Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“If I ever went missing someone would look for me”

You had held this sort of mindset for awhile. Even with all the evil in the world your brain seemed to be hardwired to believe that the good in others would still shine through, that against all the odds if you somehow disappeared, that someone would come to save you. Your knight in shining armor you could say.

From a very young age you found yourself to be quite desensitized to the horrors of the world around you. You weren’t protected to the point of feigning ignorance of just how bad Gotham could be, you were simply sheltered just enough to believe that you were somewhat untouchable.

Maybe if you followed all the rules, covered yourself up, didn’t walk alone at night or talk to strange men, you could beat the odds.

That kind of thinking really seemed to catch up to you eventually

“If I ever went missing someone would look for me” changed to “When I go missing would you look for me?” That doubt in your head and the inevitable hardness of growing up made you realize that being alone and female presenting, some things were inevitable and bound to happen. The swelling and overbearing awareness that the world wasn’t what you thought really rocked your smooth sailing boat.

The realization that Gotham would never be safe for someone like you became too much of a set in stone reality for you to comprehend. So your survival switch turned on.

You weren’t underprivileged growing up, your family just barely skimmed past working class but the security that your family shrouded you with allowed you to remain oblivious and once your brain seemed to actually work for once you came face to face with two options…

Fight or flight

Your parents had always said you were a fighter, they were very convinced that you’d be the one to make a change in this world and once you grew old enough to think for yourself you even believed you might’ve had it in you to lead Gotham.

But there was that other side of you that your parents often chose not to acknowledge. Some would call it the rational side that told you to get the fuck out of this city. You could have a family and life elsewhere that didn’t put you in a constant cycle of stress and struggle for the bare minimum satisfaction.

In some ways you chose both fight and flight.

You had a plan to get out of Gotham. Get a degree in political science in the most corrupt city to get an idea of how the worst works in order to run the best. Then high tail it and find a job in a nicer city and use your experience to hopefully never set foot in this hellhole ever again.

While maintaining your studies you found yourself to be accepted into an internship at Gotham city hall. You interned under a city planner, which wasn’t exactly your forte, but it allowed you to be on the inside, and have a loose grasp on what made up the masterminds of the city, and even on occasion brought you close enough to rub elbows with them.

Just recently you’ve found yourself to be anonymously reporting your findings on a niche Internet forum. The people it consisted of seemed to be of more radical beliefs than you but it made yourself feel special to work as your version of a double agent, and thus be able to give the ‘regular’ lot of Gotham the inside view of how their city is run.

On this day you had found yourself already ten minuets late to your internship. Your slacks and blouse proved to be less than helpful in the muggy weather the city seemed to grasp onto as a reminder of the fleeting days of September.

The sound of heels of pavement became more and more daunting in your head as you felt yourself hyper focusing on the task ahead of not being released from this internship prematurely.

You had your sights set on city hall as you shouldered yourself through the bustling morning streets that Gotham seemed to always harbor, but even more so now as the city seemed to wake up and grow lively as it seemed half the population were preparing for the day ahead of them and setting straight off to work.

You hurried yourself inside city hall, keeping your head low and offering the smallest smile to the lady at the front desk. She mirrored your expression as a greeting in return, one of the highlights of your mornings as it came as the best gesture of kindness you were faced with knowing every morning that you’re about to work under some of the most insufferable people alive. Your brain still after a few months couldn’t seem to wrap around the fact of the matter that these people were making life changing decisions for the majority of the city’s population, simply on a whim at that.

You hurried yourself into the elevator, pushing your keycard flush against the scanner and pressing the floor where the planning office was located.

Your reflection wasn’t perfect in the elevator doors but it was enough to be able to examine yourself and fix your lip gloss and make sure that your shirt is all the way tucked in.

As horrible as it sounded you knew one of the sole reasons you were able to score this internship was due to the effort you put into your appearance.

The majority of city hall seemed to be middle aged white guys and after you were given this internship it became increasingly clear that these internships were only taken seriously if you were a man. Any of the selected female candidates seemed to only be there for arm candy or decoration, but you had derived too much useful knowledge that you found yourself having no right to complain.

As conceded as it may be, you knew that the prettier you were, the more likely you could butter up these people and let a few confidential city secrets slip.

With the ring of the elevator you were able to sit and catch yourself to prepare for your day ahead. The slight pause the elevator always had before opening its doors always reminded you of a warning… it was as it even the building was telling you that you had a second chance to high tail it, and not to be dumb enough to continue forward.

But it seemed you always had been a little too determined for your own good…

As soon as the elevator doors opened you scurried down the carpeted hall that reminded you of your elementary school corridors, you always wondered what the draw of this interior was to every single city building in a 100-mile radius, but that truly seemed hardly a question for now.

You stopped right outside the city planner’s office, a nice silver plaque with his name on it glistened in the florescent lights as you lightly knocked then shortly after proceeded let yourself inside.

You heard an all too cheery voice welcome you inside his office by your name. You bowed your head slightly and said a hello, apologizing softly and profusely for being late.

“No need to apologize sweetheart! I get it looking gorgeous takes a little time.” He chuckled taking you in with a grin “If you needed a few extra minutes everyday to come in looking like miss America you coulda just asked!” He quipped followed by an uncomfortable chuckle on your end. He looked tense today, his hair was parted and skewed as a sign that he had been running his fingers through it, and his desk was as disorganized as ever. But that shit eating grin on his face never seemed to falter nonetheless.

Awkward commentary and small talk like this was all to often, you always took it and thanked him politely. But the comments that ensued daily always seemed to be centered around your looks. On your end you felt like more of a glorified secretary than an intern. But you had a feeling when you first got this job you kind of had already known this.

You decided to dig deep and take a seat in the chair in front of his desk. A little smile appeared on your face and you raised your brows, just like you always did in pictures and videos to make yourself appear more appealing.

“You look stressed Mr. Wells, I know how hard your job can be firsthand and I just wanted to make sure your doing all right.” You said, voice dripping in faux concern.

The man in front of you seemed to eat it all up, he leaned forward just slightly towards you which caused his chair to squeak. He licked his lips and let out a small sigh. He said your name once, then repeated it a second time as it the words rolling off his tongue had the same consistency as honey.

“It’s like you’re a little psychic..” he chuckled, body shifting and the tension he held in his shoulders seemed to loosen a little and he placed folded hands on to his desk. “The higher ups are getting grilled by the commission about crime and drug ring problems. Especially all this shit with Fal-“ he stopped himself short, clearing his throat as heavy footsteps approached his office door then passed, continuing their journey along the high way

“Lord I shouldn’t even be saying this stuff… I’m not even qualified to hold this information” he chuckled through clenched teeth, his eyes surveying you again as you moved towards him. You placed your hands on his own and rubbed your thumb along his knuckles with a reassuring smile

“You know me sir.” You said with a smile, your lipstick glaze catching in the light as you looked up at him through your eyelashes “I would never share any confidential information. Im here to help you out Mr. Wells. I just hate to see you so stressed” you said with a thickly sweet voice, your thumb continually rubbing small smoothing circles around his knuckles.

“You’re quite the insistent one huh?” He began again with a tense smile before he sighed and looked down to your hands as they incase his own. “All right.. as long as this stays between us” he said, looking to you expectantly

Your lips tugged up further to really sell yourself as you leaned in a little closer, slacks skidding on the fabric of the office chair as friction gathered where you continuously scooted up further to appear as if you were trying to be closer to him. Finally locking eyes with him you sealed the deal.

“I promise”

—————————————?—————————————

You rushed home as the sun was setting, you made a promise to yourself to always leave work before it got dark in hopes you wouldn’t have to walk to your apartment which was in one of the more run down areas of the city.

As loose lipped as Wells was when aided by feminine charm, he always wanted you to have a complete ‘work day’ which allowed him a justified cause in his mind to keep you twenty minutes after your presumed shift to talk and catch up on your studies and plans for the future. He even brought up again working for him full time, never sparing a moment to remind you that you were always welcome back to work under him. You had to hold back a chuckle at the thought. With the effort you put in to warm up to this man the least he could do was hold a spot for you after graduation. But unfortunately that didn’t seem to be in your plans for your near future

The sun was basically eye level with you as you harshly squinted and continued your adventure to the subway line that spat you out a block away from the shit hole you were pleased to call home.

You found yourself traveling so fast down the stairs to the subway station that your heels skidded slightly every step you took from the speed you began to assume. As you began rethinking back to your work day adrenaline started to kick in which aided into your speedy pace, but being a native to Gotham seemed to also have an effect on how you paced your walking.

You couldn’t fathom the information that you were able to coax out of your supervisor. With a little skin to skin contact and a pretty smile that man was ready to leak any vital information about the city that it took to get you to say thank you in your pretty little customer service voice.

You lurked into the grungy run down subway, as the sun set you noticed more and more homeless people seemed to gather in place of shelter, you hated to say you pitied them, but it was the truth, you knew how little the people in this city cared for anyone who didn’t live on the upper East side. It made your heart twinge and yet you still continued on. You kept your eyes forward and scanned your subway card, walking through the steel gates and entering to your platform where you stopped just a step short of the thick yellow line that resided as a reminder to keep a close distant from the cracks.

You noticed a few more lights were out on this platform than usual today, and it seemed fairly dead besides a few stragglers in the station. Now thinking back on it, you can’t remember the last time you left city hall this late.

But as you waited for your train to arrive a stream of butterflies kept circling in on your stomach as you fantasized about posting the Falcone information on the forum. You just knew people would go nuts over it, and you had to admit the attention and mini fanbase that every new post from you seemed to garner made you look forward to outing the corrupt city officials even more so. You were well followed on the site, and had only shared small details such as that you were feminine presenting, and that you had managed to tie yourself up within the catacombs of the city’s agenda.

As scary as some of these people on the forums seemed to be, you still didn’t harbor any fear towards them. It sounded conceded but you felt like one of the light’s in their life, fueling their conspiracies with every newfound lick of information. It was like feeding a pack of ravenous dogs, they always followed up and thanked you for your bravery and hard work, treating you like you had just fought in a war or something.

You knew your actions were very dangerous considering the people you got mixed up with everyday. But your livelihood didn’t matter much to you when graduation was so close in your viewfinder, with moving to a new city following along not long after.

The screeching halt of the train’s brakes caused you to jump just slightly, wiping the smile that had captured your face off completely and thus successfully snapping you out of your head.

You boarded the empty train car and no other people seemed to follow you from behind so you decided to take a seat right by the doors to the next train car.

You sat awkwardly as the train began to move and into the first five minuets of your journey you felt yourself build in tension and anticipation.

Eventually you found yourself a comfortable middle to your anguish and you pulled out your phone, opened it with your fingerprint, and allowed your fingers to make quick work with finding and opening your notes app. You typed the loose concepts of what was shared with you today between yourself and Mr. Wells, you couldn’t fathom why as to you there wasn’t a possibility of you forgetting what you discussed, but it was comforting to transfer your continuous thoughts down while you waited to write your ‘big exposé’

The subway finally came to a slower pace as you relocked your phone and shoved it into your purse. Standing you grabbed onto the overhead hand rail and braced your body as the train halted to a sharp standstill.

There was a beat before the doors opened but when they did you raced out of the car, heels throbbing as unknowing blisters began to make themselves known in the midst of your rush to make it to your apartment. Although there was a big voice in your head telling you to just fuck it and take off your shoes, you ultimately decided against it for good reason.

You rushed up the stairs of the station to the soft night sky, fighting everything in you to not grab onto the stairs hand rails for support.

You reached the top successfully nonetheless and trekked your way down the block, the streets were pretty empty so that wasn’t nearly the biggest worry that occupied your mind. Right now the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion began to threaten your pre decided plans of posting and documenting your newly learned dirt on the city.

The entrance to your complex was sandwiched between a realtor and a Taco Bell, both which seemed to be quiet in the scheme of visitors. You entered the older style door and headed forward up the stairs, your heels screaming at you to take your shoes off, at not so gentle reminder for you and for every step you take on the incline.

Your sights are set at your room at the end of the hall, number 222. Every time you see the door your reminded of the meaning of those numbers. Faith. Something you had lost a lot of by living in this city

You chuckled at your thoughts as you grabbed your keys from your purse, unlocking your door and relooking it behind you.

You entered you apartment, the hardwood shockingly cold to your damaged feet as you removed your heels. You threw your purse to your couch and untucked your blouse, beelining to the kitchen where your laptop was charging on the small counter space.

You entered you kitchen, flicking on a light switch as night had made it apparent that it had finally settled into the sky. You paused, eyes surveying the small space where you were able to spot your laptop cable, and yet there was no laptop that seemed to be connected to it.

A small hum escaped you as your eyebrows knitted together. You quickly turned on the balls of your feet, walking on your toes as an odd way to relieve the tension of your blistered heels. You took a mental note to bandage them profusely before heading out tomorrow. As you returned back to your living room you began to search for the computer again.

And low and behold, there was nothing. It was strange as you vividly remembered in your rush of your busy morning that you took the time to fiddle and plug in your laptop in the kitchen.

A small sound came from the door to your left. Your bedroom. It was the chime that sounded whenever the forums were open and you had received a message.

For some very unknown reason, a sharp shiver raced down your spine as goosebumps fled across your whole body. It’s very likely that even though you though you plugged in your computer that it might’ve actually been in your room. But the actual off putting thing is that you’ve never left your computer on, let alone leaving the forums page open so that you could receive the notification chime.

Your lips tightened to a frown. You knew better than overthink. In the midst of your morning rush you presumed that anything could’ve taken place.

And so with that you made your way into your bedroom. You squinted in disbelief as there was your laptop, on, sitting wide open on the foot of your bed facing your door. You took a slow step forwards, trying to check out what exact post the computer was open on, but your curiosity didn’t seem to stand long as your bedroom door slammed shut, causing you to jump out of your skin.

You whipped your head around, a figure probably five inches or more taller than you loomed in a creepy green mask that only allowed you to see into their green eyes. Your eyes were wide as you were frozen in place, it was a beat of still silence between the two of you.

You opened your mouth to yell, the reality seemingly catching up to you, but the intruder moved first, basically tackling your body to the ground as the heavy floor collided with yourself in an unpleasant and rude welcoming. Fabric on fabric rustled as the hard body against you grunted from the force he had collided with you at, it seemed neither of you really expected for the impact to come that harshly.

A searing pain flew up through your body, you had made contact with the floor through your head and your elbows first, most of the shock was then absorbed by them and the aftermath left you in a slight daze as a searing pain revived in your worn out bones. Your cognitive thinking kicked in and then and there decide it was fight over flight.

You yelled out in pain as a mix of the shock finally settling into your brain, as well as a weak attempt at a war cry, your arms flew up to your attackers face, searching to jab or poke any of the exposed skin that remained. Your mind quickly jumped to defending yourself. You let out a panicked noise as you eyes hurriedly scanned your area for anything to defend yourself with.

It was horrible, but you knew your neighbors wouldn’t do too much over a lousy scream, domestic scuffles that often resulted in yelling we’re all too often in your complex. If you wanted to survive you managed to conclude that you’d have to literally scream blooded murder, or defend yourself. And neither looked to promising at this given time.

Your plan if breaking free quickly subsided as the person’s own gloved hands roughly wrapped around your head, strikingly cold leather grabbed hard to get a grip on your face. The smell of leather invaded your nostrils all too quickly as you felt finger entangle in the sides of your hair. As if in slow motion you felt your head getting lifted up in an almost moment or weightless bliss and then you were easily snapped out of it as you felt yourself being bashed into the cold hardwood. The initial hit was enough to cause your body to freeze with shock. You began to actually scream this time, hands entangled further into your hair as the heavy breathing of the person above you cemented your faith in humanity. Then over and over and over again your skull was harshly lifted, and forced down again into the hardwood below you. Before you could even fight back, and before your body even knew that it was losing the battle of your consciousness, it did.

It was too quick for the pain to catch up to you in full throttle, the majority of your adrenaline had kicked in to ensure that you had a chance to fight this battle. But before you even could you body officially gave in, your eyes rolled back as darkness came a soothing welcome and escape from the overwhelming reality of this situation. You couldn’t help but wonder again as you fully lost your grasp on this plane of consciousness…

“Will someone look for me?”

You would be faced with the hard reality of this question soon enough.

Chapter Text

The first thing your senses were faced with upon returning to the conscious plane had to be the absolutely throbbing pain your head was in. Every other feeling of confusion, panic and fear seemed to be upstaged by the grueling pounding the back of your skull had endured. Your eyes cracked open slightly, you wanted to hiss out in pain but it became painstakingly obvious that you were currently refrained from doing that.

The feeling of thick layers of tape both on your ankles and hands proved to be a rude awakening as you finally were able to actually open your eyes and take in your surroundings. But man was the pain in your skull ever more obvious.

Your surrounding were dark and grungy, there were no windows you could make out, but if they existed they had to be blacked out. Your eyes had trouble adjusting to the dark, and in your constant state of pain you were unsure if they were going to make the effort to adjust anytime soon.

As you noticed before, you were bound by your wrists and ankles, but you managed to crane your head far enough back to make two observations. One being that your whole livelihood right now was being restrained by duck tape and a radiator. And two being that said duck tape was nicely wrapped around the entire circumference of your head, by turning your head the painful tug of your hair being stuck to the tape somehow had you panicking more than the actual reality of this situation.

That’s right. What was this situation? Thinking back you honestly accepted death, being held hostage in a rundown room, bound to a radiator wasn’t nearly a possibility in your head. But now that you’re here, feeling the sharp bite of the cool air, as well as again, the ever growing throbbing of pain in your head the more the gears in your head tried to turn, you wondered if death wouldn’t have been so bad..

You have a slight clue on who your attacker might’ve been, your main suspect at this point was the city. They had to have snuffed out your identity and connected it to your forum posts. You knew it was a steep and slippery slope, but you never would’ve imagined to have been beaten and kidnapped.

Thinking even more on it, it made quite literally no sense for them to keep you alive. You know how they run, how they silence other people, and almost every time it’s either a freak accident, or a ‘suicide’. But you found yourself to be in neither of those scenarios.

An odd feeling amongst the pain in the back of your head gave yourself notice to the actual state of your body. You could feel a sizable clot of congealed blood that had tangled itself into the back of your hair just slightly above where the tape rested. You wondered still if you had a concussion. Your clothes remained on, which was a nice pleasantry, but for some reason you still didn’t feel too at ease.

Maybe it was because of the light peaking around the corner. The light that was just so out of your view you were to groggy to comprehend the reality of it. Light, meant that there was a source, either an escape or another human. A fifty fifty chance, but your half cognizant state made you curious if at this point it was even worth it.

Then suddenly everything clicked as a tidal wave of adrenaline crashed into you. You were in some dingy old apartment. You were tied to a radiator. Some man had just bashed your skull in at your apartment. Panic allowed itself to set in as the heartbeat in your chest overtook your ears and became the only thing you could focus on. You needed to get out of here, you know that now.

You were even more aware of the dim light that leaked into the room you occupied, and you knew that you needed to be as quick and quiet as possible. Your fingers attempted to curl up and slide under the duck tape on your wrists but it was too tightly wound around your skin. A sigh passed through your nose silently, you needed a new course of action so next you attempted to make your way to a standing position. You awkwardly tried to maneuver yourself to get your legs that were bound in front of you, to be under you. You leaned your body against the radiator for support, clenching your teeth at the new flame of pain that seemed to burn bright at the contact point of your body and the radiator.

In the midst of readjusting you had managed to get your legs under you but only if they were on the tips of your toes. This unfortunate reality created a strain in your arms behind you as your wrists were painfully shoved into the bars of the radiator. You attempted to readjust again, hoping to stand and break the tape on the bars of the radiator but you came to a frightening realization that you were locked in this position m. It seemed your exhausted body had refused to want to support your weight any longer, and you had to painfully push your wrists further into the radiator holding you captive.

You bit hard and long on your inner cheek, praying for a way out of this situation. And yet, all at once your ankles seemed to give out, one of your feet painfully twisted under you, the weight collapsing and crushing your foot as the rest of your weight slammed back into the radiator and no doubt resounded a deafening clash of your bones and metal.

A heavy silence filled the air after it. Once again the only think you could make out in the moment was not only your heartbeat your ears, but now your heavy breathing as you watched wide eyed and expectantly to the light that flooded around the corner.

Your heart dropped as you saw a shadow skew the stream of light. There was the sound of rustling fabric for a beat before it was replaced by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. Not only were you set in stone fucked, you were pretty certain you had mangled your ankle as it was still rolled and sandwiched between your ass and the hard floor.

