both trepidation and anticipation as he undid your zipper and yanked your pants down. Obliging him, you stepped out, now bare from the waist down.

“Bend over the table,” he commanded with a steely voice. You hesitated, but complied.

He twisted a hand in your hair, yanking you back against his chest. “I’m going to spank you until you admit that you’re nothing more than a hole, a skank who exists solely for me to fuck.”

Tears were leaking from your eyes as you refuted him. “T-that’s not true.”

“I don’t believe you!” he sing-songed, bending you back over. You whimpered in fear.

“Last chance,” he warned gleefully, raising a hand. Before you had a chance to say anything, he brought it down hard. You let out a gasp, the slap hard enough to leave his handprint on you.

“Ready to admit it now, whore?”

Still, you shook your head.

SMACK! He brought his hand down a second time, groaning in arousal at both your cry and the ripple the slap sent across your ass.

“I won’t stop until your ass is completely marked so the next man who fucks you will know that this belongs to someone else.” A shiver went down your spine at his words.

SMACK! You cried out in pain.

“Tell me what a fucking slut you are.” Again, you admitted nothing. Ashamed of it though you were, he could tell you were enjoying this.

SMACK! You were openly sobbing in between moans.

“Do you like being spanked, whore? Do you like being punished?”

Gasping and trying to catch your breath, you shook your head.

“Then say it,” he ordered, the fires of lust burning in his eyes.

“I’m just a hole!” you moaned out. “I’m a skank who just wants you to fuck me. Please, Eddie.”

Grinning lazily in victory, Edward undid his pants and took out his cock. He ran the tip over your raw ass cheeks, drawing on them with the precum leaking from its swollen head.

“You don’t deserve me to fuck you. Holes like you are as common as they come. What makes you so special?”

“Eddie, please,” you begged, all semblance of modesty cast aside. “I’ll be so good for you, I’ll be your good little whore.”

His cock twitched at your words. “Stand up, slut.”

You obeyed his commands, a wary look in your eyes as you rose.

“Go into the bedroom, undress completely, and wait for me.”

You nodded, swinging your hips as you walked down the hall.

Edward followed you in. There you were, splayed open on his bed awaiting him. He took in the sight of you, from your heaving chest to the wet strip of your cunt.

Reaching into his closet, he grabbed his mask and pulled it over his head, delighting in the way your eyes widened slightly with alarm. “No more Eddie; you are only to call me Riddler.”

When you nodded, he issued another command. “Undress me and kneel.”

You did as he asked and then looked up expectantly at him, awaiting orders.

“I want to use that sweet little hole in your mouth first before I use the one between your legs.”

Hesitantly, you held the base of his shaft steady and licked the precum off the tip. You repeated the move over and over, lapping at his cock like a kitten.

“That’s it,” he hissed when you finally wrapped your whole mouth around him. “Show me how good you are at what you do.”

You deep-throated him like you were out of oxygen and he was a ventilator, noisily choking and gagging when he hit the back of your throat. You hollowed your cheeks as you sucked, pleased with yourself when you grazed his balls with your fingers and his eyes practically rolled back into his head.

“Such a good little whore,” he groaned as you picked up the pace, sucking and fondling in tandem. “If you keep it up, I might cum before I get the chance to fuck you.”

You whined in dismay at the thought but did not let up. He almost chuckled at your dedication, but the winding coil that was tightening in his stomach overwhelmed his thoughts. As his climax got closer he forced your head down on his cock faster and faster.

You were slobbering and drooling all over his cock, and the sight of you kneeling before him with only his pleasure in mind was too much to bear. He snapped his hips into your mouth, closer and closer to the edge until he felt something inside him release.

At the last second he pulled out of your mouth and let jets of his cum stream onto your face and breasts.

“I want you bathed in my cum like the greedy little whore you are,” he moaned, finishing off the job with his hand and making sure every drop landed on you.

You began to whimper, and he laughed cruelly.

