To My Hope (Edward Nashton x Vigilante!Reader)

Rat Trap

As you walk back from the police station, you take in the dark, dirty streets of the city you've spent over two years to try and salvage, to bring hope, quite literally. And you could have been certain that it was starting to work, people were going to get better... but now everything's shattered into a million puzzle pieces, and how to put them back together is a headache to think about.

You try sticking to the shadowy areas of the streets, not wanting Hope to draw too much attention from those still out and about. A small group of teenagers with spray cans in their hands glance at you and their eyes widen a fraction, backing up, the smallest looks of guilt in their gazes. But you look away with a small, distracted smile, just wanting to get back in the safety of your own home. Maybe you can make more sense of things when you're sitting down, alone, and can go through what you know to try to get to what you don't.

A shiver runs down your spine from the typically cool evening breeze, but you find yourself frowning slightly, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. You look behind your shoulder briefly, greeted by the empty street, and bite your lip. No one's following you. No one's watching you. You're just tired, so walk faster.

Walking past a tall hotel building, the main, run-down double doors open heavily, just as you're going, and to your surprise, there's Edward from the diner, seemingly flustered, his murky green eyes blown up wide behind his glasses. They meet your gaze instantly, and he stops in his tracks, breath stuck in his throat as he stares in wonder.

"Hope," he exhales, an amazed, almost adoring smile on his face only widening as you smile back lightly at him.

"Hi. Are you alright?"

Edward nods eagerly, scarcely blinking. "I- you remember me... don't you?"

"Sure," you agree, "I helped you out with those drunk thugs, didn't I? Have you been alright since?"

"I've been wondrous," he whispers giddily, and you raise a brow in bemusement, nodding slowly with a small smile.

"Well, that's good. I should get going, but-"

"But it's getting late," Edward points out, shuffling a little closer to you, "and I'd hate to keep you waiting. I- I did promise."

You blink, confused. "What do you mean?"

But Edward's stopped talking, his eyes fixed on a sight behind you. Your frown deepens, and as you turn around to face it, a sudden strong grip, like a vice around your chest, pulls you back into him, material soaked with something strong and eyewatering making your shoves and harsh grabs at his arms weaken. Your screams are muffled by the flannel, and as you uncontrollably drop into Edward's arms, you stare up at him in shock, horrified by the look of pure adrenaline and lust in the unlikely captor's arms.

It was Edward. It's always been Edward. How could you have been so blind?

All those obsessive stares at the clips of you on the TV in the diner, the way he said your name. Everything. Edward Nashton, a man who you could have sworn was a vulnerable, normal citizen of Gotham from when you first met and saved him, is the notorious psychopath who goes by The Riddler. And you've fallen right into his rat trap.

But it's too late now, too late now that the darkness of the night is fading into pure blackness, eyes fluttering shut and consciousness fading as Edward cradles you tenderly, his actions not matching his crazed expression.

That's all you can remember. Up until an hour later, when you finally blink yourself awake, groggy from the drug that the flannel was laced with, ears ringing for a long moment.

A muffled, modified voice slowly makes its way to your ears from a room not far from where you are, restraints digging in uncomfortably around your arms and legs, and wound around your middle. It's not duct tape, it's some kind of rope, and you shift to no avail in your seat, eyes open properly now, senses heightened. You can feel that your mask is still on - something that gives you a bit of relief - along with the rest of your Hope outfit, but your phone is on the other side of the room, probably turned off.

Where the hell are you?

The room you're sitting in the midst of is as dark as it is outside, but cluttered with books and papers and random objects piled in a messy but organised manner. A long piece of dark green material is hung up on a wall, an ominous question mark sprayed in its centre. You raise your eyes up to the ceiling in disbelief. You're trapped in The Riddler's hideout.

The nearby voice is growing louder now, and you stay as still as you can, trying to listen in to the raised, angered tone.

"...change now! We've spent our lives... suffering!! Wondering 'why us?' Now they... 'why them?!'"

He sounds deranged, an absolute genius madman, and as you struggle in your bound state, trying not to say anything or make any noise to draw his attention, you hear the sound of The Riddler ending his video, whatever it is, and footsteps coming closer.

There's no point in feigning unconsciousness as the masked man appears at the door, and you can see a hidden smile lighting up his eyes at the sight of you.

"Hi, beautiful," he murmurs dotingly, and you look down at the floor apprehensively. "How are you feeling?"

Violated, you want to say. Confused. I don't want to be here. I don't trust you. I can't.

"I'll get you some water," he says after a moment's silence, "I suspect you're still feeling a little dizzy. I tried to give you as small a dosage as possible to get you here without a fight. It doesn't hurt too badly, does it...? Hold on, angel, I'll be right back."

And then he's gone again, and your stare after him incredulously. Is he that delusional to act so loving and casual after you've just been kidnapped? How can a psychopath like The Riddler really love you? He can't, can he?

But it's proving hard to answer in your head, as he reappears a minute later with a glass of water, his gloved hands hesitating around the ropes.

"I didn't have the heart to use duct tape," he clarifies, "and that's really only for the scum of this city. And you're nothing like scum, are you? But I need to know that you won't try to run if I let these loose. I've taken the battery out of your phone for now, and no one can hear you if you scream. I'm sure it won't come to that though, will it, lovely?"

You muster the courage to look up at him, into Edward's eyes that are so full of fondness and awe, and that dangerous, dark glimmer to them clashing with his naturally nerdy look behind it all. You don't want to push it, to push him to do anything else than he's already done. For now, you need to play along. He can't keep you here forever, and so you reluctantly nod, an action to which his smile grows approvingly.

"It won't come to that," you mutter, and just like that, you're free. Free, but trapped all the same.