Out from around the corner turned the person from your last memories. How delightful. You could help but feel the fleeting feeling of terror return full blown at the recollection of his actions before. He didn’t miss a stride as he continued to approach you, the closer he got the more you were able to lock eyes and study the peering gaze that shone through his mask. His glasses seemed to hair a small hairline crack through them, something you certainly didn’t notice before. And on top of that he didn’t seem angry, granted his aura was still as threatening as every, but his eyes painted a different story as he simply looked down to you with furrowed brows. You couldn’t help but sense that he was maybe even smiling under that mask.

He remained silent but still approached, eyes trained solely on you. Then all together he stopped, you looked up with wary and wide eyes, teeth still tightly clenched to your cheek as the unbearable pain in your ankle and body only seemed to grow under his gaze.

The creases under his eyes bunched together a little more and you were almost certain this time that he was smiling under that disguise. He crouched down slowly to meet you eye to eye, in doing so he left a sound trail of leather and creasing fabric. He scanned your form, paying close attention to your foot.

He merely hummed as he reached a hand out, to which you cowered away from. You weren’t the kind to run with your tail between your legs, but you knew better and needed to play this situation safe if you wanted to survive. You know how people in Gotham live, they feed off the power given to them… and this man somehow was no different. He drank up your response, eyes almost sparkling at the sight of scaring you into submission, not even having harmed you yet.

His gloved hand moved to your knee which was awkwardly sprawled beside you, his hand had a cool touch provided by the leather, and your leg was absolutely flooded with goose bumps at the contact.

He allowed his finger tips to remain touching you as he slot guided his hands lower to your ankle that was crushed under your weight, he wrapped a firm grip around it, which made you muffle a protest before he quickly yanked it out from under you, creating a humiliating and unbearable sequence of you reopening the wound on the back of your head as the residual energy from his action caused your body to quick back and once again slam against the radiator.

“Pathetic” was the first word he muttered, his voice was higher than you imagined, and as heavy as the content behind it was, his voice floated lightly in the dim room.

Your eyes met his once again as he looked up from your bruised ankle to your now teary eyes.

“You have no reason to roll over and show your belly so quickly. You’re like a pathetic dog sitting there hurt.” He rambled “at least dogs have the decency fight back when wounded, and here you are, giving in simply because you’re frightened” he observed further. While obviously stayed silent, continuously providing pleading and teary eyes as he gazed down at you

“See you, you have no right to be afraid. You demand such confidence in your writings, and paint pictures of yourself to be this genetic wonder, this… this alpha female.. and yet here you are… simply giving in” he said in an almost disgusted degree of a tone.

With his words you couldn’t help but feel the horror truly strike. He had mentioned your forums, he genuinely knew who you were.

“ it’s quite odd” he began again, continuing a conversation that never even existed to begin with “when I first read about you I imagined you to be striking.. to be maybe.. a supermodel of some sort. You talk about your over-qualifications in being able to coax information from those pigs that run Gotham.. but you don’t look like much to me.” He cleared his throat, taking a beat to take in your reactions before he almost hesitantly brought a gloved hand up to stroke your apparent bruised jaw

“And yet here you are. Not because of your looks. But because of your goals. We’re one in the same” he began, now holding onto your jaw as his thumb slowly strokes the curve of it. “I know how confusing this can be at first. But you’ll understand” he continued, saying your name slowly, and then repeating, and then repeating it once more at a more excruciating pace. It felt odd coming from a masked figure, and it felt threatening even though his smiling eyes didn’t seem to replicate that.

“I can already tell how much you’re willing to help me. You’ve been writing these blogs for people like you… like me. You understand how fucked up this city is, and you want to see this corruption fall to his knees just.. like.. me..” he hummed with satisfaction before halting to a stop at his stroking of your face.

It’s as if he had just been reminded of something as he quickly pulled away from you. He ducked his head and positioned his hands to the straps behind his mask, pulling it off as his glasses came clattering to the floor. He let out an open lipped breath, steadily reaching out with still gloved hands to pick up his glasses and return them to his face before looking up at you.

To say you were taken aback was an understatement. The words and actions of this man matched not even remotely similar to how his features reflected him. He had a boyish charm to his looks, his features were very soft and round, a striking Cupid’s bow, and a contrasting soft gaze simply watch as you took him in.

Wordlessly he pushed a hand forward to your face. He peeled the tape where it made contact with your skin just under your nose, before all at once he ripped in downwards and off towards your neck. The searing sensation of your skin and hair being pulled forced out a groan from you lips before you, once again tearily, gazed up to his unmasked face.

“There we are. How rude of me to not properly introduce myself, nor make my guest of honor comfortable.” He hummed with a closed lipped smile, inching closer to you hesitantly.

“We’re going to make a great team, I just know it. But before I can give you the liberties of being my equal, I just need to know an eensie weensie little detail.” He began with a fuller, and yet still a very punctuated and closed lipped grin.

“You see I found a few things on your phone about your findings today, and I would just love to know what you learned. If you could be a dear and grace me with your knowledge I’d be in debt to you” he said, a statement laced with an underlying sense of malice.

You felt insanely apprehensive about sharing the information you discovered simply by the seemingly radical motives that his man might harbor. You knew you needed to play this safe, without playing this dumbly.

“I don’t quite remember” you rasped, an eerily scratchy voice you didn’t recognize as your own echoed from wall to wall within the room. The man in front of you, sighed, obviously displeased with your answer.

His hands clenched and unclenched, his grin wavering for a second, before producing a more exasperated sigh followed by an utterance of your name once more.

“..i thought you were smarter than this.” He mused, looking down to your once again wide eyes. “Perhaps I should repeat myself, as lying to the person who has your life in their hands doesn’t seem the wisest” he muttered, almost as if only talking to himself

“My head… I’m sure I know what you’re talking about, I just can’t quite remember” you began shakily “maybe if you could get me-“ you were cut off with a harsh slap, a yell ripping through your throat as the force caused you head to be thrown aside. You didn’t know exactly what you expected to happen, he wasn’t dumb, but yet you felt maybe talking your out of a corner was the way to go. A rude awakening was sure to ensue.

Your head stayed glued in that position but your eyes strained to lock with the crouching man’s glistening gaze. His eyes sparkled as his smile somehow appeared more genuine he breathlessly watched the strain in your face. Your rigid body freezing further at the contact he made with you. He had caused you to look like this, he was the one who brought you here in the first places. He had the power, and you seemed to forget that. He drank up your state before again you attempted to explain yourself, or at least apologize, but at the movement of your lips you were met with him back handing you without a glimpse of hesitation.

His lips parted to breathe out of his mouth, his bottom lip almost shaking as a sense of wonder appearing on his face as he seemingly was allured by the look of absolute humiliation and shock on your face. He was no doubt bathing in the power you allowed him to assume by simply playing oblivious. You forget he’s learned everything about you, he’s been following your posts and your tactics and methodology to getting very powerful people to tell you some very classified things. You’ve even helped him fuel this manic drive that led him to know deep down that this is what Gotham needed. You’re words were some of the deciding factors in actually aiming to achieve his goal, his purification, his riddance, his vengeance upon this city.

You shuddered as he moved closer, hands quickly grabbing your jaw as squeezing, his solid grip tightened further and further before your mouth was popped open and you tried to tally a response to stop him. But only a sob escaped your mouth. A humiliating loud sob that opened a floodgate of emotions. You couldn’t stop yourself from crying, from dry heaving under this man’s grip. The events of these past few hours seemingly had caught up to you as reality sunk in. This man was of no sane mind, it took a lot to convince yourself this far into a savior type role. You were literally under his control, strapped to his fucking radiator and watching his arousal prominently appear at the sight of you breaking.

You’ve never broken so easily, never felt so scared, so helpless. This man was psychotic, this man was a sadist at the very least. And yet you couldn’t hold your own, you completely crumbled under his gaze and you watched as his eyes softened ever so slightly while his grin still remained.

“I’m sorry” he whispered, hands moving to your shoulders and shaking them slightly, causing you to look up to lock eyes with him “I got carried away. You have to understand my standpoint, I need you. This is the only way to save Gotham. We are the only thing Gotham has left” he repeated before snaking his hand around you and pulling you in to one of the most excruciatingly awkward hugs. “I’m sorry, please. Please help me, please help me save this city. I won’t touch you again I promise, I just needed to make sure you understood, that you knew why I’m doing this. I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry” he rambled on as a weak sense of consolation, his tone almost a whimper and a stark contrast to the condescending one he had assumed just moments earlier

You don’t know why, you cannot fathom why, but you felt guilty for crying. For making this man plead and apologize. You don’t know why you leaned into him, why you cried into his shoulder while he stroked gloved fingers through your hair, trying to brush out the congealed blood. You don’t know why you didn’t question his hardness that pressed further into your stomach and he consoled you. You don’t know why you let him touch you in anyway, but alas you were in no means to fight back. You needed to ‘earn’ that type of ability. You needed to ‘earn’ being able to stretch your legs, g be able to use your hands. You were merely privileged to even be alive right now, and deep down you knew it too.

Maybe if you convinced yourself hard enough, this was your plan all along. This was how you were gaining his trust. Maybe playing along wouldn’t be horrendous if you knew there was an ounce of humanity in him.

You allowed yourself to stay like that a while longer before survival mode kicked in again, and you began mumbling something into his shoulder. He quickly pulled back, eyebrows furrowed as he looked to you

“Repeat that. What did you say?” He said quickly, the remorse from a few moments ago dissolving in seconds.

“Falcone. The city’s getting tangled up with him.. they’re at him beck and call” you said again, voice shaking. Perhaps now at the relative sight of his coldness you were more playing up your sadness than actually experiencing. Survival mode had returned, this man seemed competent, but at his reaction to physical touch you had a small inclination he might be unravel-able. You used the same tactics on Mr Wells whenever he was stressed. Perhaps this all men had this similar hardwiring. Perhaps with enough manipulation he could become moldable. Maybe you could even skid by with giving the bare minimum of information, slithering your way to being trusted by him.

But of course that would be getting ahead of yourself. His smile twisted ever so lightly as he looked down to you..

“Well that’s not new” he retorted through clenched teeth. He tsked before yanking the wet tape up over your mouth once more. Night and day were his emotions as he sighed, cursing slightly under him breath as he abruptly stood up and urgently walked back to where he first emerged from.

You were beyond confused but stayed in a still silence as his heavy boots retreated then stopped over at something in the next room over. The walls are paper thin, a new discovery considering you can hear as he sits down in a presumably wooden chair that creaks under his weight. Before a familiar sound of tapping on keys floated through the air continuously.

How strange. How strange and humiliating that encounter had become in such little time. This man not only had a tempter but had some odd sense of expectancy. You could take note now in consideration of past events that this man was not of sound thinking.

You obviously knew his words were merely a false sense of security. You were nothing more to him than a gateway of information, something he needed to merely to aid him for his own personal goals. So perhaps maybe that what you needed to convince him you were more than. You needed him to rely on you in the same way he expected you to rely on him.

As much as you hated to remember, the hard on that poked into your stomach was hard to forget. There’s no way in your mind that this man was getting around, there had to be something that he wanted from you. You didn’t want to stoop directly to sex, just maybe into giving him favors. Giving him reasons to keep you alive.

You took in your surroundings, once again exhausted from your encounter with him. Your body was too overwhelmed with all the pain that had sprouted that it was almost as it it had all reached a level that it was serene. Maybe it’s because of the head trauma but the cold air was more them welcomed to your hot and inflamed skin.

The typing of keys never failed to persist, never failed to fill the emptiness as you found yourself slowly waning consciousness.

Perhaps somebody was looking for you. Perhaps maybe, they weren’t. Either way you knew you needed to survive, you needed yo understand the root of this situation and weed it out using all of your available means.

That typing never stopped, never halted, not even for a beat.

Chapter Text

Not much had happened, you had been on and off sleeping, your body uncomfortably meshing with the radiator’s grooves as your body itched and throbbed, trying to heal itself as quickly as possibly in such an unlikely and widely inconvenient situation. Sometime after your initial meeting with the man who was your captor you have entered a deeper sleep, your body was truly exhausted, and though you weren’t really aware how long you were out from your initial attack you doubted you injured would’ve allowed you to suffice a proper rest.

With no track of time, you maybe never would’ve been able to pinpoint your sleep’s longevity but you didn’t have too much time to ponder as you felt an eruption of motion rip you from your first taste at actual rest in awhile.

Your eye strained to open, but by the second it seemed more and more apparent that someone was intentionally shaking you awake. With your eyes trying once again to adjust you finally fully opened your eyes, your mind was still in a fog as you met the man’s gaze from before. He was surprisingly close to your face, crouched down with arms outstretched, hands grasping each of your shoulders with fingers clamping down to give him the leverage to feverishly shake you awake. He may have been even murmuring something to you, but it almost felt as though your ears hadn’t woken up like they rest of your body had tried to do.

You mumbled out something, or at least attempted to but it seemed as if the tape was returned to your face, a new piece at the very least

“Hey! Hey there you are!” You heard from above you, but your eyes separated from his as you absentmindedly took in your surroundings once again. You weren’t hooked up to a radiator anymore, you honestly doubted it was for anything good, but you were eager to ingest as much of your new surrounding as possible

“I have a question for you” the man in army green continued, paying no mind to your dazed state, jumping right in with expectations of your full attention. And yet, your mind still wandered, still tried so hard to understand all of your surroundings. It’s almost as if your subconscious was deliberately blocking out the words he was trying to relay to you.

You were under a desk, that became clear quickly, your hair just barely grazing the underside of it and once again you found yourself to be in bland, blacked out room. There was a glow from a lamp light in contrast to how the radiator room was illuminated, and you could see the actual colors of things around you now. Of the person in front of you now. Of the person who just now roughly grabbed hold of your jaw, fingers almost popping into place where bruising that was shaped like his hands had gained a deep purple color.

“Hello” he repeated slowly, smile thin and almost in the shape of a semi-circle. He was still frighteningly calm, a stark contrast to how you expected his mood swings to react to you involuntarily ignoring him.

“So glad you’re awake. You must be hungry, huh?” He asked, a rhetorical question as he knew you hadn’t eaten since the morning of your previous work day. He had seen how you’d rushed to your job late, how you forgot your lunch and decided to go without it for the day, wanting to make up for lost time from the partial morning you had missed. He had also seen all the food in your apartment, and he knew there couldn’t have been too much in your pretty little stomach as a reflection of your bare pantry and fridge.

You allowed his question to circle in your head for a second, before grumbling a response into your taped lips. You tried to readjust yourself, the full realization that he had been so close to you and already had a good grip on your face hadn’t necessarily clicked and your mind had already moved on to your surroundings once more as he began talking again.

“Ah, how rude of me again.” He simply stated, moving the hand that was already stationed on your face back around your head. He fingered the seams to the tape before slowly peeling it off, the sound of the tape and your hair plus skin separating made a noise louder than you anticipated. As soon as the tape managed to unbind your lips you let out an audible groan. “We’re a team right? I should truly be treating you better” he repeated, voice scratching your brain like a broken record as he smiled a little too gleefully watching you adjust once more, your face now out of his grip.

“I made you a pb&j” he offered with another smile. The grumbling of your stomach came almost as if on cue, sure you were hungry, but you were also in a shit ton of pain still. The reignited fury of the bruising on your face bursted alive, and the tape separating from your busted head really allowed you to feel your body’s true objections.

“ibuprofen” you grumbled through insanely chapped lips. The man quirked his head slightly, playing into your pitiful gesture as he leant closer to you, offering his ear slightly

“Sorry?” He asked, edging you to repeat your request. And yet once you opened your lips that were still sticky with the residual tape residue, he gave you no time to answer, cutting you off quickly as he pulled back and smirked slightly.

“Ah yes you must be in an outstanding pain. I’d be more than happy to help you out if..” he gesture to your battered form, doing a quick once over “if you would be a dear and say… help me first?” He quipped, that shit eating grin returning as he shifted his weight to get further situated and comfortable on the hard floor in front of you.

“I don’t know what you want to hear” you replied, voice still so unlike your own with rasp. You had concluded quickly what he expected to hear from you. At the very least he wanted in depth information about the operation the city was running in connection to the drug ring. And though you weren’t even a little apprehensive to share the wrongdoings of the city, it seemed wrong to put that type of information in the hands of someone like this.

“No..” he whispered down to you, almost breathlessly as he readjusted his glasses “No I think you know exactly what I mean. But for some reason you still want to play bystander..” he said, his voice reflecting a smile while his expression countered it, showcasing a glint in his eye that was almost saying I dare you.. I dare you to lie to me again.

“We need to be a team, how much must I repeat myself to have my words make it past that thick skull” he mused, a tense smile forming as he punctuated his words by tapping his finger into the side of your head "I have no use for a bystander, being passively knowledgeable about the wrongdoings and corruptions of something makes you no better than the ones who are actually corrupting it” he warned, gloved hands snaking to take your head in his hands again, squeezing your bruises as a gentle reminder to what he was capable of.

You’d gained the ability to think clearly when focusing hard enough at the topic at hand, and you had pre-decided you were going to go along with whatever he wanted, but with obviously the upmost caution.

“I support your cause, you know this.. we’re one in the same” you began providing an explanation, trying to reason with him all the while you were still fighting through the hoarseness in your throat. “You have to understand, how scared I was. I didn’t know who you were…. And even if I still don’t know you. I understand that I’m here to.. to aid you in overturning corruption” you said, trying to subdue any radical feelings he may have had incoming, as well as trying to warm up to him just a little bit in the meantime.

The man closed his eyes, then sighed through his nose. He soon after opened his eyes and pulled your head flush against his so that you were eye to eye, your foreheads meeting and resting on one another.

“As sweet as that was… that wasn’t the question. Am I going to have to start giving out strikes? You have a very consistent tendency of avoiding every single question ask..” he said, voice low as if he was trying to make sure the words expressed between the two of you only stayed between the two of you, as if someone would over hear you. It was oddly intimate.

“No! No not at all.. it’s just ” you said, wide eyes not being able to stare anywhere else besides into the emerald ones before you. You hesitantly leaned your forehead into his a bit more, shifting your weight slightly to alleviate the pressure off your ankle before staring again with a sigh

“The GCPD, like you know is uhm corrupt. And with that they’re trying to smother and snuff out any uprisings… they’re working with drug rings and uh, criminals” you said, breaking down the complexity to make it as one sided and bland as possible.

A huge childish grin sprouted on the man’s face, releasing an odd giggle as he shook your face a little bit. “Yes there we are!! Ding ding ding dear! We’re getting somewhere here” he hummed before releasing your face all together a scooting back from you so his full body was out from under the table, but still sitting in close proximity to it.

A huge wave of relief took you by storm, you prayed you were smart enough to keep this up, this man was basically twirling leaps and bounds around you in hindsight of smarts currently. It didn’t seem like he was trying to extract actual information from you but instead was testing you and your so called loyalty to him. You felt like a dog, chained up under the desk, reprimanded over the littlest hesitance and praised for doing exactly as asked. Now the more you think on it, dogs were treated fairly similarly to children. You also felt like a child in this moment, a child met with no love in return. And still you also couldn’t get this man’s mannerisms out of you head as he too acted like a child. Mood swings, tantrums, odd fascinations as well as his way of expressing glee or even disappointment.

Your thoughts were halted as the man before you shoved the sloppily constructed pb&j sandwich up to your lips, to which you gave him an odd look before he tapped your mouth with the crust of it’s bread.

“I apologize, I just can’t seem to trust your hands just yet. Perhaps think of this like a bonding moment, sharing this can help us connect, hmm?” He mused smiling down at you, always smiling. You hesitantly made the move to open your mouth to which he shoved in the sandwich. It was small and he was able to fold all of it into your mouth before you even chewed, but it seemed as if this was another test, as you’d like to call it. An experiment of the human reaction.

He studied you as you attempted to close your lips over the overstuffed bread. You gagged slightly, not at the taste, but at the amount of bread shoving against the back of your mouth and uvula. Your saliva soaked into the bread, shrinking the sandwich down to a manageable amount where you were successfully able to chew and swallow, all the while he just eerily watched, almost mesmerized by your teary eyes.

“Can- can I see?” He asked, moving a hand up to motion to your mouth “I wanna see that you ate it all” he said as if it made it any less weird of a request

Your stomach dropped at the oddity that was this man, but you slowly and apprehensively ended up opening your mouth, directing your chin up to show you had eaten the entire measly attempt at a meal

“Good girl” he said breathlessly, once again basically mesmerized at your willingness to go along with him. Humans would do anything to keep themselves safe, he knew this, it was in their nature. And so it was quickly becoming a goal of his to find out what the limit was.

His attention soon turned to your injured ankle as he caught you readjusting your weight once more, to alleviate the uncomfortable position you were in. “Ah… hurts still?” He asked, to which you gave a small nod in response. He just hummed. Reaching a decision of some kind before getting up and rummaging on the desk that you sat under.