“What’s wrong, slut? Didn’t like your cum bath? Or are you afraid I won’t have it in me to fuck you now?”

“Eddie-” You were cut off by his hand constricting your throat.

“That’s not my name,” he reminded you harshly. “Say it.”

Gulping as he released you, you spoke in a raspy voice. “Riddler, please. Please, I need you.”

“Surely, you can do better than that,” he teased.

Swallowing your pride, you stood up and pressed your bare body to him. Taking his cock with your hand, you ran the head along your soaking entrance. “Riddler, I’ve been such a good slut for you. Can’t you feel how wet I am for you? How badly I need to feel you in my cunt, filling me up?”

Parting your lips with his thumb, he pushed the pad into your mouth and pressed down on your tongue. Instinctually, you began to suck on it. Giggling at your lust-addled state, he commanded you once more. “Say pretty please.”

Batting your eyelashes and speaking in the same girlish voice as earlier, you begged, “Riddler, pretty please will you fu-”

You didn’t get the chance to finish your sentence as he brutally shoved you face down into the bed. Your cum-soaked chest and face stuck to the duvet. As he clambered up behind you, he positioned your hips up to align with his cock as he kneeled behind you.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he snickered, smoothing a hand over your hair before pressing a hand into your back to keep you pinned down. Lining himself up behind you, he rubbed his cock along your slit a few times before burying himself in your cunt.

You let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

“You feel like Heaven,” he groaned in pleasure as he rocked in and out of you. “Like this cunt was made just for me.”

“Riddler, please…” you pleaded, cheeks flushed with both shame and desire. “I need more.”

“More, little slut?” he asked with a giggle. “Use your words. More what?”

“Just — fuck — just more!” you ground out in exasperation, shoving your hips back against him.

He yanked your hair back and you yelped in pain.

“Good whores don’t snap,” he scolded, continuing to pump roughly into you as he spoke. “Good whores use their words instead of yelling and rutting like an angry bitch.”

With that, he shoved you back into the mattress.

“Now, more what?” he asked gleefully, clearly enjoying throwing you around like a rag doll.

“I want you to- please, fuck me harder- faster. Please, Riddler.”

He complied, pounding into you ruthlessly like a sex toy.

“Like that, skank?”

“Yes,” you sobbed out in pleasure, voice getting muffled by the bed every time he rammed into your pussy. “God, yes. You feel so good, Riddler, you’re so fucking good.”

He did not let up at all. With every word of praise you bestowed, he only fucked your hole harder and faster, almost painfully so.

“Whose cunt is this?” he growled out with lust, slapping your ass as he thrust into you.

“Yours,” you wept — you were a mess, barely able to speak as you sobbed pathetically and clenched around his cock. “This pussy is yours.”

“Has anyone ever fucked you as good as this?”

“N-never,” you cried out in ecstasy, dangerously close to your limit. “Oh- oh god, I’m gonna cum!”

“You feel- feel so good,” he said feverishly, nearing his own peak. “I’m going to cum right in that pretty little cunt of yours.”

You paid his words no mind, babbling senselessly as he pushed you over the edge. Your cunt clamped down around him like a vise as you came and thrust him into his own rapture.

His hot cum pumped out, filling you up so much that it was pouring right back out of you. He continued thrusting until your hungry cunt had sucked him dry, and even then he continued fucking you to pack his cum in as deep as possible.

When he was through, he collapsed on you without pulling out, pinning you to the bed with his body. Your bodies were sticky from sweat and cum. You shook as the pleasure rolling through your body began to subside, and you could do nothing but lie there and moan incoherently to him.

As you lay there together, he stroked the back of your head, kissing the nape of your neck harshly enough to leave a mark.

You sighed, and as the fantasy came to a close in his mind you murmured, “I love you.”

After he came, Edward snapped back to reality — he was alone in his apartment, his spent cock resting in his hand with cum coating his fingers and splattered onto the floor.

