Monday, July 15th, 2024, 01:36
Eliza is tired in more ways than one.
Dealing with Edward Nygma, the Riddler, has sapped her energy. She keeps giving and giving and giving without having her batteries recharged. She is tired of the injuries to fix. She is tired of his teasing. She is tired of the lack of sexual release. She is tired of him just showing up without notice. She is tired of him.
(Yet, she cannot help the weightless feeling she gets when he is around.)
Work has been exhausting. On top of the pervasive pandemic, she has dealt with her usual trauma cases: gunshot wounds, people without homes developing gangrene, the abundance of substance use and substance-induced psychosis, the occasional stroke, and car accidents. She is tired and wants nothing more than to sleep right now.
She is tired of everything.
After bathing and scrubbing the day's grime from her body, she finally relaxes in bed with a pre-game cup of chamomile tea. She scrolls through her phone a bit before turning it off and putting it in her drawer – less temptation when she cannot sleep. Her brunette hair is loose and wet from her shower. Too tired to dry it, she lays her head on her satin pillowcase. A sigh leaves her as she closes her eyes.
There's a knock on her door, and her irritated green eyes pop open. She glances at the clock at her bedside—two o'clock. She had barely dozed off. Only one person would bother her this late at night.
With a grumble, she gets up to walk to her balcony door. She angrily peers through the glass. The Riddler stands there smiling with a bouquet of roses. He has a way of showing up at her place at the most inopportune times.
"Good evening, my dear nurse. I hope you missed me! I'm just stopping by."
That haughty, sing-song voice of his makes her grit her teeth.
Over the past few weeks, his "stopping by" has been followed by her patching him, stitching him, cauterizing him, and taking bullets out of him (fun stuff for an off-duty nurse and a lot of it outside her scope of practice) which then almost always leads to some lascivious activities servicing his needs. Needless to say, they have grown close despite her lack of consent in most situations.
She opens the door and glowers at him and then the roses. Giving regard, she acknowledges their beauty but is suspicious of them. The Riddler holds them up proudly.
"Edward," she acknowledges him with narrowed eyes.
"Oh, my dear nurse. I couldn't resist dropping by and seeing you again." He grins mischievously as he takes in her appearance, "But don't worry. This time, I'm not here for stitches. These are for you! A token of appreciation for all your hard work."
With a flat affect, Eliza takes the roses, "Thanks."
She moves back into her apartment. She does not welcome him in but does not kick him out.
The Riddler steps inside, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Playing hard to get, I see. I assure you there is no escape from the thrill of our little game."
"If you're coming through the door, the least you can do is shut it." She grumbles and places the roses on her desk. She will deal with them tomorrow.
With a smirk, he shut the door.
"Oh, my dear nurse, you may be trying to resist me, but deep down, you know our game is far from over. And I intend to win it. . . one way or another."
She tilts her head back, looks up at the ceiling, and sighs, "Edward. . .".
"What is it? Have you finally realized I am the only one who can truly understand your brilliance? The one who can challenge you in ways no other man ever could?"
"I just don't have time for you right now. I'm tired, and I have important work to do tomorrow. You know, saving lives instead of taking them. . ."
The Riddler takes a step closer, his voice low and seductive, "But saving lives can be so tedious. Wouldn't you rather indulge in the thrill of our cat-and-mouse game?"
She takes a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth. She is tired and does not have the energy for games right now. With a sigh, she relaxes and cocks an eyebrow curiously, "You never just stop by. You always want something."
She walks into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. She thinks she will need it for whatever he has in store. The Riddler follows Eliza into the kitchen, his green eyes fixed on her with intent.
"Well, my dear nurse," he begins, "I do have a riddle for you to solve if you dare. . ."
Time is of the essence for off-duty clinicians; they need every moment of personal time for themselves. He knows this but doesn't care.
Not looking at her guest, she puts on a pot of coffee. The coffee percolates after a few moments of fiddling with a pot, water, and filters. She turns around and leans against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest defensively; she sighs in exasperation.
"Edward, are you for real?" she queries. "It is two in the morning, and I have a long shift tomorrow. They want me to come in earlier than normal. And you bothered me to solve riddles."
The Riddler chuckles at her glare, annoyance filling her similarly green eyes. He speaks in that sing-song way that is definitely not ideal for her mood at the moment,
"You know I can't resist a good riddle. And who knows? Maybe solving it will help you forget that boring shift of yours."
He continues slyly, "Besides, what kind of villain would I be if I didn't keep my loyal nurse on her toes?"
"You know what would help forget that boring shift of mine?" she asks flatly.
He looks interested in her answer.
"Sleep."
He laughs deeply at her response. She rolls her eyes, relaxes her posture, and sighs. She is already up.
"Fine," she says as the coffee finishes behind her. "Let me hear the riddle. The faster I answer, the faster you'll leave."
"Excellent!"
She pours up the liquid and hands him a warm mug.
"Now then. . . here's your riddle: What is always in front of you but can never be seen?"