He reappeared in just seconds with scissors and tape in hand as he started working on cutting you loose from your attachment to the desk. His head resided just right next to your ear as he whispered another warning “I want you to remember how far you’ve come.. wouldn’t want to ruin this by doing something silly.. right?” He asked, not expecting a reply as he freed your hands though gave no time to let you stretch as he reconnected them in front of your body and started tightly taping them together, threatening to cut off the blood flow from your hand to your arms.

You didn’t know what he was planning, though you hoped it had something to do with the ibuprofen that was promised earlier.

Without warning the man grunted, sliding his hands under your back and bound legs before dragging you out from under the desk and lifting you up to the point he was carrying you bridal style. The alleviation of the tension on your butt was so amazing you had almost forgotten to be wary of what this man’s next move was. But he simply kept moving, providing no explanation as he gave you a wordless tour of the place, which you now inferred was an insanely dingy apartment.

You were correct, and the apartment did have blacked out windows, it looked as if he, or the landlord had taken black wall pain and went right over the windows. Perhaps that’s how he afforded this place as it didn’t seem to be in too great of condition.

He brought you to the kitchen, or at least that’s what it would’ve been if it wasn’t lined wall to wall with empty small animal cages, rat poison, bleach as well as an overwhelming amount of takeout bags and papers thrown across the tiled floor. And yet it seemed cleanly with the smell. Nothing smelled rotting, or old. There was an almost distinct tingle in your nose of chemicals but you were unsure if you could pinpoint which one

He slid you onto the counter, you were almost eye level to him as he stood before you, reaching up high in a cabinet beside your head for something while you were still left taking in the surroundings. Even with the attempt to clean the counters it still felt absolutely disgusting, perhaps because of your situation and how foreign basically everything felt to you.

Your eyes wandered to look down at the counter as man seemingly found what he was looking for. It was an old school first aid med kit, it had to be at least 30 years old with how the contents of it seemed to have already yellowed at the lengthy exposure to time.

He silently unwrapped a sheet of gauze, unscrewing an antibiotic on it before he lightly placed his fingers on your cheek, pushing to turn your head to the side where he now could have access to the would at the side of your head. He touched the gauze to where you could only guess the large gash in you head remained, protected by your matted and bloody hair.

A harsh chemical sting ignited the back of your head as you audibly gasped and tried to move away. He shushed you and where his fingers had gently adjusted your head, they now pushed your head steady against the cabinets that lined the wall, trying to keep you a still as possible.

You clenched your fists, breathlessly screaming as you opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water. The stinging of the wound was soothed almost as instantly as he pulled the gauze back. He hummed subtly, showing you the strip that he had used to clean your wound, it was covered in dark brown blood as well as a light yellow tinted puss.

“Beginning of an infection, glad I’m seeing it sooner than later” he calmly stated, but didn’t seem too worried as he grabbed the roll of gauze and began wrapping it diagonally on your head, snuggly securing it around and over your wound.

His attention was drawn next to your left ankle. Being able to look down at it fully, the discoloration had begun to set on the left half of your toes and all along the proceeding left side of your foot. He knelt down carefully and began bandaging it up, wrapping your entire foot to put some pressure on it and ensure your foot doesn’t get damaged any further.

As he continued meticulous wrapping the bandage around your door, over, under and around you felt a pinch of curiosity as you looked down at him. It was the first time you weren’t looking at him from below, you noted.

“What’s your name?” You asked quietly to which he froze. Slowly looking up at you through his thick glasses “My name?” He clarified, repeating your question to which you nodded back in conformation. “I need a name to know who to thank for this.. y’know?” you asked, providing an alternative explanation.

“Mm” he simply noted before continuing back on his work at your ankle leaving beat of silence before responding “It’s Edward” he simply stated

“Edward” you repeated, almost in a trance as you looked down at him at your ankle. The longer you watched him work the more he started to look like an Edward.

He finished up soon after, rising to his feet and taking a small step back to review his work by doing a once over on you. He walked to you, pressing his body into your bound legs as he pulled one last packet out of the medical box. He ripped the seal and instructed you to open you mouth, and for some reason your complied, no questions asked

“Pain killers” he explained, watching as you struggled to swallow the pill dry. It was silent for a good minute, he just stood there and solidly took you in, giving you a moment of calamity as the two of you just sat and basked in each other’s presence.

“The Batman” he said simply, the words caught you off guard as you quickly looked up at him, eyebrows lowering in confusion as you gazed at him for an explanation. Was he here? Did he come to save you? You knew you parents would’ve been suspicious for not calling.

“Have I mentioned that we’re partners?” You could’ve groaned, there he was again like a broken record. You shifted, uncomfortably looking off to the side

“Yes you’ve mentioned it quite a couple of-“

“No” he cut you off and you hesitantly looked at him, oblivious to what he might say next

“Me and the Batman. Have I told you that the two of us are like this..!” He asked, crossing his fingers and holding them up in front of your face to express how close the two of them were

Oh.. that one sentence. That once sentence would’ve been your breaking point if you had truly trusted the Batman, he had saved a friend of yours back when he first emerged. Something in you head was heavily skeptical for, why on earth would the bat try and mingle with this piece of work? And then again, why would Edward lie so blatantly, he truly had no reason too.

“The bat and… you?” You clarified, and he grinned, nodding and leaning in a little closer to you.

“Does he know about this whole thing? This whole corruption thing?” You asked hesitantly, and he replied again with a silent nod, getting real up and close in your personal space he whispered “everything” you could feel his hot breath fanning against your face.

You obviously had no clue just how caught up in his delusions Edward truly was. But for some odd reason, you believed him. Your heart sunk in a mourning fashion as if the bat had died. He was better dead to you if he truly agreed and condoned this man. Maybe he was the mastermind, the one encouraging him to act out like this. Then an even bigger horror bestowed upon you as your brain tried its hardest to connect the dots..

“Are.. are you the Batman?” You asked, horrified at the anticipation of the answer to come. Edward locked his gaze with yours, you watched as his eyes grew wide before he bursted out laughing, you could feel the spit spray your face.

“Of course not you idiot” he cackled as if this was all so obvious and peeled back before you. He didn’t care to elaborate further, and concluded silently that this was enough bonding time for the two of you. He re-scooped you back into his arms, once again bridal style as the two of you made your way back to the area with the desk.

On your way back under the desk, your eyes caught sight of the pair of metal fabric scissors that still remained on the desk. He set you down, sliding your body back to that you were completely under the desk before reaching up to the desk. He felt around blindly for a second before he found and retrieved the tape. He kept your hands bound in front of you but he took the liberty of reattaching your form to the leg of the desk.

He paused for a second, simply to stare at you and your restrained form before backing off and rising away from both the floor and the desk. He took a few strides backwards before his full body came into view from a few feet away

“I’m going to be out for a little bit.” He cooly stated “be good.” He suggested, but you knew the underlying message that creeped behind his words.

And just like that he took his coat and cellphone and he was gone into another room, then out what your inferred to be the front door. You listened for another moment, hearing the twist of a key and the snapping of a lock set in place. There was a lock the outside. A good thing to know…

You sat for what couldn’t have been more than five minutes before you mind started to loop back on thoughts, started recounting your day and gain an overwhelming amount of boredom. Was it too much to ask as a captive to have something to do.

You leaned around the leg of the desk you were attached to, trying to see how far you can lean before your arms are too twisted, and sure enough you were able to strain yourself just enough to see around the corner and into the room you were originally in. There was the radiator, and right behind the radiator in a very small corner was the front door. How on earth did you not notice it before. Granted it was out of your sight from the position in the room the radiator was positioned, but you couldn’t help but feel stupid.

You groaned, settling back under the desk as you sat by, left alone with your thoughts which seemed arguably worse than Edward was sometimes.

You couldn’t believe the Batman was working with Edward, you dreaded the moment you where you would probably come face to face with him. You fantasized prior to this about how he might’ve been your knight in shining armor, that he might’ve been the one to actually save you. But alas, here you were, tossed into a new and unforeseen dilemma.

Maybe your parents were looking for you, perhaps even Mr Wells. You didn’t doubt Edward had taken precautions, maybe even reaching out to them on your behalf. You just from the outside truly couldn’t fathom why they would believe you just disappeared. But you were rapidly discovering that a lot of things you didn’t think were a possible, turned out that they were.

You mind stopped at the reminder that scissors were so painfully close, just right above you and out of your reach. But then you realized something. You were connected to the table that they rested on. Your mind raced and your heart started to beat with newfound adrenaline and the small hope and chance that you could get out of here. Messing this up would ruin any and all the progress you had made with Edward. So you then decided that you simply wouldn’t mess up.

You began rocking your body quickly, the leg of the table swaying with you and mass of the table going along with it as it began to shake. You saw papers fly down from the desk, but continued until you could hear the scraping of metal scissors skidding across the desk.

Your heart pounded faster and you quickly doubled the velocity at which you decided to rock the table. And as if an angel flying down from the sky, the scissors on the desk flew off and bounced on the floor falling to a stop right beside the desk.

You silently thanked whatever had managed to help you achieve this. You extended your feet, placing them on top of the scissors and sliding them towards you. You curled your foot around the handle and folded your body, carefully picking up the scissors with your feet and guiding them over to your outstretched hands.

You were basically ready to cry tears of relief as you were able to grasp the scissors. You used your core muscles, folding your body and getting the scissors as close to the tape binding your feet together and with one swift motion your were able to separate your feet.

You cried out with joy, turning the scissors in your sweat drenched hands to try and undo your wrists.

Then as if the universe took away whatever hope you had fooled yourself into believing in, your sweaty fingers were just slick enough that the metal scissors had slipped out of your hand, skidding out from under the desk and a good two or more feet away from you.

You cursed out, not necessarily hopeless as you had better control of your body now and could just retrieve the scissors once again with your feet.

Then you heard it.

A key turning to unlock the front door.

Chapter Text

A chill fell down your body like an icy landslide, goose flesh became rampant on your arms and legs as you could only imagine the horrified look that was thereby plastered onto your face.

“Honey I’m home!!” A singsong voice rang out from the other room as you heard the door slam shut a little too aggressively for your liking. As you heard the many locks begin to get turned and clasped you couldn’t help but think to the reason why he was only out for what only felt like twenty minutes, was he expecting you to run? Maybe it simply was an unstated rule of owning a captive because then again, you had never taken the liberties of kidnapping another human being before.

You scurried quickly into action as his slow, heavy, and daunting footsteps began to walk over to the room you were in, his pacing was excruciatingly slow, you were unable to tell if it was because of the sheer adrenaline coursing through you, or if it was intentionally like that for some dramatic flare.

Your unbound legs outstretched quickly, your sweaty feet just grazing the scissors with your toes, moving them just slightly as almost as if they were taunting you. You let out a quiet whimper, the desperation only growing as you placed your left foot on the scissors, quickly bringing it towards you as it made a deafening scraping sound against the solid floor. He had stopped.. why had he stopped just outside the entrance to the room? Had he heard you?

You quickly nudged the scissors under you, lifting your weight up slightly with your good leg then setting yourself on top of the scissors completely to conceal them.

“You know what the best thing about nanny cams are?” Edward spoke, his voice sounded closer than he actually was, almost as if it was occupying the entirety of the little space.

You saw his boots appear at the entrance of the doorway beside you, there was no way you could see his face and see his expression and it worked the other way as well, he couldn’t see your face. But if he could’ve seen you in this moment you just know how absolutely petrified you might’ve looked. Of course you hadn’t looked for any cameras, why would you? Because you’re stupid apparently, this man was planning on cleansing Gotham, he had to have been over prepared for situations similar to this, there’s no reason why he would pay a few extra dollars on a nanny cam to watch you…

He had taken a few beats before replying to his question, waiting for you to absorb all of the suspense and horror that was waiting for you at the other end of the metaphorical bridge.

“Typically, with these new high tech nanny cams… you get a twenty four seven, live feed from on your phone” he spoke, although you were unable to see his face, his voice sounded like he was smiling which was even more shell shocking than him being angry.

Finally he walked around to the front of the desk. Crouching down to meet you at eye level. The sheer look of disappointment that had infected his face was hard to take in. He pushed his phone forwards to your face, it was a feed of the two of you from the viewpoint of a camera on the floor in the corner of the room. It had a couple of second delay but there was no doubt in your mind he had seen the whole ordeal play out from you rocking the scissors off the desk, to you freeing your legs.

You bit back tears, swallowing down the over productive saliva that accompanied your emotions. Then, he sighed out your name, pressing the button on the side of his phone, turning it off and then effectively shoving it into the pocket of his cargo pants. He knelt down closer, ducking his head under the desk as he looked you up and down again with that gaze of disappointment, and almost a sense of pity for what you had just done to yourself.

“I thought we had really made some progress here.” He started, somehow his calm look of disappointment was wildly more horrifying compared to when you had seen him yelling. More tears flooded your eyes as you bit your tongue, breathing through any tears that threatened to fall, again feeling like a child getting caught doing something they weren’t supposed to.

He looked at you silently, but you could see a bubbling change overtake him slowly as he continued to stare down at you. It’s almost as if the more he stared, the more his mannerism changed and you could feel him getting more and more angry. That icy reaction erupted in seconds as he pounced on you without warning.

You cried out, kicking and fighting as best as you could as his hands flew to your legs, clawing as he tried to get the leverage on you that he so desperately wanted. Eventually, in the midst of your kicking and flailing, Edward had managed to lock his fingers around your injured ankle, he yanked it towards him, the rest of your body following suit until only the bindings on your arms kept you in place, halting you from being dragged towards him any more.

No matter how hard you tried, fighting tears now was no use, pain began in your ankle again due to his steel grip on it. You felt as he squeezed the injured limb as hard as he could, knuckles turning white and bitten nails digging into the bandages for a maximized effort in causing pain. You struggled mindlessly, your leg in so much pain your body simply fought out in a desperate response. Edward got visibly angrier by you struggling against him, his other hand latched on to your ankle just right above where his other one sat. He twisted your skin in two separate directions, tears now freely flowing as you began to stoop to begging.

“sorry.. I’m so sorry Edward” you attempted through heaving sobs as a desperate last attempt to cool him down. But again, your resistance seemed to only fuel the burning rage that over took him and he seethed through his teeth, slamming down your injured foot and pinning it against the floor, causing you to once again cry out in pain.

“You stupid bitch” he began, he was absolutely fuming, he pushed all of his weight to his hands and against your foot. You threw your head back, clenching your teeth through your sobs as you quietly pleaded to him once more. “you’re all the fucking same” he spat, trying to get a reaction from you as he twisted your foot again “taking advantage of my kindness! I should kill you for this!!” he rambled on, slamming his fist against your foot as you felt yourself go limp with body racking sobs.

He pulled away, catching his breath before starting again “you wanna be a bitch? I can treat you like one! Treat you like the dog you are!!” He said in an unsettling tone, watching how your body react with more shaky sobs.

“Scissors.” He plainly stated, which made you became insanely aware of the scissors that were still wedged and hidden underneath your tail bone. “Where are they?” He asked again, shuffling forwards on his knees as your lifted your head upright to look at his face. His face was flush, his glasses askew and you could see the sweat glistening on his brow.

“scissors..? They were pushed over-“ you started, voice quivering as you tried to quickly cover your tracks and keep the only thing that could potentially protect you. But alas once again Edward didn’t take it, his hands had already snaked around your neck and started constricting around your windpipe.

“Scissors? I don’t know where any scissors are?” He mocked in a high pitched tone, looking down to your red face as he began to seriously choke you, shaking his hands and watching as your head bobbled in suit

“Fucking liar.. all you ever do is lie!” He began once again. You feverishly fought to say something, anything really that you get you out of this situation.

Edward was caught off guard by a reflection that glinted in his glasses, he pulled back, unwrapping one of his hands off the base of your neck and sliding it under you. He pulled out the silver scissors and took a beat to stare at them “ah.” He quietly mused, a tight lipped, stress induced smile formed on his face as he got off of you all together and quickly beelined to the other room from which he came.

You could hear him faintly shuffling around in the other room, but all that occupied your mind currently was fear and pain. You heaved to get a few breaths in before coughing over took your throat. Your body was violently taken into waves and waves of coughing, you so desperately tried to take back as much air into your lungs as you possibly could, not ever wanting to have the fleeting feeling of breathing become one with you again.

In mere seconds of your recovery Edward had returned. Although you weren’t looking at him, if you had been, you might’ve been able to see the duck tape, rope, and hand cuffs that he had a white knuckled grip around. His emotions began to bubble up as he seethed again while watching you struggle to breathe.

He moved back under the desk, dropping all the bindings to the floor and crouching, he started ripping a long strip of tape from the roll, watching as you just sat there and accepted it, watching as you silently sobbed. He took both your feet in one hand, attaching the tape flush against your skin as he wrapped it around over and over, thickly creating a padding to bind you with. He then picked up the thin cable rope, twisting it around your ankles, and between them around where the tape had previously bound them together. He then went back in with the duck tape to seal in the rope. He took an open pair of hand cuffs, putting them at the very base of your ankle, just under the tape, he struggled to slip the cuffs through, but eventually did, tightening them as far as they could go, allowing them to bite into your skin.

He ripped your hands out of their bindings, something you wished you had the strength to do earlier.. and he repeated the excruciating process of taping, roping, re-taping your hands to tether, and then attaching a cuff to one arm, and a cuff to one leg of the table, with them being as tight as he could force it yet again.

He sat back to admire his work done on you. Bright red and purple splotches bloomed against your neck, over lapping with where some of the bruising on your jaw had formed. Of course, your ankle was a throbbing and swollen mess, blood had already begun to weep from the bandages that crossed over your heel. Onto the bindings.. as sloppy as they were, they were effective and thus, also effectively and insanely uncomfortable as you continued to breathe heavily, getting out the last of your silent tears as you warily watched and waited for his next move.

A switch flipped in Edward as he sighed heavily, lowering his head and taking it into his hands. He sat there for a moment and you had no choice but to awkwardly stare at his folded posture “i really don’t enjoy hurting you” he murmured, the words muffled into his thick green coat that he seemingly never took off. “You just leave me no choice sometimes” he continued, effectively guilting you somehow as you watched his pathetic display. Perhaps even he didn’t know it this apology was genuine or just a ruse to get you to forgive him.

“I’m sorry” you managed to pop out again, your voice hoarse and sounding unfamiliar to you due to you blowing it out. “I’m so sorry Edward- Eddie” you tried testing the waters a little, watching him tense up at the nickname but still not seeing him move away from his pre-assumed position of his head in his hands. “please just give me another chance, a swear I’ll make it up to you- you’re so right, I’m so stupid I wasn’t thinking” your voice cracking through the end of your pleading as you sniffled, watching him unfold and look up to you. He stared hard at you for a few beats through his brows, watching as you silently looked back, a new wave of tears quietly rolling down your cheeks and splattering lightly on the floor.

He hummed in either agreement or in acknowledgment, sliding back out from under the desk with a weighed down posture. He huffed and sat back into his chair, sliding forwards so his stomach was flush with the edge of the table, his long legs crowded you into the back wall under the desk. The two of you didn’t exchange another word as you could hear his computer booting up, silence falling minus the light tapping of his computer keys. You took nothing from it, glad he decided to leave you alone. You sat back, exhausted but full of too much adrenaline to sleep. And so you just stared at his heavy boots as they rested mere inches from your body, you stared and stared some more, watching and waiting for his next interaction with you that wouldn’t even come for another set of hours.

————————————?————————————

It had been a few hours, when your adrenaline had eventually died off you had been slipping in and out of consciousness, of course Edward stayed glued to his chair, keeping a hawk’s gaze on you at all time. He rolled the chair back a bit, snapping you out of a daze as he sighed, lowering his torso so he could not only stretch, but also look down and make eye contact with you.

“What time do you think it is?” He asked, a playful grin on his face. You weren’t sure if this was some sort of trick, as now you had conditioned yourself to be cautious to every single thing that came out of this man’s mouth. You took into account when you got home from work on Friday, probably slept through the night, so it had to be Saturday today, you just weren’t quite sure what time is was.

“huhm ten at night? Is today Saturday?” You asked hesitantly, and Edward glanced up at his computer, probably to check the time before he just laughed at you, providing no explanation or further follow up as to what time it actually was. What an odd thing to ask if he wasn’t planning on giving you the satisfaction of know the actual time.

“ya hungry?” He started again, and you weren’t sure if you honestly would’ve been able to keep anything down considering his tendency to get a little over involved with feeding you. But then again, the last thing you wanted was for him to get mad at you again. “I could eat..” you plainly threw out there, and he just shrugged, taking it as a yes.

He stood up and left to the kitchen, opening cabinets and closing them as you heard the makings of your meal. An uneasy feeling settled low in your stomach at the recollection of todays events, this man was truly terrifying maybe he would poison you to get it over with. You didn’t necessarily want to die, but maybe you were facing the difficult truth that in order to get out of here, that death might be the only solution.