He was too delirious to be disgusted with himself, too swept away in his own imagination. Holding onto that last fantasy of your love confession, he sighed with a deluded smile.

I may just have to steal you.

Unthinkingly, he pulled the flower from the bunch and began plucking the petals one by one.

“She loves me, she loves me not,” he alternated manically. When he got down to the last petal (a She loves me not), he frowned at it in displeasure. Pausing for a moment, he tore it in half and plucked them off separately. But that was cheating, wasn’t it? It didn’t count.

With an undercurrent of panic, he grabbed another flower and repeated the process. She loves me not again. Edward grabbed another flower and tried once more. This time, it ended on a She loves me and for a moment he was relieved. But the relief was short-lived as he realized it was still outnumbered by the other two.

Letting out a high-pitched keen of distress, Edward tore through the rest of the flowers in a frenzy. As he went, he sorted them into two piles — the Loves and the Nots. When he got to the final flower (a Love), he frantically sorted through and accounted for each.

Twelve Loves and twelve Nots. Split equally, right down the bouquet. Edward let out a mangled laugh at his predicament, one that quickly turned into a soft wail when the results of his actions finally registered in his mind. The dark red petals of two dozen roses surrounded him like a pool of blood.

Anxiety and self-loathing overtaking him, he began to melt down. Of all the idiotic things! He had bought the roses to romance you, and instead he wrecked them like an insipid schoolgirl daydreaming about her crush.

Now crying and infuriated, he grabbed the naked stems and began snapping them in half, not noticing as the thorns dug in his palms. Paying no mind to the blood drops dotting his hands, Edward did not stop until every stem was shredded.

As he dissociated, staring down at his work, a quote from some book he’d read ages ago surfaced in his mind. I was in a mood to destroy something beautiful.

The slight throbbing of his prickled palms brought him back to reality. He made quick work of gathering and disposing of the stems, but the petals would have to wait until later. He had wasted enough time already.

Nervously, he twisted the cheap bouquet of lilies he had bought from the market down the street. They were slightly wilted, but they were his best option on short notice. And on a limited budget, since you just decimated $50 worth of flowers, his mind hissed cruelly.

He had been forced to switch shirts, as his nicest one was now stained with blood. It wasn’t that he couldn’t get blood out of clothes (he’d certainly had enough experience with that), but it was a multi-hour process. Had he taken the time, the sun would have set and your shift would have ended already.

So that’s how he ended up standing in front of the diner with a wrinkled shirt and dying flowers. It wasn’t the impression he wanted to give when he was planning to woo you, but he didn’t exactly have a choice.

Screwing his courage to the sticking place, Edward took a deep breath and crossed the street to the diner. The bell chimed in a familiar way when he opened the door, and his previous nervousness dissipated as he set eyes on you.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, as you were speaking with another customer. Another customer who was sitting in his seat at the counter. Edward felt a tinge of annoyance, but remained quiet and slid into a booth instead.

His mood worsened when, after at least three full minutes, you were still talking to the man in his seat. What could he possibly be saying to interest you? No doubt, he was trapping you in conversation that you were forced to entertain so he would leave a decent tip.

That explanation made him feel better for a brief moment until you threw your head back and laughed at whatever the man was saying.

So that’s how it was. Icy rage replaced the warmth he had felt at the sight of you. Edward sneered. Of course you would go for the likes of him. The ideal male specimen. Muscled and tall and far more appealing than pathetic, weird Eddie.

Right now he hated your nickname for him more than anything. It was infantilizing, completely devoid of sexuality — not a name someone would cry out in the throes of passion.

Oh, and the way you were throwing that smile at that man, throwing yourself at him. Edward felt sick to his stomach. You were no different than the dozens of other women he had met in the course of his life. You saw him as something to be pitied, a charity case. Or worse, maybe your kindness to him had truly just been good customer service. You were pumping out kindness for cash like a whore.