Her brow furrows in thought, and she sips her coffee before answering, "The future?"
The Riddler chuckles softly, impressed by her quick answer, "Well done, my dear nurse. You are as sharp-witted as ever. But let me ask you another question: What is the greatest trick the mind can play on itself?"
With pale fingers, she brushes a strand of hair behind her ear as she considers the question. She does not know the answer but intends to give one as bitter as her coffee, "Love."
The Riddler raises an eyebrow, a sly smile playing on his lips; her answer is a curious one.
"Love? Well, that's certainly one way to interpret it. But my dear nurse, the answer is much simpler yet so complex."
She stares at him over her coffee mug and takes a sip, waiting for him to continue. This is not entertaining for her.
"The greatest trick the mind can play on itself is none other than belief!"
Eliza grumbles, staring at him blankly, "You're right, Edward. You always are. . ."
He leans closer, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, "Ah, my dear nurse, you may grouse, but deep down, you enjoy these little games of ours."
Those same eyes roam over her form, partly hidden by the white shirt. Her legs are long, and he thinks he can see the edge of her cotton underwear.
He finishes his thought, "It's what keeps our relationship. . . intriguing."
She closes her eyes in silent meditation and attempts to deal with his annoying intrusion. An annoying man he is. Annoying. Smart. Handsome. Charming.
"Our relationship is a one-sided transaction. You get hurt, and I'm dumb enough to patch you up." She cuts her eyes to him, "But, yes, intriguing as well."
She sips her coffee.
"Eliza, you are always so defensive. But I must admit, your dedication to patching me up is quite admirable," he chuckles softly as he sips his own drink. He thought back to their escapades when he was last stabbed. The night ended with her finishing him off and him falling asleep - completely gassed from his injury and her soul-sucking pleasure. Since then they have had several evenings much like that one.
"And who knows? Maybe one day you'll let me return the favor. . .," Edward licks his lips before biting them sensually, punctuating his point.
She sips her coffee, hiding the blush that may be creeping to her cheeks with the mug.
"You've never returned the favor. I don't expect much from you." She is bitter, and she does not care if it shows, "I've risked my license for you, stealing supplies and medications to care for you. I've let you violate my body. Days will go by, and I won't see you—until you're bloody on my balcony or wanting head. I've gotten nothing in return except a lack of sleep, a lack of peace, and a lack of sexual release."
Eliza looks him right in the eye, mutual green orbs connecting. He looks amused and pompous. She takes a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth before standing to collect their now empty mugs and depositing them in the sink. She turns, walks by Edward, and leans against a nearby wall, arms crossed in frustration. She does not want to be near him right now. She does not even want to look at him.
"Edward," she addresses calmly. "I just don't want to be used anymore. I help you. I fix you. I console you. I've cared for you. . ." she looks away, feeling nachlophobic. "Why are you doing this?"
Their short history flickers through her mind, influencing her emotions.
With the same amusement, Edward responds and follows her to lean languidly on the back of her couch a few feet from her, not letting her get too far from his vicinity.
"Because, my dear nurse, you are the only one who can truly appreciate me. The only one who sees beyond the surface to the brilliance that lies within. And now that I have your attention, I intend to keep it for as long as possible."
Her brow furrows with a pained and frustrated look.
"You've had my attention, but you've been stingy with it." She avoids his eyes. "I just am tired of being toyed with. I'm a toy you take out and play with when you want me."
Eliza has had enough. He has interrupted her peace long enough and sent her through a roller-coaster of emotions: fear, anxiety, happiness, sadness, and adoration. Over the past month, he has done everything he can to maintain her attention on him, and she did enjoy it. She enjoyed the thrill of the forbidden, the talks of her desires, the flirting, the intimate touches, and serving him. But he has continuously left her feeling cold – teasing her in the worst way. She wishes to have her affection reciprocated, not just to be used. She wants to matter to him but realizes now that she is just an obsession. She feels cheated, lonely, and bitter.
These are not her normal emotions. A little over a month ago, she was a well-adjusted, calm, considerate, kind, and curious young nurse with everything ahead of her—until he invaded her life like a parasite. She was hooked quickly and hoped for the best. Her toxic trait is always seeing the best in people when there is nothing there, and he makes her feel like a fool and an object – a tool. Each time she would make more romantically charged advances, he returned them with blithe, shallow sexual advances and actions, merely enjoying the fact that he was corrupting and using her.
Eliza thought he liked her. She thought his strange near-death experience influenced his feelings for her because she was the first person he saw upon revival. Were that the case, she could understand his actions. Hell, she could even see that as romantic and understandable. But somewhere along the ride, it became apparent that he just wanted to control her. To keep her at a distance but not allow her to be with anyone else.
So, he will tease her, come on to her, love-bomb her, fool around with her, but always keep her at arm's length away. He will do things to make her think that she could actually live with him in her life but then turn right around to disprove that.
Eliza is tired in more ways than one. She best described him earlier as a parasite.