Edward re-emerged, a white styrofoam bowl in his grip as he slid him self down and close enough under the desk that he could drop off the food. But then, he did something not quite expected. He dumped the contents of the bowl onto the floor beside you. It was canned something, that alone became quite clear as some of it’s sides still held the general shape and grooves that a can has. it was brown with a liquid seeping out of it, and had a horrid smell.

“Bon appetite, act like a dog. Eat like a dog” Edward mused, an eerie smile placing itself on his lips once more as the liquid of the food started to slowly trickle over to you, threatening to seep into the fabric of your top. Oh.. dog food. “I can’t reach it-“

“Yes you can” Edward cut you off. Readjusting himself so he was sitting cross legged in front of you, getting into a comfortable enough position to watch the show. You gave him a hesitant stare before you had no other choice than to drop any sort of pride you still had tucked away in you somewhere.

You twisted your body chest aiming to the left where the dog food was sloshed onto the ground. Your hands that were bound to your right making it increasingly difficult to reach the food. You gave him one last parting glance before you craned your head and took a small bite of the heap of brown mush set beside you. You chewed slowly, causing the taste to infiltrate your senses, and you unwittingly gagged. You didn’t dare look at him, gagging through the entirety of the “meal”. It was obvious he didn’t care enough to buy you named brand dog food, the least you could ask for if he was willing to put you through this.

You tried your hardest to continue eating, your stomach churning as you continued, it was only about six ounces and wasn’t too bad of a serving, but it didn’t help one bit that the taste and the texture were borderline unmanageable. You wouldn’t even feed this to a dog, let alone a person.

You heard a groan which stopped you mid bite, you turned your eyes to look at Edward and low and behold… this man was hard as a rock watching you eat off the floor. You were mortified, wide eyes looking at him as he met your gaze. Hands and teeth clenched as he simply stared down at you, a lopsided smirk also present on his face.

“I didn’t tell you to stop” he coolly stated, looking down at you expectantly. And so you had no other choice but to continue. You were becoming increasingly aware of not only his presence, but also of how dusty and disgusting his floor was. You gagged nonstop, trying to now eat as much as possible and get this finished.

“good girl.” He praised breathlessly. And it did something to you. You hated yourself, horrified with your body’s response as his praise went straight down to your sex.

You finished up quickly, faster than you’d like to admit, taking a slow and final lick
off the dirty ground to get all of the juices from the dog food that you could keep down. You slowly looked to Edward, terrified where his next action might lead, but there he was, still visibly aroused and simply watching you. His pink lips were parted slightly and you could hear his breathing.

“Show me that you ate it all..” he suggested, you turned your body towards him, letting an uncomfortable moment of silence take place before you slowly opened your mouth to present and show that you had eaten all of that nasty dog food. It was so thick there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that there had been a brown coating in your mouth, staining your saliva. And the stench of your breath had to have been ungodly.

He hummed, a content smiling wrapping around his face as he shuffled closer. He took a gloved finger and nudged your mouth up to give him a proper view of your tongue. Slowly his fingered his glove off of his right hand, lifting the bare skinned hand to your face as he placed his thumb in your mouth.

You said there, drool pooling at the back of your throat as his salty finger rested on your tongue, the muscle twitching uncontrollably at the intrusion.

“Suck” Edward said, although he tried to stay persistent and steady you could still see and sense the small tell tale signs that he was beginning to unravel. You were beyond confused and uncomfortable but you didn’t want to make him angry again, so of course you slowly shut your mouth around his hand. Salty sweat from his hand being wedged in that glove for so long intruded your taste buds. You swallowed the pooling saliva in your mouth and hesitantly met his eyes as you began to suck on his thumb.

Your eyes widened as the man whimpered, shuffling closer to you and adjusting his posture to relieve the pressure off his growing excitement. You continued to suck on his thumb and he further experimented, slowly sliding the pad of his thumb back further against your tongue, almost as if he was trying to shove it down your throat. Your gag response was more sensitive than usual, and you gagged around his finger, setting him off more as he stared down at your glossy eyes.

He retracted his thumb but hovered it over your lips, deciding to smear your thick spit over your lips and down to your chin. Slowly he closed the distance between the two of you, hands snaking around the sides of your head, and his fingers lightly locking into your hair. The kissed you, surprisingly he approached you softly at first, his actions hesitant and dripping with his obvious inexperience.

He groaned against your lips, speeding up his pace as he lightly nibbled onto your bottom lips, his way of asking for entrance into your mouth. You weren’t sure if the pleasantries were going to last long, and again you knew especially how driven by their dicks men are. You wouldn’t past Edward to simply take what he wanted if you didn’t comply, perhaps if you sucked it up, went along with him and got it over with he would see take it and forgive you for escaping. You were repulsed by this man’s mindset and actions, and yet you could still feel the hesitant flutter of butterflies deeply rooted in your stomach.

You opened your lips, giving him access as him moaned into your open mouth once again. Edward was very toothy, his teeth catching on your lips and the corner of your mouth any chance they could. His tongue infiltrated feverishly and with no warning and he ravished the inside of your mouth. He pressed himself against you, pushing you flush against the wall, and you could now easily feel the prodding of his excitement against your upper thigh. He rubbed himself against you, groaning again into your mouth as he set a slow pace and began to grind on you.

You shakily sighed into his mouth, trying to calm down your own hormones as you tried to push down your own desires. You would never forgive yourself for enjoying how Edward simply took you, fiendishly chasing his own high and not thinking of any further consequences.

He pulled away from you, and you looked up to meet his swollen and spit soaked lips, his glasses having fogged up along the way as well it seemed. He grabbed your legs and folded them into your chest which made you let out a little gasp in surprise. He looked down at your clothed crotch. The thought of it alone setting him off as he tried to catch his breath. He slowly pressed his hand to your legs to keep them folded against you, and to have easy access to you. His other worked slowly as they dipped down into his pants, he tugged down and you were able to peek your head out and see how his boxer briefs strained to keep his entirety in.

You leaned your head against the back wall, silently praying for this to quickly come to an end. He seemed inexperienced and excited enough that you had a feeling your wish just might come true.

Edward panted, his hand pulling out his throbbing and flush cock that had already been weeping with beads of pre-cum. He gave it a few strokes, groaning even more as he stared down at your clothed pussy.

He let go of his cock, hand fishing into a pocket of his jacket to fetch out a switchblade, he flipped it open and whispered to you to stay still. Slowly, he pressed the tip of the knife at the seam in your pants, not paying mind to your rigid form as consequently you really didn’t want to get sliced.

The cool air met your naked core as you could feel Edward’s eyes staring down at you. Then a thick head placed itself on your entrance moving up and down and collecting slick that you wanted so hard to deny was there. He pushed in quickly, bottoming out immediately and causing your body to tense and jerk. Your teeth clenched in pain as you released a strained sigh.

Edward was a mess on top of you, even needing to collect himself before moving further, already having been so close just by sitting inside of you. He began again with a very sloppy pace, whimpering with hands kneading and grabbing at anything he could get ahold of. For the most part he was balls deep and rutting up against you, an uncomfortable stretch always present as he wasn’t the longest, but sure had an unexpected girth to him.

Your hands were balled into fists, sweat already creating a light sheen on your body as Edward chased his high. You didn’t really want to give him the satisfaction of you enjoying this, he didn’t deserve it. But your subconscious couldn’t help but flutter every time his pelvis met your thighs, the friction only making your body overproducing your wetness further.

His whimpering soon filled the room and he whispered sweet nothings about how you were so good to him, you were such a good girl and that he didn’t deserve you. You checked those words into a space in your head, and they engraved into your memory. Lord knows how he was going to go back on his words soon enough, but him saying it now in the heat of the moment was rewarding for some reason.. it made your heart leap.

He continued, pace worsening in rhythm and his composure dropping as he pulled out completely. Whining and trying to gather himself so he didn’t finish to quickly once again.

Against your better judgment you glanced at him, he was a hot and sweaty mess. His length was basically grazing against his stomach as he tried to control himself. You could see your slick on his cock, and it made those butterflies fly even higher.

“I can help you finish” you blurted out, eyes wide at the intrusive thought leaving your head. But perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea, it could show off you ‘devotion’ to Edward while still helping to end this situation as quickly as it started.

Edward didn’t reply, he just stared down at you, still painting as he closed his eyes, nodding quickly and crawling over to you, he fetched out the key to the cuffs that were in his bunched up pants around his knees, and he unlocked the side of the cuff on your hand that connected you to the table. You took mental note on where he kept the key for later.

He stood upright on his knees, his body hunched to fit completely under the table and he was just.. waiting for you, expecting you to do something.

You haphazardly man crawled to him, sitting up on your elbows as best as you could as you came face to face with his angry colored erection. He looked down at you, heavy breaths still coursing through him as his glasses remained fogged up in the heat of it all.

You slowly took him in your mouth, it was odd tasting yourself on him but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the dog food.

That’s right, you still couldn’t let go that this was the same guy who had got off on your licking dog food off the ground, saying he was nasty was a wild understatement.

You sucked him off the same way you did his finger, and again, he whimpered hands flying to your head to once again lace into your hair and encourage you to go further.

You took as much of him as you good, sucking as hard as you could, and trying as hard as you could to get him to finish right then and there. He pushed your head down, gently but it wasn’t likely a suggestion. You gagged around his cock, seemingly setting him over the edge as he started thrusting into you, pounding into your throat, and all you could do was lay there and take it.

He finished shortly after, crying out in assumed pure bliss as you felt his seed coating the entire of your mouth. You stayed like that for maybe a minute, feeling him throb and pant as he gathered himself. You didn’t wait for him to ask, going the extra mile and swallowing around his cock, taking his cum with you before finally pulling off of him.

He stayed on his knees, slowly tucking himself back in all while still trying to catch his breath and process the events of the previous moments. You swear you could see tears in his eyes.

Then Edward shuffled back against the wall, sitting side by side next to you as he gazed down at you. A small smile flourished on his features “I was gonna kill you, did you know that?” he said, a shocking statement following the events that had obviously just occurred. You honestly didn’t know how to respond besides letting out a small nervous chuckle. His one gloved hand pushed a strand of sweat soaked hair off of your forehead, continuing to smile down at you as he just watched you.

“I was gunna kill you when I first saw you grab those scissors… but you’re more loyal than I thought. So thank you for proving me wrong” he said, it wasn’t mocking you, it wasn’t demeaning, he was genuinely thanking you. “y-yeah” was all you could muster.

The two of you stayed like that for a little bit before Edward got back up and into his chair, the time rolled along as you continued to think back on what happened. To say you were disgusted with yourself was an understatement, you were repulsed by your body’s reaction and how you actually went along with it, a common case of body again mind. Though, he was content with you… for now, and you were also still alive… for now. You wondered if that was his first time, cause he sure as hell acted like it. Maybe he would hold you to a higher caliber now that you had, in his words ‘shown your loyalty to him’.. That power you felt for a split second, after being able to take control of him and please him to the point he was whimpering held onto you. If this was your saving grace then so be it.

His leg bounced up and down as he worked, how long had gone past, an hour, maybe even two?? You weren’t quite sure, but you didn’t really want to know how long you had been swallowed up in self pity. Perhaps right now it was better to be oblivious.

You were eventually able to slowly nod off, the soothing sound of typing being overproduced from above you acted like a white noise, allowing you a small comfort in the uncertainty of what was to come.

Chapter Text

You had woken up, dreams previously riddled with hopes of freedoms you could only now wish to be possible. The first thing that had embraced your bound form was the chilling bite the air had to your skin. You had been in these same clothes for days, your pants had been cut and ripped allowing for air to caress your bruised and swollen skin.

You hadn’t remembered the last time you had used the bathroom, considering you haven’t eaten a lot it wasn’t horribly unbearable, but still quite concerning as the looming presence of pressure seemed to be a constant threat to your bladder’s longevity.

Of course as always, you were bound and confined by your mental and physical prison. To say you had been bored was a severe understatement. The ridges of the floor dug into your skin harshly, leaving indentations that mimicked the wood’s pattern. You still couldn’t seem to get your head around this whole concept of being a prisoner to a mad man.

You weren’t special, far from it. You had lived a baseline life, earning and living on what you needed, comfortably hovering around and maintaining a live-able life. Every time you rose from a sleep, you had to mentally ease yourself, your mind almost had itself convinced every single time you went to bed that you were not only safe, but that your were even in the comfort of your own apartment, living under your own assigned pretenses. But unfortunately that couldn’t be further from the truth. Every morning you had to be ripped from your mind’s pleasant facade and faced with cold hard reality. There was an ongoing and greater chance that you were going to die here. That this miserable excuse of a life was endgame for you.

As much as you wanted to bombard yourself with demeaning thoughts on the levels you had so quickly stooped to in order to please Edward, what else could you do right now? The man was constantly a mere second from exploding at any given time. He had all the means to kill you, to torture and milk what ever information you still stashed away inside your head. If you didn’t play along it would’ve been a quick fate for you to meet.

He was unstable, his mood swings better equipped to back that statement. He giggled, then beat you, then fed you dog food, then fucked you and praised you all in the span of less than three hours. You hardly even knew what this man was capable of. You were smart enough to know how to stay alive for this long, and at this point the gnawing self pity at the back of your head was being evicted by every survival instinct you could muster in order to make it out of this alive.

Maybe you always thought yourself to be a fighter. You imagined if you were ever in a situation like this that you would talk back, be unfazed by your captor and be even driven further at the thought of freedom. You thought you’d fight tooth and nail and use your smarts to get yourself saved and escaped. Backing down wasn’t ever a viable option to you. But it was now. When facing the reality of these eventful few days, you knew you were looking down the barrel of a loaded gun. Your pride had vacated your head in a millisecond when you finally realized how fucked you were no matter what. So all you needed to do was stay alive. Play housewife, be what he wanted you to be for the slim shot at survival.

Maybe you were on the top floor of the apartment. You always wondered if the creaking the ceiling made was neighbors, or if it was the roof trying to withstand the oncoming autumn winds. You didn’t have too much hope in Gotham’s humility at this point, so either case was seemingly on the table. You had screamed and cried every single time he laid a finger on you, and apparently nobody had heard anything. Either that, or they just became so desensitized and decided to mind their own business. You hope if you turn up dead they won’t be able to sleep without thinking of your screams and pleading to get your captor to stop.

But then again, it was Gotham. Assault wasn’t new, domestic abuse was more common than not.

Perhaps it was the fact you had still been consumed in the hurricane that was your thoughts, but you had failed to notice, besides the odd creaking of the apartment, that Edward was somehow missing. Had he gone out? You wondered where he went. It was increasingly hard to imagine the man living a normal life outside of being a introverted and under-socialized psycho. Did he ever concern people in the outside world, did he display these same behaviors he so obviously reflects onto you.. or was he just that good at masking how bad of a person he actually was? It made you then wonder how many people in your life were as bad as he was, how many people you passed in your day to day life with the same tendencies and delusions that he prioritized. It made a shiver crawl through your body, your body seizing movement for a mere moment before returning to its normal state, the only evidence that the shiver even existed was the rampant goosebumps it left on your skin in its wake.

Your brain was numb from thinking about reality, it was odd that that fantastical side always seemed to overtake you, and always seemed to have an influence over how bad things truly were. You wanted to cry, but you physically couldn’t, your throat was tight and your mouth had a sour taste in it, twisting hard to try and relieve some of your pent up emotions. You worried about your mental health a bit, you had no idea how long your life was from this point on, and you had to tip toe around every minuscule thing that could set Edward off.

It might’ve been bad to realize, but as horrified and scared as you were about Edward and his violent tendencies, you somehow still pitied him. What must’ve he gone through to make him turn out like this, the thought made you sick with a sensation of guilt. Why on earth would you feel guilty for your captor, your abuser? Your future killer, you could only justly imagine.

Then came the sound of metal clicking, metal locks not clicking, but unlocking to be more exact. You couldn’t help a frightening mix of relief and terror overtake you, both emotions fighting hard for their rightful dominance over your mind.

Of course you were petrified of the thought and I’m anticipation that Edward seemed to always leave you in a constant state of. You had no possible insight on how his mood was today, if he was going to automatically remember your escape attempt from yesterday and lash out at you for being stupid, for trying to leave him. But on the other hand, you couldn’t help but be relieved at the thought of another person interrupting your intrusive thoughts. He was by all means the only cure to your never ending boredom at the moment, and there was always the fifty fifty chance that he wouldn’t charge you at first glance. He scared you surely, it was frightening to come to terms that though he might come off as delusional, he sure as hell wasn’t dumb.

The moment of truth finally arrived, not so heavy footsteps approached and you could hear the shut of the heavy apartment door. A curious head peeked around the corner, eyes dancing along the room before resting on you. His green eyes shone in the barely illuminated room, the light from his desk lamp and computer lighting up his genuinely content expression as he beamed down at you.

“Ah, you stayed put this time?“ he asked, his accompanying voice proving to be much duller than you had originally anticipated. A gut wrenching guilt flourished, almost causing an unbearable pressure in your stomach. You had every right to want to escape yesterday, and somehow you still felt bad for attempting it, his words cut deep into you, almost as if he had you trained like those dogs who salivated at the ring of a bell.

“Oh, did I upset you?” He asked, face never shifting from his previous expression, and yet his tone seemingly brightened at your slight frown.

“I though it was obvious that I’m pleased with you?” He quipped, body slinking out from around the corner, his thin frame drowned in the large sweater that hung off him, slightly baggy khaki pants did no further justice as he hunched over slightly, trying to get a better view of you from where you sat under the desk.

“Why are you so difficult sometimes?” He asked with a smile, no sign of irritation present but his words felt like a threat. His demeanor was warm, radiating a different glow than you were used to, somehow he radiated more of a nerdy boyfriend vibe compared to his usual “nice guy”, (hard emphasis on the quotations) aura that he exudes.

His sandy blonde hair was combed to the side of his face, allowing you to fully see his expression, it was more warm and inviting than you liked to admit, something about the warmth in his manner drew you in, harshly contrasting the cold of the actual apartment itself.

“‘s good to see you.” you chirped, giving him a little bit of the reaction he was seemingly craving.

The corners of Edward’s mouth popped up a little bit, providing a glow on his face as he kneeled in front of you, radiant expression faltering for a single moment as he seemingly remembered something important

“Ah I got a gift for you!” he diverted, changing the topic and doing three-sixty once again with his jarring attitude.

The upper half of Edward’s body momentarily disappeared around to corner, quickly returning with a brown paper bag in hand. He wordlessly pulled out a children’s riddle book, bright colors assaulted your eyes as you reached out to receive the book from him.

Then it hit you, you froze, bound hands outstretched in front of you as you gazed down to them with wide eyes. You weren’t cuffed to the table… how long had you been free for? Granted, you still weren’t mobile, but you could’ve at least migrated out from under the desk without having Edward breathing down your neck.

“Oh just now noticing?” Edward asked, amused in your frigid posture. Slowly, you took the paper backed book from his grasp, holding it in a stiff grip as you silently stared down at it. You felt so stupid even after deciding escaping wasn’t even a viable option.

“Here I thought you just really liked me and wanted to be a good girl for me by staying put ” he expressed with faux sense of hurt lacing his tone.

“Thank you.” you merely offered him, your voice less raspy than before but still scarily hoarse. Edward responded with a simple hum before diving back into the bag and pulling out some folded up clothes. Your heart nearly skipped a beat after resting on the clothes, a freshly washed linen scent lingered on the fore front of your senses.

“Here I’ll help you get changed.” Edward said, offering a hand out but not in the slightest giving you any sort of option. You put your hands in his own, and he grabbed strongly onto your wrists, his single hand balancing you as you fought to rise out from under the table.

Edward pressed himself into your body, providing most, if not all the support needed for you to manage to stand on your not only bound, but most likely mangled ankles.

He slowly pushed you so that you sat onto his desk, his hand going the extra mile to push back his keyboard and mouse so that you had room to sit with your feet dangling off the table’s edge, not even close to skimming the floor.

You looked up to him with doe eyes, leaning into the innocence you had so easily contracted while trying to survive under his possession. Edward in response, gazed down to you, arms reaching out and hands hovering just above your hips, he looked you up and down, eyes not failing to linger on the marks he left on you, no remorse was present in his gaze, instead a feeling of pride overtook him, the marks on you accompanied by your sparkling eyes of innocence help solidify his belief that you were his from here on out, it only made sense in his mind after all you did to please him.

He ducked under the table, retrieving your discarded hand cuffs before re-emerging and dangling them off his finger tips. You kept your innocent gaze, but couldn’t help the feeling of dread that manifested into your head, taking over fully as he began to cut away your angrily layered bonds with the pocket knife he seemingly always had on hand.