Feeling foolish and deceived, Edward stood up quickly. In his haste, he swept the cutlery off the table with the bouquet. It clattered loudly to the floor, and a flush ran up his neck as almost everyone in the diner turned to look.

“Eddie, hey!” You waved to him, beckoning him over to you and his new competitor.

Everything in his body screamed at him just to turn and leave, but Edward was always a bit of a masochist. He could thank the Church for that, he supposed.

“Hello,” he greeted you rather awkwardly, the friendly smile on your face misaligning with the nefarious version of you he had conjured in his head.

“I was wondering if you’d be coming in today, I missed you.”

His heart swelled even as his mind sneered that you were a liar.

You placed a hand on the man’s shoulder (not noticing how Edward’s left eye twitched at the move) and introduced him.

“This is Adam, we went to college together! I haven’t seen him in years, but he’s just moved back to Gotham.” Your eyes fell to the bouquet in his hand. “Who are those for?”

His throat went dry at the question, and for a moment it was as if he forgot the answer. “Um, I thought… that is to say, I-”

“Presumably, he brought them for you,” Adam finished the sentence with a wink — as if he were helping. Edward bristled at the expression.

“Yes,” he confirmed curtly. He wanted so very badly to stay angry, but the way your eyes lit up overwhelmed any irritation he might have felt with the cretin.

“Thank you so much, that was so sweet of you!”

“I thought white lilies were funeral flowers,” Adam chimed in. Before Edward could respond, you shot Adam a look before turning back to him.

“Ignore him. They’re lovely.”

Blood boiling under his skin at Adam’s comment, Edward forced a smile back at you and desperately looked for a way out.

“Uh, I just came by to drop these off, so…”

“You won’t stay for a latte?”

“I can’t, unfortunately. I have a few errands to run.” Perhaps it was just wishful thinking, but Edward was sure you deflated in disappointment at his words. “Maybe another time.”

With that, he gave a weak wave and fled the diner.

He didn’t expect the knock on his door later that evening, but he was pleasantly surprised to find you standing there when he opened it.

“Any chance I can borrow your stove? Mine bit the dust.”

He froze at your words. “My place is a bit of a mess right now.”

“I don’t mind! I’m not a snob or anything. You should see my bedroom.”

Oh, I have.

“Pretty please?” you asked, fluttering your eyelashes. It was in jest, exaggerated for comedic purposes. Edward knew that. But that didn’t stop the barrage of mental images when you begged politely in that girlish voice. “I have enough food for two. If you like chicken parm, that is.”

“Alright,” he acquiesced after a moment, hoping you didn’t notice how his voice cracked. He was hyper-aware of how close you were standing. Even worse, you flipped your hair over your shoulder and that alluring scent wafted over to him.

“You alright?” you asked when he sucked in a shuddering breath.

“Just a little lightheaded,” he responded with a tight grin, stepping aside to let you in. To his horror, your jaw dropped open in shock. He followed your line of sight and mentally kicked himself. There were the rose petals, scattered all over the floor like some romantic gesture. He might as well have lit some candles and dimmed the lights.

“I had a… floral mishap earlier,” he stuttered.

“I’ll say,” you tittered nervously. “So I’m not interrupting any plans?”

Did you sound… jealous? No, of course not.

“Nope,” he replied, grabbing as many petals at a time as would fit in his hands.

Setting your bags of ingredients down on the kitchen counter, you looked around thoughtfully.

“This is strange.”

His heart sank at your words. Being here was strange? Being with him? Making dinner for him-

“I’m not used to the kitchen being on this side. It’s like the mirror dimension version of my apartment.”

Oh.

“Mirror dimension?” Edward asked in amusement, letting himself relax slightly.

“Like a parallel universe, but everything is flipped like you’re seeing it in a mirror.”

“And that’s the technical term?” Dear Lord, was he teasing you?

“Well, there’s a chance I’m the only one who refers to it as such,” you replied lightly with a smile that Edward could not help but to return.