The moment your wrists were free he seized them in a single hand, looking down to you with eyebrows raised in a silent warning of your expected behavior. He released your wrists slowly, the pressure now alleviated off of them felt beyond heavenly, what you wouldn’t do to have your hands free like this forever.

You couldn’t imagine yourself a week ago when thinking about you now as Edward pulled your shirt off and over your head. Your past self would be so disgusted with not only how easily you seemingly gave in, but the desperation you had acquired to have the simple freedom of circling your wrists and moving them further than a millimeter apart from one another at any given time.

Once your shirt was off Edward kind of just gazed down to you, taking in, and mostly focusing on your now bare chest. Embarrassed prickled through your mind, but then again there wasn’t much embarrassment left to be dished out after the makings of yesterdays events.

It took Edward a little time to digest all of you and then move on to the actual matter of changing you. He slipped a sweatshirt a size to big on your frame not hesitating to cuff your wrists the moment you had been covered. He made quick work of removing your leg’s bonds, removing your ruined pants as well as your underwear and then placing you in a pair of what you assumed to be his boxers.

Just before he moved to re-bind your legs you pulled your feet back to stop him, causing him to eerily look up to you with a slow stare. You hesitated a response before he was able to dive into a pocket of anger

“Maybe, could I not wear them?” You asked, trying to ensure you sounded as meek as possible

“Anytime you leave- you can tie up my hands so tight… as tight as you want even... My ankle just is really hurting Eddie” you offered, gazing down at your black and blue pigmented ankle, dried blood crusted where your skin had previously broke under Edward’s brute force.

He sighed, showing the smallest bit of restraint for the first time that had made itself known in the small time you had gotten to witness Edward’s habits.

“I’m not too sure if that’s the best idea, considering that stunt you pulled yesterday” he said, though hesitation still made itself known throughout his tone.

“Please Eddie” you tried again with the nickname “You probably broke it yesterday anyways- how would I even-“ you started, but was quickly silenced by a hand slamming into the table next to you

You watched his expressions closely, his nostrils flaring as his lips formed a small frown, the act of aggression was a mere warning to shut up. Something you heeded immediately. Apparently the sex wasn’t too life changing, though why did you expect to have influence over him just because you got him off.  You had to remind yourself that he got excited over you eating wet dog food.

“Why do I always have to be challenged?” he grumbled, heavy eyelids forming a scowl as he then went on to silently cuff your legs, he left one cuff pretty lose around your non injured ankle, but it seemed he purposefully tightened the cuff around your injured ankle to press into you skin just to the point of it sending a surge of pain through your body, pulling a small gasp from your lips.

What a dick. Stares at your tits and then immediately sought harm on you. What a nice guy. And yet, maybe cuffs was a big leap in trust between you and him. It wasn’t dozens of layers of rope and tape so maybe this was just a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things.

“You look good” he said, any venom previously present in his tone dissolved in an instant after doing a once over on you. These had to be his clothes, maybe it was a power thing to him but you could tell the confidence boost it seemingly gave him after he fully took in how you looked, covered in his bruises, in his apartment, in his clothes. His head was huge with an odd sense of fulfillment.

“Thank you.. I like your outfit, it suits you” you airily responded, genuine with your words as it was a much softer look on him in comparison to the outfit he had abducted you in.

Edward let a smile slip, arms this time slinking fully around your waist so both arms cradled the small of your back.

“Bet you like me in a mask more.” He muses, a cocky smile filling his face from one ear to another. You couldn’t help but muster an uncomfortable smile at the very least, hoping it didn’t read that way to him. You didn’t know if you could truly tell him that his thug getup made you want to vomit, the pure pressure of dread seeping into your body at the mere mention of it. You hummed in agreement after maybe a few too many beats of silence, but it didn’t seem to matter as Edward payed no mind specifically.. seemingly always mustering that grin as long as he was conscious.

Edward ran his hands up and down your arms, now covered fully by the thick sweatshirt he had thus provided. The friction of this movement helped alleviate the constant chill that resided just on the peaks on your body, almost chilling you to the bone. You believed truly he intended to bring you this heat, this comfort that aligned so deviated from his true self.

Edward leaned into your face, his own a couple of inches from yours as he took you in and admired you.

“I can fill a room, but I take up no space. What am I?” He asked, making absolutely no sense in dead wake of his staring.

“Sorry?“ you clamored out, very obviously caught off guard at the question

“What am I? I can fill a room, but I take up no space. Cmon you got this, it’s one of the riddles in the children’s book I gave you” he stated as if it was an obvious fact, like you knew it and you were just pretending to be oblivious for fun.

“Takes up no space but fills a room.. uh sound maybe?” You ask and Edward kind of stopped, thinking on it for a second

“…no but it is right isn’t it?” He hummed, apparently too caught off guard by your correct but incorrect answer to continue down the road he intended. Your words seemingly stuck with him, a tight line paved way on his face as his eyes seemed lost in thought as they locked in on your own, almost staring right through you.

He dove down and quickly retrieved the small children’s book of riddles, flipping through the cream colored pages until stopping at his apparent asked question. He turned the book upside down for what you assumed was to find the answer key and he just stared at it, a string of mumbling flowing incoherently from his lips. You sat patiently, cuffed legs swinging idly as you slowly and cautiously observed his actions.

“You’re incorrect according to..” he paused and read the name on the book’s cover “Susan B. Titus” he said, chuckling at her name for an unknown reason. He put down the book, sliding it out of sight from next to you. His hands were bare, you now noticed as they warmly cupped your cheeks “but you’re right in my mind if that’s any consolation" he said, a bright smile on his lips. “The true answer is light, dear.”

“Do you miss your old life?” His words came like a back handed slap at the fast turn of the conversation. He had quite the tendency to jump ship to a more interesting conversation in his mind

“No” you said flatly, bringing out your helpless persona that you had thus  previously decided on pursuing. “I never realized… just how insignificant my life was. I was never meant to make a splash, this is exactly what I’ve been needing. A change, a- a purpose” you conjured, imagining the stage lights turning on as you metaphorically stood up and accepted your Oscar. You were growing into such a talented actor, it could be that Edward was aware of it too. Neither of you were dumb, he had common sense. But somehow your words convinced him as he pulled you in for a light kiss, just beaming at you. Your lips burned at the contact, leaving a tingling sensation throughout your entire head as he finally parted from your lips.

“It’s true, you’re apart of something much bigger now. This is just the beginning honey” he said, gazing down at you with what you could only chalk up to be pride and pity muddled together to burst alive on his soft features.

“On that note.. it would be lovely to know your opinions on a couple of things” Edward purred, holding a stiff grip on your face before pulling back with a slight sense of hesitance. The sudden lack of warmth to your face allowed way for your arms to spread up and down with a stark chill.

“Might I ask your opinion on Batman?” He asked, with a coy smile, delusions leading him to be hopelessly devoted to a man he never met.

“He’s.. a good guy” you hesitated, a prickling smile flourishing on your face as you looked up cheerfully to Edward’s face, the last thing you wanted to admit was that you currently despised the Batman due to his partnership with Edward.

“hmm elaborate, what makes him so good?”

“Well..” you started, slight hesitation flashing in your movements “He cracks down on the crimes that city hall’s too afraid to touch.” You answered, picking up the hint Edward wanted you to expand further by his raised brows and slightly gaping mouth “Like the uh drop head ring, he deals with that right?”

“Yes.. yes! Now why doesn’t city hall want to crack down on that?” He asked, guiding you to the answer as if he already knew what it consisted of

“Because they’re working with them right? They benefit from it all” Edward burst into a small fit of laughs. His normally gloved hands, warm on your face as he jumped to grasp it again, no sort of aggression in his movements.

“Exactly! The meek shall inherit my dear! This is what it’s all about!” He laughed out, an overwhelming sense of pure ecstatic and raw joy somehow suffocated you.

“You’re so close to finally seeing what this really is about. You’re so close and you’re doing so good dear” he hummed with a pleasant sigh following “you’ll see soon. I promise it will all click into place soon” he murmured further, thumbs stroking your cheek in a soothing manner. You connected with his sparkling eyes, leaning into his touch as he further went on his interrogation

“How about Wells? Robert Wells what do you have on him?” He smiled down expectantly to you

“He’s- he’s not all that bad. Really he’s just a passive pawn.” You murmured, as much as you had to admit you hated the man, he had his own kids he had to take care of. He and his wife went through a messy divorce four months ago with his assets split fifty fifty. At this point the guy was just trying to survive, being used as a puppet to play into the mayor’s ultimate goals

“But he took advantage of you right? That’s what I gathered from your threads on him.” He asked, eyebrows furthering a bit further as if your were the one in the wrong

“Wells..? No he- he never did anything. I just let him call me pretty and let him talk to me about his life and what was troubling him.” You mustered up, not intending on defending him but knowing he was far from the scummiest person in that city hall.

“Why must we butt heads hmm? It’s clear he was using you, taking advantage of you so he could get an intern who was also a fuck buddy” he laughed it off, acting as if he actual knew the intimates of Well’s Brian

“What?” You asked, jerking your head back slightly to give a little distance between the two of you despite his hands still cupping your face in a not so gentle fashion anymore, holding your face still so he could look directly into your eyes with no obstructions

“I get he probably wanted to get in my pants, but I fully knew that when working with him. He’s just a lonely guy, he isn’t the one actually making any of the decisions-“

“But he’s a bystander! He doesn’t do anything to stop it and goes along with Mitchell’s schemes! A bystander is no better than the one committing the crimes!” He half yelled into your face, allowing you to flinch effectively. He dropped his hands from your face, groaning loudly as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“All right how about the Waynes? We at least can agree on one thing, right dear?” He asked through clenched teeth, looking to you with a sharp tension in his posture, overall effectively changing his entire demeanor.

“I don’t know” you mumbled and he simply stared at you in silence

“My mom worked for them until my dads business took off. They were everything and more to my family..” you said, dipping a toe in uncharted waters as though you had a pretty good idea how Edward felt about the Wayne’s you couldn’t help but defend their name.

Edward laughed, stress lacing his face as he looked at you with an exasperated repression, his mouth hanging open as he stuttered trying to find the right words

“You’re joking right? After all they’ve done to tear this city down and bring out the worst people in it.. really?! You’re defending the Waynes??” He rambled on in disbelief, stepping dangerously close to you, his body pressing into your own

You chose to stay silent, it seemed nothing you could say would be able to change his attitude towards anybody. He had his idea on this city set in stone and you weren’t going to stand in his way, you knew that. You knew better to speak after hearing his beliefs.  You mustered a sorry, and he pushed his forehead into yours, groaning once more as he rested his weight against you slightly.

“I’ll show you kay?” He asked rhetorically, you knew you had no choice in the matter anyways “I’ll show you these leeches’ true colors” he groaned “They’ll pay for their sins”

It stayed like this for a moment, both your eyes were closed as he pressed his forehead into yours. You could tell by his slowly deepening breaths he was trying to calm himself down, trying to not turn such a nice moment sour despite how wrong he thought he knew you were.

“Can I go to the bathroom?” You asked meekly, opening your eyes to that green pair already staring back into yours

Edward stared for a moment longer, eyes suspiciously searching yours before he sighed and pulled away. He hoisted you up over his shoulder with little to no warning and you instantly felt the blood rush to your head as a wave of dizziness overcame you. You braced your bound hands into his back as you began the small journey to the bathroom, which was, surprise surprise, back in the radiator room. You wondered if that first day you even qualified as being conscious…

He set you down on the edge of a small bathtub and shower combo, he lifted the toiled seat and reach to pull the boxers down before you stopped him, quickly placing bound hand on top of his outstretched ones. “I think- I wanna do this myself. Y’know stretch out a bit” you sheepishly smiled. You could see a moment of disappointment but the man didn’t argue as he stepped back to block the doorway of the bathroom, body blocking the entrance as he stared down, watching you like a hawk.

You gave him a small smile in thanks, managing to shuffle the boxers down on your own as your quickly transferred yourself onto the toilet, hissing silently at the pain that pricked your ankle for the second you had put weight on it.

You did your thing, all the while trying your best to avoid looking at Edward. The man’s done much worse than stare at you while you pissed, but somehow you couldn’t help but feel more vulnerable than ever, eyes diverting to every possible sight besides him. You quickly noticed in your frantic attempt to evade his stare, that this was an incredibly unkempt bathroom. It was dirtied with age, but the type of age like dust and caked grime, almost as if it had never been used.

“So you.. live here right?” You asked quietly, trying to break the ever thickening tension.

“No, this is my office” Edward scoffed, and at first you thought he was being sarcastic, but when you met his eyes for the first time since sitting down you could see the cold hard sincerity his words held, so you replied with a simple nod, somehow effectively making the tension in the room even thicker than before.

You cleared your throat, fingering the toilet tissue from the roll on the wall and forming it into the ball as you cleaned yourself up and flushed the toilet while still sitting. Edward took it as a silent cue, drawing forward as he leant down and hoisted you back up to carry you with a groan.

The short walk back to the living room was filled with a rather uncomfortable silence. He ended up placing you in his rolling chair he used exclusively when working on his computer. Your brain buzzed with wonder of what he might do everyday while on there, typing away.

Your eyes caught sight next of a bulletin board, it was straight out of a tv show with printed out pictures and articles, wound up in a connecting web of threat as little notes and red pen marked his thoughts down. He noticed you staring, a creepy smile divulging in his features as he hummed in silent acknowledge

“You wanna see?” He asked, leaning over your shoulder to whisper in your ear, to which you responded with a silent, yet eager nod. And he complied quickly, rolling you over to the corner where the two walls connected, filled wall to wall with no negative space, just news clippings and pictures. You noticed quite a few familiar faces, Bruce Wayne, the Mayor, and many many more high powered Gotham officials and elites.

You were awestruck by the sheer abundance of research the man had put into this, a vast majority of the wall’s composite being hand written info done by Edward.

“Soon we’ll be able to overturn this cesspool of a city” you jumped as he whispered this, not realizing fully until now that his head was craned so it was right over your shoulder, his gaze following yours as he proudly gazed at his work that compiled of many many hours.

Your eyes slowly wandered to the far right of this work, assuming this was the newest intel he had gathered. Your eyes landed on a news article as well as a missing poster and your heart sank.

It was if your whole world had just shattered, you buried the hope of escaping or being rescued as soon as reality had hit you. But now, staring into the black and white photo of news articles with your name plastered on them, accompanied by a missing poster officiated and stamped by the city. You couldn’t even predict your body’s true feelings as your gut wrenched, body still frozen in shock.

Your eyes only then began to well up as Edward whispered something in your ear.

“They just want they’re daughter back. They’ll do anything and have even offered a cash reward” Edward whispered giddily into your ear, a high pitched voice mocking what you assumed to be a manipulation of your parent’s words. Was this his plan the entire time? To let you find this on your own time and absolutely crush your will.

“This one’s the newest, it got published before I went out this morning” he hummed with a smile, pointing to the article that was dated for Monday, October first.

Four days, it had been four days to get articles and missing posters up on you. It gave you the stabbing feeling of hope, something you needed to abandon if you even dreamed of surviving this place.

A fat tear rolled down your cheek as your aloof and devoted facade began to chip away. You silently broke down, shoulders shaking as your posture crumbled, your head now looking exclusively at your lap as you concealed your now obvious sobbing

Heavy arms wrapped around your body, hugging you in a manner you may have found conforming once, but now found increasingly suffocating.

“Shhh, isn’t this what you want? Someone to care about you? I thought this would make you happy, they care about you so much” he said, you could hear the venom dripping from his amused tone, his fingers dug further into you as he began to softly kissing your neck, murmuring his sweet nothings as you continued to sob.

You hadn’t seen your parents in awhile, you were busy with college and your internship. Your mother had always been too overbearing and being on your own was like a breath of fresh air. Maybe you missed too many of her calls, she probably got worried and took the trip to check on you. Only to find everything in your apartment besides you.

“They’re launching a full investigation. Isn’t that wonderful? People drop dead on the streets everyday, but the political scholar with successful parents and a job at city hall has a whole search out for her. You’re so special huh?” He asked, grip tightening to become physically uncomfortable as you sobbed more, guilt manipulating your thoughts and encouraging more tears.

“They’ll announce you dead by the end of the week. So many unidentifiable bodies show up in Gotham, so one of them has to be yours” he said, a giggle caught in his throat between his planted kisses that trailed up to your ear. “Your parents might not give up hope, but the city moves on quick dear. You’re as good as dead, nobody will care about you.” He stopped to nibble on your earlobe “Nobody will care. Except for me. I’m the only constant you have to look forward to..” he rambled further, you could hear the pure glee in his tone “I need you” he whispered and it was almost as if time stopped, the world stilling as a hard cold reality finally slammed into like a brick wall. He was right.

Edward had left a couple of hours ago, you were back under the desk, this time with only the cuffs on your wrists binding you to the desk instead of the many layers of bonds Edward had mustered up before. You had been on and off crying every hour, your whole world was basically coming to and end. You kept forgetting how smart Edward was, he had this whole situation already planned out. Finding you to taking you, to breaking you to your untimely and true devotion.

You of course still hadn’t found yourself aligning with his beliefs, he was too out there for you to fully grasp. And he contradicted everything you had learned to accept, maybe it was truly your ignorance keeping you grounded enough to not fall down his rabbit whole of conspiracies and eradication.

You were even more scared about what this man had planned. Given the now blooming realization that he was serious and had put in the actual research you realized you may not be dealing with who you thought. You had severely underestimated him and it was coming back to bite you in the ass.

The door unlocked, a sense of deja vu shouldered through you as the mirroring of this morning’s activities were being followed to a tee.

You could only imagine how you looked, red puffy eyes, tear stained cheeks, potentially matted hair. At least you had fresh clothes, at least you had the bare minimum keeping you alive.

Your heart stopped at the full sight of the man in front of you, he was in heavy winter gear, dressed in the unusual all black, clutching something tightly in his hand. But that wasn’t truly what terrified you, it was the blood splatter that was peeking up from under his sleeve. You watched his heavy form as he crouched down, moving close to you but still keeping enough distance so he wasn’t under the table with you

“Who…? What happened Edward?” You asked, horrified for whatever answer you anticipated to leave his mouth. His grin intensified, an unnerving sense of pride floated around him in a suffocating aura.

“I killed him” he said, proudly smiling as if expecting something

“I killed Wells. Bystanders are just as bad as the people they stand by” he said, a dark tone not matching his delighted face. He kind of stood there, open body language as if he expected you to jump and hug him and tell him thank you, you were forever in his debt.

“Why?” You said, voice immediately cracking, the horrifying reality of the matter crushing your lungs as your body jolted alive and activated full panic mode

“You’re no better than him” you said, voice raising in volume as you lurched forwards, cuffs keeping your just out of range of touching Edward. His cocky grin just fueled the flames of your emotions

“He has two daughters they aren’t even out of middle school yet! What is wrong with you? You’re fucked up Edward you’re fucked up!!” You repeated, screaming into his face, as he again just smiled. A shit eating grin maintained until you wore yourself out

“You’re so emotional” he murmured, almost proudly

“Hmm I could be lying? What if this was my blood, would you be as upset as you are now to learn that I got hurt?” You couldn’t even make out what was real anymore, knowing him, which in the grand scheme you didn’t, it could be either option.

You breathed heavily, tears springing forth again as you leaned back against the wall, watching him with a cold hard stare.

“You’re so close. If only you redirected that passion, so much potential dear. You have so much potential!” He praised, somehow unfazed by any of this.

Then a familiar ringing filled the dark apartment. Something so familiar. Your ringtone.

Edward raised his brows, slowly revealing what was in his hand this whole time. It was a phone call and the caller ID alone made you almost spiral.

mom

“Go on, try and answer it” he grinned, maybe this was a test…

Maybe it wasn’t 

Chapter Text

You hesitated, alarm bells ringing as you stared into Edward’s grinning face. Everything inside you knew this was a trap it was dumb luck to even receive a call from her right now, but you truly wouldn’t know until you tried.

Shakily you scooted forwards, with your hands still cuffed and looped between the desk’s heavy weight as you tried to steadily ease yourself to the phone your phone in Edward’s hand. You were in arms reach of it only when your body was painfully pressed into the metal leg of the desk, the constant pounding of adrenaline pummeling your brain into mush seemed to be the only reminder in this moment that this was all very real.

You hadn’t noticed how fucked your hands were until they were reaching out in front of you towards your phone, they were controlled by tremors and not to mention black and blue from the incessant bondage that seemed to be on your wrists at all hours of the day.

Confusion was the only deplorable thought that creeped its way through your hope filled day dreams.

How did he get your phone? It was in your apartment when he first took you. Dumb question.

Better question. Why? Why would he risk grabbing it, especially with your newfound knowledge of an ongoing investigation into your case, you knew tracking a victim’s phone was the first thing on the agenda. So why risk this.

The blaring of your ringtone lessened none of the pressure in your mind. You felt like your head was going to explode with the whirlwind of emotions and torture you had put up with.

Fingers. Fingers shaking as they glided on air, reaching for your mom’s name. Her smiling face in your contact photo. You wish you would have spent more time with her, you were just so caught up in school work.

Your world went silent as your burning hot finger tip pressed into the cold glass of your phone, clicking the accept call button as you held your breath, absolutely terrified of the repercussions to come.

Silence. Nothing had happened, you saw the numbers start counting on your phone screen, letting you know that you weren’t dreaming, and that the phone call had started. Your eyes flicked up for the first time to see Edward’s reaction. That tight lipped smile just looked right back, his eyebrows seemed more hardened now with this expression, but his eyes were still full of life, waiting expectantly for your next course of action.

Your name sliced into the silence, causing your face to heat up so quickly, the overwhelming onslaught of sobs completely racking your body at the sound of your name. No, not just the sound of your name alone. The sound of your mother saying it, truly it was her, there was nothing even close to describe the relief you felt.

“Is that you sweetie?”

Your burning eyes couldn’t even see your phone through your waves of tears. You weren’t even coherent with your speech anymore, just pitiful and wailing sobs somewhat saying that it was you. Over and over her name rolled off your tongue, Edward wasn’t even a person anymore to you, his whole presence disappearing as you solely hyper focused on your now too sobbing mother.

“Baby! Baby! I love you where-“

A scream tore from your throat as your mother’s voice was cut off by the sound of shattering glass. Your vocal chords immediately erupted in hot flames as you started plainly screaming, watching as the manic man who you all but forgot was there bludgeoned your phone with a rubber handled hammer he must’ve had stashed away in that swallowing coat that hung loosely off his frame. It was the sight of the pin striped smile that was on his lips, something about that unnerving and unchanging expression caused your adrenaline to pickup. Always smiling, lips never open.

You were naive to think this wouldn’t have been a possible outcome, but your body still reacted as if this had never been a possibility. You reacted as if somehow Edward was better than this, the same man who beat and bound you was better than this.

Your body chest hard into the metal leg of the desk, cuffed hands straining to grasp at air as the trigger happy manic in front of you started to slow his attack on your phone, shards from your glass screen already somehow digging into the space between your legs and the cold hard floor.

“Please please eddie please no” you ranted out in an onslaught of pleas, begging as if that would save your phone that was in a million separate pieces.

Those piercing green eyes met with your tear clouded ones, looking over the clear rim of his glasses, a fire of rage emerging as his emotions seemed to settle.

In an unexpected instant his hard calloused hand met with the side of your face as he pushed it excruciatingly close into the metal table leg.

“You dumb fucking bitch!” he spat, words so close to you as he basically pressed his face into yours, only causing your sobbing to increase at the flourishing pain you newly discovered, both physically and emotionally. Out of the side of your gaze you still saw those green eyes, burning into your mind as he shoved your face again, waiting and stalking your eyes, trying to get any sort of reaction out of you besides crying. He wanted guilt, genuine sorrow and regret, he wanted you compliant for the next stage of your relationship. He needed all hopes of your past to be shriveled up and burnt.

“Scholar my ass! Anyone with common sense would’ve seen through that!” He practically yelled into your ear, eliciting you to yell back in pure horror of his unpredicted actions.

“Dumb girl! Stupid bitch! Why the fuck did you think that was gonna happen!” You couldn’t think, just the cold metal pressed into your cheek as Edward continually berated you, pushing you as far into the desk as you physically could go, somehow the ice cold metal contrasting with your flushed and heated skin did nothing to soothe you, only feeding to your panic as it over stimulated your senses further.

“please-“ you started, only to be cut off by those same hard hands maneuvering to grip your cheeks, his blunt fingernails digging into your ripe skin painfully

“No! You had your chance to talk and you fucked it up. Women like you always fuck it up!” He seethed, his clear frames fogging up from the amount of air he was exhaling onto your face, which then ricocheted back into his glasses.

“I’m gonna break your mother like I did your phone you selfish cunt” he furthered, this blind rage coming out of seemingly nowhere. Never would have you expected for Edward to have felt so betrayed by you simply wanting to talk with your mother. Had he expected you to value him over your mother? After all he had put your through that day alone?

Finally his hand released from your face, allowing you to sink down to the floor, body weighed down and suppressed by heavy sobs. His words didn’t quite sink in until you eyed his rising figure stand tall in front of you, the toes of his boots kissing against your exposed legs as he simply fumed above you, staring in silent anger with labored breathing.

Your tear bitten eyes only stared as you started slowly shaking your head. Despite at this point being doubtful you would ever see your mother again, you still couldn’t bare the image of her bruised and bloody corpse being on your conscious, her death being on your hands. That red that creeped on the fabric of Edward’s arm could be her fate if you didn’t have the mind to turn this situation around.

You strained your body as close to the floor as possible, comparable to how an animal would lie in submission to it’s stronger opposite. You forced your neck to crane forwards, nose brushing his boot as you groveled on the floor for a few sobbing beats.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Edward-Eddie.”

A large boot took position on the top of your head, pressing down ever so slightly so your chin was improperly smooshed into the chilly floorboards.

A plethora of pleads poured from your mouth, maybe it wasn’t even coherent at this point, but the boot getting heavier and heavier against your head and the swelling of your brain kept fueling into your panicked word vomit.

“Never again! I will never, please I love it here, I love you!” Silence.

Silence from both you and your counterpart. No sniffles and sobs dared to escape your head as you felt the man’s sudden tension through his foot alone.

“…Love me?” a light curious voice floated into your ears, easily shattering the hard silence. The weight was soon lifted off your head completely, but that didn’t help the now crushing anxiety that coddled your gut. Warmth radiated off the man as he hesitantly kneeled in front of you, childish eyes gazing oh so innocently over his oversized frames. You dared not even move from your place, head still jutted forwards and chin still patiently pressed into the cold ground. A light set of hands grabbed hold of your arms, lifting you just enough so your body was tilted towards him, your head had the choice to hang as dead weight, or look up at him. And you chose the latter.

“Say you mean it… you, you truly love me?” He was smarter than this surely, you both knew that. But something about hearing those words flipped some sort of switch, perhaps it was the fact he had never heard those words uttered in his direction, maybe it was the hint that your were cracking, beyond repair in this weakened mental state. Or maybe it was because he secretly felt the same, he wanted to hear those words come from you, just the treatment you have been receiving thus far wasn’t exactly the environment he was expecting it to form in.

You couldn’t think, head still fumbling it’s thoughts in panic and embarrassment. Play the long game, you were a realist, pull yourself together and play nice.

“Yes” you simply said, face contorting into a direct opposition of your confirmation, tears newly spouting and the mere thought. “I’m sorry, Eddie you’ve always cared.” You sputtered once more, stray tears building up again into weak sobs. You were so tired, why did you have to play along? Why couldn’t the game master just take the win? “You’ve always been right- I’m selfish- and… you’ve always been there. I love you.” You mooched, knees attempting to push yourself forwards, into the grasp of his tightening fingers.

Bitten lips, swollen eyes, and wet face all craned up to look into Eddie’s eyes. His heart skipped a beat, the absence of love in his thus barren life really started to showcase itself in moments like these. Although he didn’t regret the beatings and berating, although he knew these words were just survival instinct he still wanted to believe them. His shaky hands pulled you fully up and into him, leading your entire weight to simply collapse on him, violent sobs erupting once more. But it was different this time, to him these sobs weren’t a pitiful attempt at forgiveness, they didn’t feel like a show. You loved him, you were genuinely regretful of your actions.

His arms wrapped around your heaving body, pulling you fully into a tight hug. You whispered a couple of apologies through heavy sobs, face pressed into his chest so hard you could barely breathe. Your hands fisted his shirt, grasping to anything you could hold onto, wanting him closer only for the false sense of comfort he was able to provide, even if it was just for one moment.

He began to hush you eventually, your sobs deescalating into pitiful whimpers. You were still locked in his embrace, his grasp only loosened once you moved away to look up to him. To look in his eyes and see what you were dealing with. You wanted him to kill you, end it now while he had mercy in his blackened heart, but then again after your declaration of love would he be willing to let go? Was he ever even planning on letting you go, physically or metaphorically it didn’t mean anything to you now. Your mind was blank, your body ached and your head pounded from the outright violent treatment and sobs. You couldn’t even process what was to come. You locked eyes with his green ones, his brows furrowed and knit together as they curiously gazed down at you. His whole demeanor had softened, but you could see him visibly change before your eyes now, his face seemed to relax as he put on a small smile.

“I love you too.” he murmured, almost hesitantly, his eyes still looking deep into your own, his face leaning forwards, nose pressing close to yours before his small mouth captured your own in a deep and foreboding kiss. Your skin crawled yet you didn’t pull away. Play along. Maybe leaning into it will really put your performance over the top, really sell it. Did this man even believe the words coming out of his own mouth? It didn’t matter much now though, his desire to be close to you seemed to pick up tenfold, his hands feverishly moving away from your back and now to explore the curves and indents your body had to showcase. You fought back tears harder, you needed this trust, you deep down didn’t want to die.

A small groan escaped him, his lips disconnected for a small chance to breath before he attacked your neck, planting rows and rows of sharp nips and kisses, clearly inexperienced and completely overtaken by his own lust. Your hands could only shakily move up, fingers lightly moving to his scalp to play with his hair. You fingered his locks so delicately in response to his feverish attempts at pleasing himself. You had to will yourself not to cry as he made a move to remove whatever rags still clung to your body.

You never wanted to die.

Chapter Text

You wake to silence. Not the cold, buzzing kind that hums around fluorescent lighting or rusting pipes but something else. Something that’s almost entirely foreign. A quiet that feels like breath being held. The hush before a question is asked.

Your head is still pounding, a never-ending headache that looms over your battered and weakened body. You can only imagine the lack of sustenance in your system isn’t helping with how your body and brain are functioning. Some would even argue that dogfood and the odd peanut butter and jelly aren’t nearly enough to keep you alive- but you’re no expert.

Your eyes lift— heavy and dark from turmoil of your stay so far. Your gaze searches the room- nothing seems off, the awful familiarity of your situation seems to only deepen the pit of your stomach, your gaze moves down to your body’s state.

Your wrists aren’t taped to the desk leg anymore. They’re still bound, but only loosely. The tape sits slack across your skin, fraying at the edge like it had been unraveled and rewrapped with less enthusiasm.

The air is also familiar, the damp and dark apartment doesn’t seem a hair different- it’s just simply missing a looming presence. It smells like coffee and latex.

Your heavy eyelids fluttered and strained slightly looking up to the worn and cracked wooden desk. There's a peanut butter sandwich on a folded napkin in front of you, an unopened water bottle balanced beside it. Your stomach churned a little bit- not really finding much of an appetite- another shocker! And next to both- a small black spiral notebook, dog-eared and clearly used with inked fingerprints and marker leaks showing through on the side of the disheveled pages. A pencil is tucked into its wire spine, its eraser chewed off and tip sharpened to a point with what looked like a pocket knife. There's a sticky note haphazardly placed on the corner of the cover. His handwriting— familiar and alike most of the manically scribbling on the walls… it’s looping, precise, obsessive.

Write me something. Anything. I want to know what you’re thinking. I’ll be reading it :) -Eddie

You stare at the note for a long time. Your mouth watered and you bit back the urge to spill your guts on the chipped and cold hardwood floor beneath you.

Eddie.

You wanted to scream, to cry, to vomit. Anything that your body could possibly muster to physically recoil from that fucking nickname. But rather you still sat there in silence, unable to physically display any sort of rejection to your current situation because plainly, you were too tired.

The implication of that smiley face scratches down your spine like a nail. Your mouth is dry. Your stomach aches in a way that has nothing to do with hunger.

You consider the sandwich, jelly-less and not very appealing to you so soon after waking up. You consider the notebook.
One will keep you alive. The other might give you power.

You take the power water bottle after no second guessing, your hoarse throat, scratchy and dry seemed to worsen tenfold at just the thought of water and the possibility of hydration. Cracked and bloodied lips wrap around the bottle as soon as the cap twisted off and bounced onto the floor. White knuckles gripped the bottle as it crackled, water droplets rolled off your chin and hastily spilled onto the floor as you completely downed the bottle. You let it fall from your fingers and onto the floor, almost gasping for air as you turned your focus back to the notebook once again.

You take the pencil.

Your mind races to what you could possibly even say— honestly is obviously not too well rewarded, but at the same time you know that Edward isn’t dumb, perhaps a bit socially stunted. But absolutely not stupid.

The first sentence you manage to write is a lie.

You scare me, but I think I understand you.

It isn’t true, but maybe it’s because what he’s been wanting to hear- maybe it’s all he’s ever wanted someone to admit to him even. But the point still stands. You don’t understand him. Not even close. His moods shift like oil on water glossy, hard to catch, constantly breaking into new patterns. They never seem to make sense and completely clash with your understanding of the human nature. You understand control. You understand leverage. You understand hunger. Maybe you even understand where’s he’s coming from- ever so slightly.

But understanding Edward? That’s not something you’ll ever come to terms with- or even admit, even to yourself.

So then what else do you write? What message do you leave him that will allow him to let you in, the let you survive. You need to give him something- anything really that’ll appease him. Give him something he wants to hear. The city.

You write about the city instead. You write about how it feels to live in a place that never pretends it’s not dying. A place that although you call it home, sees you as nothing but an ant beneath its boot. You write about corruption and feigned guilt you’ve acquired for being a cog in the corrupted machine. You write about all that and more- the wet stink of city hall, you mention Falcone without naming him. You write plainly:

Rot spreads from the top down. You knew that already. So do I.

You write that you’re not innocent to give him something more to chew on. You pencil in that you’re not some wide-eyed intern. That the world has always made more sense when viewed from the shadows. You write in a way that you know he’ll understand, you want him to understand you. No. Rather… you need him to understand you, relate to you, even pity you.

Maybe we both want the same thing, Edward. I just don’t know if I can survive the way you’re doing it.

When you finish, your hands tremble. The words are blurry. Not because you're emotional—because you're afraid he won’t believe it. Or maybe worse… that he’ll believe it too much.

You let out a shaky sigh- your fate has been sealed from the moment you tangled yourself into this mess, you’re not dumb and you know that. He knows that. But where does that leave you? What could possibly be the end goal to this sick and twisted game..? You let yourself scoot back to underneath the desk, your wrists are hardly bound, but they still remain tethered together in front of you. Resting your head against the cold leg of the desk, you sit- and do all you can. Wait.

He finds the notebook before he finds you.

You’re beneath the desk again—knees tucked, breathing shallow, wrists still loosely bound. The scissors gleam within arm’s reach, but they might as well be a hundred miles away. You didn’t even look at them today. Not really. Not after you wrote what you did.

You watch him through the space between the table leg and the edge of the chair.

Edward picks up the notebook like it’s something alive . Deliberately he almost handles it like he’s afraid it will grow legs and run out of this apartment. You’re almost jealous at the care the notebook is handled by with. His fingers run along the spine, slow and reverent, as though your words might bite him if he doesn’t approach gently.

Then he sits.

Not in a chair.

On the floor.

Right there in the middle of the room—cross-legged, hunched slightly forward—he begins to read. He almost outright ignores your presence, his face buried deep in the notebook. His body is open and turned towards you- but he acts as if you’re another piece of furniture in the corner.

The silence stretches, taut and pulsing. You can’t see his face clearly from your position, only the stillness of his body, the small flicks of his eyes tracking line after line. You think, absurdly: He’s studying me.

Despite him paying you no mind, the simple way he handles and takes in the words on the page makes you believe he’s the most aware of you and your presence than maybe he’s ever been. The air feels electric. Unstable. Sacred.

And then he laughs.

A low, breathless exhale that curls through the room like smoke. When he speaks, his voice is soft. Level. “You’re clever,” he murmurs, flipping a page back to reread something. “Not performative. Not shallow. You’re... real. ” He lingers on the word like it means more than just fact. Like it's praise and threat all at once. He’s acting like he knows you now. That the real you is laid out on the page. As if it was all so obvious- and even he understands now.

You shift slightly under the desk. He doesn’t look at you.

“You used the word ‘understand,’” he says aloud, not for you but for the space itself. “You understand me.” He repeats it once. Then again, slower. Like he’s savoring it. Like it’s all he’s been waiting to hear. That kind of moment of bliss in a child’s mind when their mother wraps them up in a hug.

The next sound is the notebook closing, not with a snap, but something more final— a conclusion. You hold your breath. Edward rises, deliberate as a puppet pulling its own strings. Every movement precise. It’s controlled. Measured. Then- nothing. Silence.

Until his shoes appear in front of you.

He kneels down slowly, folding himself to your level. For a moment, you don’t look at his face—you can’t. You watch his hands instead. Black gloves. Smudges of something dried at the seams. Blood, maybe. Ink. Maybe both.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he says, low and certain. “You’re afraid of what I’m making you feel. ” Your eyes snap to his, wide, bloodshot and maybe a bit too honest. He smiles finally. Not a grin. Not cruel. Something worse. Something sickeningly familiar.

His hand lifts. You flinch—but he doesn’t strike you. He brushes your hair back, tucks it behind your ear. His fingers linger at the shell of it, just barely touching skin. “See?” he murmurs. “You’re already soft for me.” Your lips part in protest—but before you speak, he leans in and kisses your forehead. The contact is so intimate , so quiet, that it turns your stomach more than any slap could.

He doesn’t move away. His mouth hovers near your temple. “You’ve earned something,” he breathes, almost sweetly. If you had more energy- maybe you’d cry. It’s all so hopeless now.

He stands. Walks to the corner of the apartment- to a shelf filled with what seems to be vials, wires and gunpowder. He stifles through a cabinet below the shelves pulling out a ratty cardboard box. He grabs something from it and pulls the vinyl from its sleeve like he’s done this a hundred times before. He clears the cabinet’s surface haphazardly, pushing back whatever wiring or specimens lie there to put something in its place. A record player. His fingers work swiftly as he adjusts the settings on the old machine- placing the vinyl on to its slot.

When the first notes start, you know immediately: not Debussy. This time it’s something unfamiliar—slower, more jagged. Dissonant strings dragging across warped melody. The sound fills the room like fog.

Edward returns and crouches in front of you again. His hand cups your chin, guiding your gaze to his face. You expect more praise.

Instead, he whispers something that was infinitely worse:

“Would you bleed for me?”

Your breath catches.He tilts his head, studying you like a riddle he’s halfway through solving. “You already gave me words,” he says. “Now I want something real. ” You don’t speak. He doesn’t wait for you to. He untapes your wrists with surprising tenderness, like peeling open a gift.

“You’re not sleeping under the desk tonight,” he says. “You’ll sleep beside me.” Not with me. Beside me. Beside him outside the apartment? But the implication knots low in your stomach. Because he’s touched you. But not like that . Not really at least. But something’s shifting.

He leads you to a room maybe you knew existed- but chose to forget about- right next to the radiator you first woke up in this place tethered to. Inside, a mattress on the floor. You’re guided inside and towards the foot of the mattress, and you sit down only because he places a hand on your shoulder and guides you there. It’s soft. Clean. The blanket is the same one from your apartment. You wonder how he got it. You wonder when.

Edward kneels again. Eyes locked on yours.

“You’re becoming what I need,” he says, voice low and reverent. “And if you keep this up...” He leans in. This time, it’s not your forehead he kisses. It’s the corner of your mouth. Just once. Barely there. But deliberate.

He stands. Walks to the bedroom door. “I’ll be back,” he says, already halfway gone “Get some rest.” …Like you need any more time lying around counting floorboards

Then he pauses.

Turns slightly.

“Tomorrow... I’m going to touch you for real.”

The door clicks shut behind him. What the fuck does that even mean? It made your stomach churn and you felt the bile rise in your throat that you had to swallow back down.

You stare at the mattress, heart thudding, fingers twitching where the tape once was.

You don’t know if you’ll sleep.

You don’t know if you’ll resist.

But you know he’s coming back.

And you know now, without a doubt:

You’ve stepped past the threshold.

Chapter Text

You wake to fingers on your throat.

Not squeezing. Not threatening. Just placed there—deliberately. Reverently.

The weight of them is familiar now. Heavy and gentle, like a holy object being pressed into flesh. A reminder. A warning.

Your eyes don’t open right away. You register the pressure, the warmth of the bed, the sour tang of breath behind you. Your legs ache. Your mouth is dry. Your stomach turns.

You don’t remember falling asleep. You don’t remember when he crawled into bed with you. You don’t even remember the reason as to why he’s sleeping with you. He leaves so often and he never used to spend the night… but here you lie still, his warm presence resting right beside you.