The two of you continued like that throughout dinner, him cautiously toeing the line and you pulling him a little further over each time. Of course, the cheap wine you’d brought along wasn’t exactly helping him to keep his distance.

It took all his willpower not to lean into your hand when you wiped a little sauce from his cheek, and he could swear you let it linger a few seconds longer than necessary.

“Do you wanna dance?” you asked suddenly. His heart almost jumped out of his chest at that.

“I’m not very good,” he admitted with a bashful grin.

“I’ll lead, then.” You offered a hand to him and he took it hesitantly. While you picked out a song on your phone, you held onto his hand. Edward wondered if you could feel his racing pulse where your thumbs were entwined.

The calming tones of some old song played from your phone speaker and then… and then you wrapped your arms loosely around his neck and held him close. He thought the close contact would just about kill him.

Unsure of what to do with his hands, he lifted them to place them on your hips and paused before making contact. Sensing his hesitation, you slid your hands down his arms, to his hands, and then pushed lightly to close the distance between them and your waist.

“I don’t bite,” you assured him with a sultry tone, your warm breath grazing the shell of his ear. Correction: that was surely what would kill him.

You laid your head against his chest and something tender stirred within him. You were different, at least.

No other woman could compare to you. They were cruel. They built up his love and then cast him aside. He loathed both the women who had toyed with his emotions and himself for getting caught up in their vapid charm.

The problem was, he never realized how worthless these women were until they broke his heart. But you — you were perfect. Above them all. A Madonna among whores.

You lifted your head to look at him, and he forced himself not to look away. He was confused when you tilted your chin up; that confusion soon turned to horror as he realized you expected him to initiate the kiss.

He was panicking now. The world was spinning and the only thing keeping him grounded was the pain of your hips against his lacerated palms.

Too wrapped up in his own head to react when you leaned in further, Edward was shocked to stillness when you pressed your lips against his.

What if you expected more after this? Would you even want him? And his worst fear of all — what if he was bad?

Edward hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time, and (apart from failed fumblings with hookers) he was a virgin. A longtime tenant of second base who could never quite steal third.

At his lack of reciprocation (neither upstairs nor down — with your pelvis pressed against his, you could feel the lack of hardness caused by his anxiety), you pulled away, your cheeks hot from embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I just- I thought- clearly I misread some signals, um,” you paused, hand rubbing against your sternum to relieve the pressure as you looked anywhere but into his prying eyes. “I think the wine just got to me so I’m gonna head out and… sleep it off, I guess,” you finished rather lamely.

Stop her! Edward’s mind bellowed to him, but it was no use. Your actions had quite literally stunned him into silence. His stress response was to freeze up, and no matter how desperately he wanted to take you into his arms and kiss you and fuck you, his body would not let him.

“Good night, Edward,” you muttered as you exited the apartment, closing the door behind you.

He blew it. There you were, putty in his hands with your kind eyes and your warm arms and your soft lips and he blew it.

Edward was shaking in embarrassment, in frustration, in rage. He had a chance with you and fucked it up so badly you probably thought he was impotent. Even with your lips and body on his own, he just stood there like a fish-lipped, limp dick beta.

At that moment he caught sight of the lilies you left behind and in a fit of madness, shoved them down the drain and turned on the garbage disposal. It felt good to be destructive, to take away something beautiful from you.

Because after all, you were really the one who took it from him, weren’t you? You rubbed up against him like a bitch in heat, forcing things along too quickly and then running when you didn’t get your way.

He thought you were something precious, something holy. Something to be revered. But you were no Madonna — you were just a whore, and he should’ve treated you like one.

The problem was he expected too much of you, put you too high up on a pedestal from which you eventually fell like every other woman he had met. Of course romance and courtship wouldn’t work with you. You did not, could not respond to the emotional or the intellectual. The only thing sluts like you understood was the physical, and that’s what he should have given you.

He could picture the night going so differently…