You’re still on the mattress he laid out for you—wrapped in the same fleece blanket he pulled from your apartment. The one that still smells like detergent, like soft things, like before.

But before doesn’t exist anymore.

Edward’s body is at your back, pressed just close enough for you to feel the difference in temperature—his warmth seeping through the thin cotton of your shirt, his chest rising slowly against your spine. You feel disgusting at the thought— that this is nice. You can’t even remember the last time you’ve been beside someone, let alone a man.

His fingers shift at your throat, sliding just slightly upward, enough to make your breath catch.

“Good morning,” he murmurs into the back of your neck, his voice husky with sleep, or something worse. You don’t respond. Your throat is tight, your lungs shallow. He doesn’t care.

“I had a dream about you.” His hand remains in place, thumb grazing your pulse.

“You were crying,” he continues softly. “But not because you were scared. You were begging. It was beautiful.” A shiver slices through you.

“I think I made you perfect in my head before I ever touched you,” he says. “But now that I have... I think the real you is even better.”

He says touched like it’s sacred. Like it was the beginning of something divine. You can’t tell anymore whether you’re supposed to be the worshiper— or rather the one who worships.

His other hand moves then—sliding slowly, confidently, from your shoulder down over your ribs. He traces each bruise like a signature. As if confirming ownership.

“You didn’t run,” he whispers. “You didn’t fight. That’s why this is working.” He shifts behind you, adjusting his weight, and suddenly you feel him there—hard against the curve of your hip, unmistakable through his pants. You freeze.

His nose brushes behind your ear.

“I told you I’d touch you for real today,” he breathes. Like it’s the most casual thing ever… as if he’s stating something completely obvious. “But I want you to ask me.”

You don’t answer.

You want to say no.

You want to lie, or scream, or disappear.

But you want a lot of things… and all that comes is silence.

He pulls back just enough to look down at you. His expression is calm. His pupils dilated, jaw slack with something that’s almost wonder.

“Go on,” he says, voice still gentle. “You’re smart. You know what I mean.” You’re silent for a moment too long.

Then his hand slides under your shirt—cool fingertips brushing the skin of your waist, your ribs, the underside of your breast. Your breath hitches. He watches you inhale.

“Say it.” You stare past him at the ceiling. You remember how it felt when he read your journal. When he looked at you like a god being confirmed. When he promised reward.

You remember what he did after.

And so, when you open your mouth, the word comes like blood from a wound, in a voice that almost isn’t yours…

“…Touch me.” He smiles. Not like a lover. Like a collector seeing the last piece fall into place.

His hand moves lower, beneath your waistband, and settles flat against you. Not penetrating. Not moving. Just resting.

The heat of it feels so wrong, not just on your skin, but in your bones. Like something sacred has been defiled. Like this part of you has never belonged to you at all. He’s touched you before so why… why does it feel so much more real?

“You’re being so good,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “I knew you would be.” He rolls you onto your back, movements fluid, practiced. Like you’re nothing more than an object to be positioned.

The ceiling is pale gray above you. Blank. You fix your eyes on it as he straddles your thighs.

His hands trail down your chest slow, cold, gloved. He presses into every bruise like he’s mapping them. Like he’s cataloging damage he intends to claim. You want to cry. But you can’t. So instead you just sit there and try and disassociate.

“I want you to tell me where it hurts,” he says softly. You don’t answer.

His palm lifts.

And then slams flat across your sternum.

You choke on the sound, a gasp punched from your lungs.

“Where,” he says again, voice flat, “does it hurt?”

“My ribs,” you breathe. “My ankle. My head.” He nods, satisfied. Then he grabs your chin and tilts your face up, exposing your throat.

“Let’s add something new.” His hand settles lightly against your neck.

At first, it’s nothing. Just contact. Pressure.

Then it tightens.

A little.

Just enough that you have to work to swallow. To breathe.

You feel your body react before your brain catches up: a spike of adrenaline, a flicker of heat, a twist of something feral in your gut.

He watches your eyes. Sees everything.

“Don’t close them,” he says. “If you close them, I’ll stop. But you won’t like how.”

His other hand slides lower, over your hip, past the waistband. You whimper, and the sound makes him smile. Maybe you’ve become too comfortable with this monster— the mind is a funny thing, and if wants his touch, it’ll forget everything that came before it.

“You’re already wet.” His voice is low, reverent. “You don’t even know what you’re becoming, do you?”

You buck beneath him, or maybe you just flinch, but it doesn’t matter. The movement makes him laugh. Quiet, delighted, and almost tender.

“Oh, don’t,” he coos. “Don’t do that. It’s okay. It’s good.” If it was. Maybe he wouldn’t be saying it like he was trying to convince you.

He presses his fingers down more firmly. Still not entering you. Still not moving. Just owning. He revels in this control he has over you.

“See?” he says, breath catching faintly. “Your body knows what I’m saying. It’s already listening.”

You want to deny it. You want to scream at him, to scream at yourself.

But your body’s heat betrays you, it always does.

“You can’t control it,” Edward whispers, shifting slightly, enough to press the full weight of his erection against your thigh. “This is mine. You are mine.”

Then his hand tightens around your throat. This time, harder.

Air stutters in your lungs. Your ears begin to ring. The edges of the room smear like oil. Panic blooms in your chest, wild and blinding. You reach for his wrist.

He doesn’t flinch.

He watches.

He counts the seconds.

Then, just as the dark spots begin to close in, like he knows you’re on the brink of sleep, he lets go.

You collapse into a wracked, sputtering inhale. It feels like drowning in reverse. Tears stream down your temples. Not from pain. Not even from fear.

Instead, from knowing that part of you is still here. That you haven’t escaped. That you chose this. Or at least, didn’t fight back. He touches your cheek—thumb wiping the tear across, not away. Smearing it.

“I don’t want to break you,” he says almost lovingly. “But I will. I’ll do it beautifully.” He leans in and kisses your mouth.

Not soft. Not seeking.

A claiming. A seal.

He pulls away slowly, his gaze glassy, unfocused for a moment. He blinks once, then drags his hand down your sternum again. Slow, steady.

Your body reacts to him like a circuit receiving power.

He kneels between your legs, still clothed, and reaches behind himself. His gloved hands remove something from the blacked out windowsill beside the mattress.

You don’t see what it is. Until the click.

Tape. Thick, industrial, black tape.

“Hands,” he says. Your stomach drops. You don’t move.

His head tilts, expression unreadable.

“Don’t make me take them,” he says softly. “If I do, I’ll stop being gentle.”

And you believe him. So you lift your hands.

He binds them slowly, wrists together in front of you. Not rushed. Not angry.

Precise. Ceremonial.

“There,” he murmurs, wrapping a final loop. “Now you don’t have to pretend you had a choice.” The shame becomes a physical thing. It lodges in your mouth, your chest, your stomach.

But he doesn’t stop.

He pushes your thighs apart with his knees, then slides a hand back between them. This time he touches you with purpose—slow, knowing movements that make you grind your teeth and clench your eyes shut.

“Eyes open,” he warns. You force them wide. Heat rising not just from your core. But from the tears that now all but blinded your vision. And yet— you don’t tell him stop.

The ceiling watches you back.

He keeps going, his fingers are rough and inexperienced. But it’s enough. One hand wrapped loosely around your throat again, not squeezing now, just reminding—and the other slow between your legs, making you gasp, twitch, fight the urge to cry out. But it happens.

It happens fast, and it happens shamefully.

He watches the change in your face, the desperation in your breath, and he smiles.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Give it to me. Let me see you come undone.” And when it breaks, when you shake and sob and fall apart in silence, he holds you there. Still. Caged under him.

You feel the slick heat on his fingers. He doesn’t wipe it off.

When your body stops shuddering, he leans in again and presses a kiss to your temple like a father might to a sleeping child.

“You’re becoming something so much better than you were.” You lie there, bound, burning, blank.

And you realize something.

He’s not teaching you how to survive him.

He’s teaching you how to need him.

He doesn’t leave you for long.

Eventually he rises, tugs your shirt back down over your stomach, and unbinds the tape from your wrists. He tosses it aside like it’s been used up.

He doesn’t say thank you. He just murmurs, “You’ll want it more next time.” You think of screaming. Punching him. Letting him beat you back down. Maybe he’ll have mercy for once and finally kill you.

Instead, you pull the blanket up over yourself and curl inward. You can still feel him inside you, even though he never entered.

You can still feel his breath on your cheek, his fingers in your heat, his voice in your skull.

You will never feel clean again.

And worse… you’re not sure if you want to.

---

Hours pass.

The apartment is silent now except for the occasional sound of Edward cleaning his hands in the sink, replacing tools, humming faintly under his breath.

You stay on the mattress.

Wrapped. Blanketed. Contained.

Your thighs ache.

Your pulse has slowed, but not settled.

You don’t dare look at him. Not until he calls you. Eventually, he does.

“I want to show you something.” You don’t speak. You simply rise.

You follow him.

You follow like you were born to.

He unlocks a door you’ve never seen open before. Not even once… it’s behind an ajar stack of newspapers and tattered boxes full of files.

The lock clicks like a gun being chambered. Something final. Something sacred.

The door groans as it swings inward.

The air changes.

Immediately.

Colder. Metal-heavy. It smells like toner, rubber, and the faint chemical tang of printer ink and decay. You step inside and your stomach flips.

Not because it’s filthy.

But because it’s clean.

Too clean. Too deliberate.

This is not a living space.

This is a cathedral.

The walls are covered in madness.

That’s the only word for it.

Floor-to-ceiling paper—handwritten pages, torn newspaper articles, legal documents, tax filings, building permits, forum printouts. Red thread webs across the room, connecting names and images and symbols like veins across a corpse.

And beneath it all, endless repetition:

> LIAR
> THEY’LL PAY
> EVERYTHING THEY BUILT IS A LIE
> DO YOU SEE ME NOW?

And at the center of the room lit by a single hanging bulb like an altar, sit two notebooks.

One is Edward’s.

The manifesto. The one you saw on the forums.

The other… is yours.

The one he gave you. The one you wrote in. The one he touched. Annotated. Underlined.

He has placed them side by side.

Perfectly aligned.

As if to say equal.

“They belong together,” Edward says softly behind you. “You and me. Your truth beside mine.”

You feel his presence draw close. The heat of his body at your back. The whisper of breath at your temple.

“You stabilized me,” he murmurs. “You confirmed everything I feared was true. You helped me see it clearly.” His hand rests on your hip again. Familiar. Weighty.

“I want to make this real.”

He walks to the desk. Opens a drawer.

You follow him with your eyes.

You expect rope. Or tape. Or cuffs.

What he pulls out is smaller. Sharper. A box cutter.

Your breath catches in your throat.

He sees it.

“It’s okay,” he says. “This isn’t punishment.” He holds up his left hand. “I need proof you’re real.”

He slices his thumb open with precision. No flinch.

The blood wells immediately, it’s bright, hot, human.

He turns to you, palm out.

“Give me your hand.” You stare at the blade.

“I won’t do it deep,” he promises. “Just enough to bind.” Your body doesn’t move.

But your feet do.

You walk to him.

You hold out your hand.

You don’t say yes.

But you give it.

He slices the pad of your thumb.

Clean. Sharp. Precise.

Pain blooms. Quick. Stark. And you flinch.

He presses his hand to yours.

Wound to wound.

You both exhale at the same time.

The warmth between your palms is wet and slow.

“Look at me,” he says. You do.

And in that moment blood mingling, hands locked, his eyes blown wide… you realize that the line between breaking and belonging no longer exists.

“You’re mine now,” he says.

“Not because I took you.
Because you became.”

He bandages your thumb with white gauze from a first aid kit. He wraps it slowly, like he’s dressing a relic.

Then he picks up your notebook.

And begins to write in it.

She sees it now. The sickness. She is the first convert. The first watcher. The first wound.

You stare at the page as he writes. His penmanship is disturbingly elegant. Balanced. Steady. Like scripture.

“She’s becoming,” he says aloud. “And they’ll never unsee it.”

He turns to you again and lifts his thumb, the one that bled with yours, and presses it to your forehead, dragging it downward between your eyebrows.

A mark.

“You’re not innocent anymore,” he says.

You don’t wipe it off.

Then he brings out the mask.

You’ve seen glimpses of it before—on the forum, in fragments.

But never this close.

Matte green-black leather. Stitched by hand, deliberately crude. Modified tactical gear. The mouth is sealed. The eyes are hollowed out.

He lifts it in both hands like a crown.

And then he puts it on.

You don’t breathe. You don't know if you can.

When he raises his head again, Edward is gone. What you’re witnessing is a terrible metamorphic into madness.

And in his place is The Riddler.

He walks across the room to the wall of victims—faces, names, strings of red thread.

He stops in front of a glossy photo, yellowing at the edges.

The mayor.

Don Mitchell Jr.

Grinning. Mid-laugh. A snapshot of power that never thought it would be challenged.

Edward places one gloved hand over the man's eyes.

“He knew,” he says through the mask. “They all did. But he was first.” He turns back to you. “And now the city will know, too.”

You want to ask what that means. But you already know.

---

You don’t remember him leaving.

Just the sound of the front door locking.

Just the warmth of his mouth on yours before he disappeared.

Just the way he said You’ll know when it happens.

You lie on the mattress like a corpse the world forgot. Arms slack, body hollowed. The blanket smells like the past.

Lavender. Dryer sheets. Fabric softener. All of it now laced with the taste of his breath and the noise of your own silence.

You tell yourself you’re not crying.

That it’s sweat.

But you know the truth.

What breaks you isn’t the blood.

It’s not the hand around your throat, or the shame in your gut, or the words in your journal that don’t sound like you anymore.

What breaks you is this:

He looked at you like you mattered.

Not like a hostage. Not like prey. Not like a toy.

He looked at you like a revelation.

He whispered that you made him better. Smarter. Clearer.

Like you were his divine confirmation.

You should’ve hated that.

You should’ve fought it.

But you didn’t.

You wanted to be wanted.

And that… that’s what breaks you.

Not the touch.

Not the bruises.

Not the blood on your tongue.

The wanting.

The notebook lies in your lap, pages warped slightly from old sweat and fingerprints. You flip through it like it belongs to someone else.

Your handwriting’s still there—tidy, anxious, begging.

But his words are creeping in now.

Marginalia.

Underlines.

The voice of the storm taking root in your quiet little prayers.

You stare at the page where he wrote:

She is the first wound.

You don’t know what that means.

But you feel it. You feel open. Leaking. Hollowed. You try to write. Not for him. Not for surveillance. Just for you.

But it won’t come.

You press the pencil to the page and it just shakes. Your hand trembles. Your eyes burn.

Finally, the words arrive—crooked. Hesitant.

I don’t believe in him.

I never did.

This was just a game.

You stare at the sentence for a long time. But then add;

But I let him touch me.

Your throat clenches. You scrawl another line.

And I wanted it.

And below that;

And I hate myself for it.

You close the notebook too hard. Your heart is beating too fast. Your head feels like it’s full of water.

You rise, stumble toward the bathroom, stare at yourself in the mirror.

You look… fine. But that makes it worse.

You look like someone who could still be saved. It’s been weeks. Should you still hope… you look…

You look like someone Batman would pull from the wreckage and wrap in a blanket and tell

“You’re not like him. You were just caught in it.”

The thought sends something cruel through your chest. Because what if he’s wrong?

What if the Batman sees you and knows, immediately, that you could’ve run? You made your choice.

What if he looks at you and sees not a victim—

—but a coward?

A girl who stayed because it was easier. Because it made her feel less invisible.

You think about screaming. Calling for help. Finding a neighbor. Knocking down a door. But you don’t.

Because the truth is, even if someone came—

—even if he came—

What would you say?

What would you do?

Would you throw yourself at the Bat’s feet?

Would you cry?

Would you point at Edward and say, “He did this to me,” and believe it?

Or would you flinch when he put his hands on your shoulders? Would you try to explain that Edward kissed your forehead before he killed someone?

That he made you come with your wrists bound and it made something in you light up like a flare?

Would you explain that the worst part wasn’t the violence?

It was that you liked being wanted?

No.

You wouldn’t say anything.

You’d bite your tongue clean through.

Because whatever you are now…

You made yourself.

You sit in the dark, knees to your chest, blood dried beneath your fingernails.

You write one final thing in the journal before sleep finally claws its way into you like rot:

He is the question.

I am the answer.

You don’t remember closing your eyes.

But you remember the last image in your head before sleep claims you:

A black shape at the edge of your bed.

Not Edward.

Not Riddler.

Something worse.

Something quiet. Armored. Watching.

You hear the voice, low and rough:

You could have stopped him.

You didn’t.

—

You don’t remember sleeping.

But at some point, you wake curled on the mattress, tangled in the fleece blanket that smells like home and him, and the apartment is still empty.

It’s light outside, just barely peeling through the peeling blackout windows.

Gray Gotham daylight, sickly and low.

And you know, without looking, without checking—that he’s done it.

He’s killed someone.

You go to the back room.

You don’t have internet access. That was never part of your captivity. Your phone’s been smashed. But Edward has a system.

A hardwired monitor and a local archive server. No social media. No open browser. Just what he downloads, what he copies, what he curates and feeds to you like scripture.

You sit down at the desk beside the two journals—his and yours—and wake the monitor with a tap.

The screen flashes briefly.

Then plays the file.

> **RIDD-001-A.mov**
> Date created: Today. 6:12 a.m.

You click it.

The screen goes black for a moment. Then:

The Riddler.

Framed in close-up. Masked. Breathing heavily. The voice sharp and modulated but undeniably him.

Behind the mask, he is not your captor.

He is not the man who kissed your throat or made you beg or pressed his fingers inside you while whispering praises.

Behind the mask, he is something else.

He is calm.

He is scripted.

He is terrifying.

“This city’s rot runs deep. It runs beneath the polished speeches, the campaign dinners, the moral theater of places like City Hall.”

“They thought the Renewal Fund would fix everything. But it only fed the disease.”

Your stomach knots.

“The first to fall will be the ones who lied while others bled.”*

“Do you know what I am?”

Then the video cuts to stills.

Frames of a bloodied man. Mouth taped shut. Mask over his head. Limbs stiff.

The first still is blurry.

The second less so.

The third—

The third is the mayor.

Don Mitchell Jr.

Slumped forward. Bare chest red and glistening. The word “LIAR” scrawled across his skin in marker.

You don't blink.

You can’t.

You saw him last month.

Not close—maybe twenty feet away.

In the upper floor of City Hall. Fourth floor. Late in the afternoon. He was shaking hands with Councilman Urrero outside the legal office.

You had just stepped out of the elevator.

He had nodded at you, not out of recognition—just routine politeness.

Now he’s dead.

Now you’re staring at a corpse that once shared an elevator shaft with you.

You don’t scream.

You don’t cry.

You just stop knowing what to do with your hands.

You rewind the video.

Again.

Then again.

The sound of Edward’s voice under the mask becomes white noise. The static before a transmission. The hum of a low-wattage machine.

You stare at the mayor’s face until it doesn’t look like a face anymore.

Until it’s just color and skin and distortion.

Until the sick throb in your stomach stops being fear and becomes… confusion?

What did you expect?

What did you think he was going to do?

You told yourself you were playing a game.

You told yourself you were writing lies in that journal. Playing a role. Buying time.

But now a man you shared a building with is dead.

Not because of you.

But not in spite of you, either.

You sit in the glow of the screen until your eyes ache.

And that’s when you realize: you're not thinking about Don Mitchell anymore.

You're thinking about Edward.

Where he is.

How he’s feeling.

Whether he’s exhilarated, or high, or calm.

Whether his hands are still red.

Whether he’ll come home and press his forehead to yours and say “You saw it, didn’t you? You saw what we did.”

And the thought—the we—makes something snap inside you.

Not all the way.

Just enough to crack the glass.

You rise, limp into the hallway, and open the closet.

You pull his coat from its hook.

You wrap it around yourself.

It’s heavy.

Too big.

It smells like sweat and paper and leather and cologne, cheap, strong, specific.

You hold it closed and stare at your reflection in the window’s black sheen.

You don’t look like a hostage.

You look like someone waiting for their partner to come home.

---

A knock at the door would ruin everything.

Police. Batman. Gordon. Anyone.

Anyone outside this vacuum.

You think about it. You imagine it.

A shadow in the doorframe.

A sharp voice, saying your name. “Are you in there?”

You imagine crawling to the door.

You imagine pressing your forehead to the wood and whispering, “Help me.”

But you don’t move.

You sit on the mattress.

In his coat.

Breathing shallow.

---

He comes back just after dark.

No knock.

No announcement.

Just the quiet click of a lock he told you only opens from the outside.

Your whole body goes still.

He enters like he’s walking on air, he’s slow, composed, euphoric.

He doesn’t call your name. Doesn’t look around.

He knows where you are.

He knows you never left.

You sit on the mattress in the dark, still wrapped in his coat.

The only light in the room is the faint blue cast of his monitor still flickering in the back office, the Riddler’s broadcast looping silently on repeat.

He walks into the room and sees you.

Stops.

Tilts his head.

You stare at him.

His gloves are still damp.

There’s something red on his cheek.

His breathing is steady. Calm. But he looks exhausted—not physically, not really. Like someone who’s finally done something they’ve waited their whole life for.

“Did you watch it?” he asks, voice raw.

You nod.

He crosses the room.

Kneels beside you.

His eyes rake over you. The coat. Your face. The way you haven’t moved from this spot in hours.

He touches your cheek—barely.

Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“You saw it,” he says. “You saw what I did.”

“I saw it,” you echo.

It doesn’t even feel like lying.

It feels like script.

Like a line in a play written days ago.

“You understand now,” he whispers.

You open your mouth.

And something breaks.

You throw your arms around his neck.

Not dramatically.

Not even intentionally.

Just instinctively.

Like a drowning girl reaching for whatever hand is closest.

He makes a soft sound—not surprise. Not resistance.

Just… relief.

He hugs you back.

He holds you.

The blood from his gloves smears across the back of your shirt.

You don’t care.

You feel the stutter of your own heartbeat realign with his chest.

He smells like old air and steel and mask sweat and the awful kind of joy that only comes after killing someone.

And still, you think:

He came back.
That’s what undoes you.

Not the murder.

Not the manifesto.

Not the blood drying beneath his nails.

It’s that he came back to you.

He lays you down gently.

Doesn’t undress you.

Doesn’t demand anything.

He just curls around you like a man who’s earned the right to sleep beside what he built with his bare hands.

“I want to tell you everything,” he murmurs against your hair.

You nod into his chest. Numb.

“Soon we’ll go deeper,” he says. “You’ll be more involved. You’ll see.”

You want to ask what that means.

You want to ask who’s next.

But you’re too tired.

And you’re afraid of the answer.

Later, when his breathing evens out and you know he’s asleep, you lie awake in the dark, eyes wide, mind racing.

You think about the mayor’s mouth taped shut.

You think about the way Edward watched you watch him.

You think about what it means that your first response to his return wasn’t fear.

It was relief.

You imagine Batman.

Not as a man.

Not yet.

As a force. A figure. A towering shadow whose eyes see through blood and guilt and bones.

You imagine him breaking down the door.

Grabbing Edward. Saving you.

You imagine him looking at you.

You imagine him pausing.

And you know—

You know—

He’d look at you and understand.

She didn’t stop it.
She didn’t run.
She wanted someone to make her real.
And maybe, maybe, he wouldn’t arrest you.

Maybe he wouldn’t drag you into the spotlight and show the world what you’ve become.

Maybe he’d just tilt his head and say:

“You were broken before he found you.”
And that’s the worst part.

Because it means this isn’t just a story about what Edward did to you.

It’s a story about what you let him do.

Because it felt better than disappearing.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Edward doesn’t look at you the way he used to.

Not since the mayor’s death. Not since the second livestream. Not since he appeared.

He still touches you. Still eats beside you. Still curls around you on the mattress with your hair caught in his fists.

But it’s not you he’s thinking about anymore.

It’s him.

The Bat.

The ghost in armor.

The shape in the skyline.

You see it in the way Edward stares at the walls like they’re talking back. The way he mumbles when he thinks you’re not listening—threads of riddles and scripture-like phrases, broken thoughts clinging to the name like it's sacred.

“He’s close now.”

“He gets it. He’ll see me soon.”

“We were made for this.”

He hasn’t hurt you in days.

That should bring relief.

But it doesn’t.

Because the calm isn’t stability.

It’s a quiet before the next quake.

You eat alone more often now.

Edward disappears for hours at a time. Comes back bloodless, buzzing, high on purpose.

He doesn’t tell you where he’s been.

You don’t ask.

You watch him from across the room as he peels off his gloves, lines his boots against the wall, arranges his tools with cultish precision.

You think: he’s winding tighter. Every day.

He’s not talking to you anymore. Not like he used to.

Now, when he speaks, he’s speaking through you.

Like you’re a mirror. A receiver. A placeholder for the one he’s really waiting for.

“When he sees me, everything will change.”

“We’ll unmask it all—together.”

“Batman knows this city is a lie. I’m just the one who says it out loud.”

His voice drips with longing.

And it terrifies you.

Because you remember when he used to talk that way about you.

The windows are still blacked out.

But you’ve made holes.

Tiny slits beneath the tape. Cracks at the corners. Enough to see movement, weather, shadows.

Not enough to breathe.

But enough to feel like the city still exists.

You spend hours with your eye pressed to them, watching.

Once, you saw a rooftop silhouette that made your heart stop.

It wasn’t him.

It was nothing.

But still—your pulse didn’t slow for nearly ten minutes.

You pace now when Edward’s gone.

Not in rebellion.

In anticipation.

You wait for the lock to click.

You wait for the door to open.

You wait to see what version of him walks through.

Some days he’s humming.

Some days he’s silent.

Some days he’s shaking.

One night he comes home laughing under his breath.

You ask why.

He says: “He found another one.”

Then he kisses your forehead like a father might a fevered child.

You don’t eat that night.

You start hearing Batman’s name more often.

Edward leaves the radio on constantly now. Scanner feeds. Police chatter.

“Vigilante seen entering building minutes after homicide…”

“Suspect known as Riddler left a message—coded. Referencing ‘renewal.’”

“Masked figure intercepted footage—could be the Bat…”

The names swirl together.

Riddler. Batman. Riddler. Batman.

As if they’re being spoken in the same breath.

You think that’s what Edward’s always wanted.

To be spoken of like that.

Not as a killer.

But as a counterpart.

A dark reflection.

He comes to bed one night breathing too hard.

You pretend to be asleep.

But he curls behind you and murmurs at your neck:

“I was so close to him tonight.”

“I don’t think he saw me. But I saw him.”

“He’s beautiful.”

You lie there, frozen, waiting to feel the knife.

But it doesn’t come.

He just breathes.

Whispers again:

“When it happens, you’ll see it. You’ll see how alike we are.”

And you realize:

It’s not enough for him to kill Gotham.

He wants approval from the only one he thinks can match him.

And that might make him more dangerous than ever.

—

He doesn’t sleep for three days.

You hear him pacing in the back room. Writing. Cutting. Rearranging the boards. The Riddler’s symphony growing louder, more erratic.

He rips pages from books, mutters riddles in circles, plays old police dispatch tapes at low volume on loop.

You recognize the sound now—ritual.

He’s building something.

It started with sketches. Then tape. Then bodies.

Now it’s something else entirely.

“He’s watching,” Edward mutters, hands shaking over a spread of photos. “I know he is.”

“I’ve left him the clues. He’ll understand this one.”

“This time, I’ll make him respond.”

You sit on the mattress and don’t move.

Because when he’s like this—sharp, electric, obsessed—you don’t exist to him.

Not as a person.

Just a variable.

A tool in his equation.

That night, he brings you into the room.

He says, “I need your help,” and you follow.

Because what else can you do?

You step into the back chamber.

It’s changed.

The corkboard is larger now. A second one added.

The red string is doubled.

The riddle tokens are laid out in a perfect spiral on the floor.

And at the center—

Your notebook.

Open to the page where you wrote:

I saw it. I didn’t run.

Your stomach turns.

He kneels beside it, reverent.

“I want him to see that,” he says. “That you understood before the rest.”

You say nothing.

You think: I didn’t understand. I just didn’t die.

But you don’t say that.

Because Edward doesn’t care about the truth.

He cares about the story.

He walks to a nearby table and picks up a piece of paper.

It’s a letter.

Handwritten.

Addressed:

TO THE BATMAN.

He reads it aloud.

His voice is calm. Measured. But there’s a heat beneath it—like something boiling under glass.

“You saw what I did. You see what they’ve hidden. You know this city is a wound, and you’re just the disinfectant.”

“But disinfectants only clean the surface. I’m the blade.”

“Together, we could be the cure.”

“I have proof. I have witness.”

His eyes cut to you.

You freeze.

He gestures to the center of the spiral.

“You’ll be there,” he says.

You stare at him.

“Not now,” he clarifies. “When he finds this. When I let him. You’ll be there. So he understands.”

You don’t breathe.

So he understands what?

That I’m a hostage?

A disciple?

A corpse?

You shake your head.

“No.”

It slips out.

Quiet. Small.

But it’s there.

Edward freezes.

His face doesn’t change.

Not right away.

He just tilts his head.

Then crosses the room.

Slow.

Controlled.

He stops in front of you.

You keep your eyes down.

He touches your cheek. Gently. Almost like a test.

“Are you afraid of him?” he asks.

You don’t answer.

“Or are you afraid he’ll think you were part of it?”

Your silence is a confession.

His smile is immediate.

Small. Cruel.

“You are part of it.”

Then he leans in close—mouth to your ear.

“You’ve always been part of it.”

He doesn’t hit you.

He doesn’t scream.

He doesn’t need to.

You know the threat now lives in the space behind his eyes.

Not rage.

Conviction.

If Batman sees you, it won’t be as a girl in chains.

It will be as the centerpiece in a cathedral of delusion.

And if Edward doesn’t like how the Bat looks at you?

He’ll kill you before the story can change.

—

You don’t know exactly when it starts.

The buzz.

The shift.

The hum of tension in the walls.

But the sirens are different now.

Not just reactive. Not random.

They sweep in tight, clustered patterns. Pulse in waves outside the boarded-up windows. Helicopter blades drone low and slow over the building, as if combing the grid.

You stay low. Quiet. Still.

In the dark.

In the room where Edward hasn’t noticed your peepholes.

One slit between the blackout curtains. One between two panes of glass where the tape’s peeled back.

You press your eye to the seam and see the shadows move across rooftops.

Police. Tactical gear.

But not just that.

Not just blue.

You see something else.

Black.

A shape between searchlights.

Brief. Heavy. Intentional.

Not chasing.

Hunting.

You turn away from the window.

Your breath catches in your throat.

He’s here.

Not in the room. Not in the hallway.

But near.

The Bat.

And you feel it in your bones.

Edward hasn’t slept.

Hasn’t eaten.

He moves through the apartment like a machine programmed to mimic routine.

But the cracks are showing.

His hands twitch when he reaches for the radio.

He forgets what he’s saying mid-sentence.

He stares at the wall so long you think he’s gone catatonic.

Then suddenly—

He’s moving again.

Grabbing his mask.

Strapping on his gloves.

He’s vibrating with something you don’t have a name for.

Not ecstasy. Not fear.

A kind of rapture only zealots know.

“They’re here,” he breathes, pacing.

You sit on the mattress.

Still.

Small.

Your wrists ache with phantom bindings.

You haven’t been restrained in days.

But that doesn’t mean you’re free.

He stops. Turns. Stares at you.

“Do you know what this means?”

You don’t answer.

He doesn’t wait for one.

“It means he’s coming. He’s read the riddles. He’s following the path.”

He kneels in front of you, eyes wide.

“You were right to stay.”

Your body recoils at the words.

But your face doesn’t move.

Because now you know: if you flinch, if you break script, he’ll kill you.

And worse—he’ll believe it’s mercy.

“I’m going to leave something for him tonight,” Edward says. “Something undeniable.”

He stands.

Goes to the closet.

Pulls out a duffel bag you’ve never seen.

When he unzips it, the air changes.

Metal.

Chemicals.

Dark plastic and something that glints red.

A live camera feed from the news plays quietly on the monitor behind him.

You watch the crawl.

BREAKING: GCPD confirms vigilante known as “The Batman” has intercepted Riddler-related evidence from new murder scene...

Authorities warn of potential future threats...

Masked suspect may be targeting additional city officials...

Edward smiles at the screen.

Like it’s a love letter.

That night, he leaves.

Fully geared. Gloved. Masked. Bag slung over his shoulder.

Before he opens the door, he turns back to you.

His voice is soft. Distant.

“You’re going to be part of this.”

You don’t ask how.

You don’t want to know.

He steps outside.

Locks the door behind him.

And you sit in the silence afterward, staring at the slits of light against the floor.

And you think:

If Batman comes now... and finds me first...

Edward won’t let that happen.

He’ll make sure what Batman finds is a body.

—

You don’t sleep after he leaves.

You barely breathe.

You sit on the mattress with your back to the wall, eyes fixed on the camera light blinking across the ceiling.

Every second drags.

Every shadow stretches.

The blackout tape buzzes faintly at the seams from the wind outside.

You listen for sirens. For footsteps.

For the door.

When the lock finally turns, it’s almost gentle.

No slam. No scrape.

He walks in like he forgot to close it behind him.

His coat is damp.

His gloves are gone.

His eyes are vacant.

He doesn’t speak.

He drops the bag on the floor like it’s nothing.

There’s blood on the zipper.

You don’t ask.

He walks to the mirror.

Takes off the mask slowly.

You expect to see his face.

But it’s not there.

It’s not Edward anymore.

It’s someone else.

His pupils are too wide.

His skin too pale.

He doesn’t blink.

You sit motionless.

He turns and looks at you like you’re part of the wall.

Then he walks over.

Drops to his knees beside you.

And smiles.

Not the old smile.

Not the clever, knowing smirk you hated.

This one is worse.

Empty.

“I saw him,” he says.

You don’t respond.

“He was on the roof across the alley. Watching. Right where I said he would be.”

You nod.

Because it’s what he wants.

Because you’ve learned that sometimes silence makes it worse.

“I left the puzzle,” he says. “I left the body. I left the code.”

He touches your arm. Just the sleeve.

“I left him... you.”

Your stomach drops.

You try not to react.

But your hand clenches.

He notices.

“You don’t understand,” he says. “This isn’t about punishment. It’s about proof.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper.

It’s damp. Smudged.

You recognize your handwriting.

A page torn from your old journal.

I saw it. I didn’t run.

He taped it to a dead man’s chest.

And now he’s holding the carbon copy like it’s holy.

“I think he read it,” Edward whispers. “I think he saw you and understood.”

He moves closer.

Kneels at your feet.

“I think he knows now.”

Your voice cracks. “Knows what?”

Edward’s eyes brighten. Like a light flickering in a broken bulb.

“That you’re my witness. My beginning. That this started with you.”

You want to disappear.

Instead, you say:

“You should eat.”

It’s all you can think of.

A diversion.

A command in reverse.

He blinks.

Looks down at his hands.

“I’m not hungry,” he says.

Then, a beat later, voice low:

“I think he’s coming soon.”

You clean his hands.

You don’t know why.

Maybe because if they’re clean, you can pretend the blood wasn’t real.

He lets you.

Sits perfectly still while you wipe his knuckles with a damp cloth from the bathroom.

Your fingers shake.

Your head buzzes.

You count his breaths to stay grounded.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

Fifteen—

Then he grabs your wrist.

Not hard.

But intentional.

“You’re scared.”

You don’t answer.

“I don’t blame you,” he says. “He’s going to change everything.”

You pull your hand back.

Stand.

Try not to stumble.

You step away slowly.

You need space.

You need distance.

But there’s nowhere in this apartment that isn’t his.

Later, he stands in the middle of the room with the lights off.

Watching the monitors.

All the cameras, all the angles.

He’s holding a cup of coffee he hasn’t sipped once.

You lie awake on the mattress.

He whispers to himself:

“He sees me.”

“He’s almost here.”

“It’s all happening.”

And underneath it:

“She’ll be there. She’ll show him.”

Your breath hitches.

He turns his head.

Just slightly.

You shut your eyes and pretend to sleep.

But you hear the floor creak.

You feel him crouch beside you.

His fingers skim your hair.

He whispers:

“Don’t worry.”

“You’re part of the design.”

—

That night, you don’t sleep.

You don’t try.

You sit in the dark beside the mattress, back to the wall, watching the faint pulse of red light above the camera lens.

Edward paces.

Then kneels.

Then sits in perfect stillness in front of the screens.

And waits.

He’s not whispering anymore.

He’s silent.

Smiling.

Breathing like it’s prayer.

And you realize:

This is it.

He’s not making anything anymore.

He’s offering it up.

He’s made his case.

He’s built his maze.

And now he’s waiting for judgment.

You curl in on yourself.

Eyes dry. Bones locked.

And you think:

If Batman doesn’t come soon—

Edward will bring the story to its ending himself.

—

Later on in that day you feel his eyes bore into you as he watches you from across the room like he's reading scripture.

Unblinking.

Still.

The monitors cast flickering shadows up his face—distorted footage, looping angles, countdown clocks only he understands.

You don’t move.

Your limbs are numb from staying too still for too long. But it doesn’t matter. Movement provokes him. Stillness feeds him.

He finally speaks.

Quiet. Flat.

“I saw the fear in his eyes.”

You don’t answer.

He steps closer.

“It wasn’t because of me. Not entirely.”

Another step.

“He saw you.”

His voice lifts, soft with something that might’ve once been awe.

“Everything I told him… he saw it. All at once. That you were mine. That you chose this.”

Your breath shakes without permission. He’s like a broken record… droning on and on again about this destined greatness…

He smiles.

That’s all it takes now.

A flinch. A flicker. A crack in the mirror.

And he believes it.

Edward crosses the floor slowly, deliberately, like he's performing for someone—maybe the camera. Maybe God. Maybe the version of himself that still thinks this is about justice.

He kneels beside the mattress and reaches for you.

You try not to recoil.

But your shoulders tense, and he sees it. He drinks it in.

His hand curls around your arm—not hard, but firm. Possessive. Like he's reminding you what you are.

“Do you remember what you said when I brought you here?”

You don’t.

Or maybe you do, but the words are buried under days of blackout and radio static and blood under the floorboards.

He doesn't wait for you to answer.

“You said you understood. That you got it. That this city was rotten.”

His eyes shimmer. Too bright.

“You said you weren’t afraid of what was coming.”

His other hand lifts to your face—fingertips barely grazing your cheek.

“But now you are.”

He sounds… delighted.

He presses his forehead to yours.

The contact makes you want to scream.

“You think that’s weakness,” he whispers. “But it’s not. It means you see it now. You know what’s about to happen.”

His breath brushes your lips.

“And you know you can’t stop it.”

You try to pull away.

Not dramatically—just enough to reclaim a fraction of yourself.

But he doesn’t let you.

His grip tightens. Still not violent. That would be too obvious. Too honest.

No—Edward wants obedience that looks like surrender. That feels like devotion.

His hand slides down to your wrist and pins it to the mattress. He leans in closer, his weight shifting over yours, and suddenly he’s not just beside you.

He’s on you.

Not with hunger. With claim.

Like laying a flag over conquered ground.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, lips at your jaw. “But not fighting.”

You can’t tell if he’s disappointed or proud.

He runs a hand over your ribs, slow, flat, calculating. Like he’s memorizing the cage of you.

“I could make you disappear,” he says softly. “Right here. Right now. The world would think it was part of the message. A tragedy. A symbol.”

He drags your journal from beneath the mattress and opens it to the dog-eared page.

I saw it. I didn’t run.

He lays it on your chest.

“Proof,” he says, voice tightening. “You stayed. You saw. You chose.”

You can’t breathe.

Not because his weight is on you.

But because everything in this moment has narrowed to a single truth:

He no longer sees you as a person.

Only a prophecy.

His mouth touches your collarbone. A kiss without warmth. Without meaning. A ritual, not affection.

“I’m going to show him,” Edward whispers. “What we are. What we made. What you meant to me.”

His voice cracks on the last word.

His hand moves swiftly to unbuckle his belt, a sudden arousal at this twisted dream finally unfolding overtaking Edward as he manhandled himself out of his pants and started rutting into your stiffened body.

It terrifies you more than if he’d shouted.

Because for a moment, you almost believe he’s grieving something he already destroyed. In the worst, most twisted way.

He pulls back to look at you—eyes wide, gleaming, manic with purpose.

“I’m going to leave you in the spiral.”

You go still.

He smiles again. Softer this time.

“You’ll be waiting when he comes. Not as a hostage. Not as bait.”

His fingers brush your temple. Panting as you feel his hardness pressing further into you.

“As the answer.”

He pants, a vein becoming more pronounced in his forehead as he loses his rhythm— humping until he finally spilled himself all over you.

Then he gets up.

Just like that.

Lets go of your wrist.

Lifts the journal from your chest and kisses the page.

You curl in on yourself as he moves to the duffel bag in the corner, his silhouette sharp against the flickering monitors.

He’s humming now.

A children’s rhyme. Out of tune.

And all you can think is:

He’s already decided how this ends.

And you’re not in the equation as a survivor.

Only a statement.

A symbol.

A riddle with no right answer.

You’re left alone that night, the numbness providing you with no comfort as you stared blankly into the popcorn ceiling- semen drying into the cracks of your body.