His sickly, sweet voice pierces her ears, "My dear nurse, I seem to have lost your focus."
Eliza realizes she has dissociated and zoned out in an attempt to understand their relationship.
Edward enjoys the look of frustration on her face. His sweet, kind nurse is terribly frustrated and thinks maybe he should indulge her a bit. You cannot keep teasing a dog with a treat without giving them a nibble of it. He steps closer to her, coraling her near the wall.
"Oh, my dear nurse, Eliza. Your irritation is only natural when dealing with someone as complex and intriguing as myself. I know you want me. You care for me."
Edward leers with his hand on the wall by her head. Eliza enjoys the closeness, but the danger he exudes is unfathomable.
"But let's not dwell on such trivial feelings."
Eliza glares up at him, anger burning in her bright green eyes, "Trivial? You're calling my emotions trivial. Therefore, you are calling me trivial."
The Riddler smirks, his own jovial green eyes gleaming.
"You are anything but trivial to me. But I must admit –", his gloved hand comes up to play with a few strands of her chocolate hair. "-there's something intriguing about seeing you so frustrated."
Eliza's anger flares, and she seethes, "Edward, you've invaded my life. You've been obsessed with me but won't share your whole self with me. We can't go out on dates but the least you could do is spend time with me. I'm tired of you not showing me affection. I'm tired of half-measures. I'm tired of you. It's all about you."
His expression darkens as he considers her words and growls: "Tired, are you? Eliza . . . I assure you I don't do anything in half-measures."
Edward leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper against her lips as she shivers. "I do not think you know what you are asking for.."
Eliza hesitates, studying his darkened features, looking for anything other than manipulation.
". . . Give me everything."
Eliza soon regrets her impulsive answer. She truly has no idea what it means to play with a Rogue.
Taking her by surprise, Edward grabs her by her arms, pinning her against the wall – he is gripping her so hard it hurts, and she is grimacing. She does not mind rough play in her intimacy, but this - this is too much.
"Very well, let me show you the darkness that dwells within," his voice is laced with malice and excitement.
"You're hurting me," she groans.
Edward grins wildly, enjoying the pained expression on the sweet-faced woman over whom he obsesses. His eyes are dilated, and she can barely see the enchanting green she has come to admire so much.
"Oh, Eliza, this is just a taste."
His lips forcefully capture hers in a hard kiss. Eliza is wide-eyed with surprise and hurt. She has wanted his whole self, but not like this. His tongue is tangled with hers, which is fine, but he often bites her. Keeping one hand bruisingly tight on her arm, his other snakes down to the hem of her shirt, which he lifts up.
Eliza's skin tingles as she feels his warm, gloved hand on her belly. Without taking his time, Edward slips his hand lower, dragging along her sensitive skin until his fingers catch on her panties before he dips them beyond the material. Eliza groans when she feels his gloved fingers brush against her wet core. Is this what she wanted? She always loves his mouth on hers, but he is also hurting her in a way that she never considered from him. She's wanted him to touch her. Her body craves him but she is confused by the mixed signals of pleasure and horror. It is not until she tastes the tears in their kiss that she realizes she is crying.
Somehow, his grip tightens even more as he crushes her to him. He breaks the kiss and smiles viciously at the sight of her tears.
"Is this what you wanted, my sweet Eliza? To be consumed by desire? Consumed by me?"
His unnatural eyes bore into hers, "Because I've been holding myself back."
Edward's voice is low, even, and serious as death as he dips his fingers into her vagina. He had been protecting her from this long enough.
"Edward, stop. I don't want you like this," she groans. She cannot help the sounds she makes when he dips his head down to bite her neck hard, drawing blood as his fingers curl and pump in and out of her. It would not feel so bad if his grip on her arm and the bite mark were not hurting so much.
The Riddler's grip tightens even more, causing Eliza to gasp in agony. He chuckles darkly as he bites her neck again, pulling her tight to him with his harsh grip.
"This is what you asked for, Eliza, and pain is just another form of pleasure. Don't you agree?"
Eliza's mind is racing. How can he be so dashing but so evil? Why is he obsessed with her in this way? She deserves love, but this is all she gets—pain. She refuses to admit that some of it is pleasurable. She does not want him to know he is right because it would only fuel this hellfire.
"You may not understand it now, but this is what true love feels like. Pain and ecstasy. . ."
He bites and sucks her neck again. She moans when he licks the deepest bite mark, calming the bloody spot somewhat as his fingers still move inside her. Eliza is overwhelmed with so many different sensations, some pleasurable and some painful.
"P-please, Edward, it feels better when you are gentle."
Roguish eyes glint with malice as he continues his work of devouring her, relishing the power he has.
"Gentle? That would be far too boring," his voice is filled with sadistic pleasure as he adds more fingers to her center, swirling around her clitoris intermittently. Edward returns to her mouth, where he bites her lower lip hard, cutting the plush skin and coaxing more blood. The taste of copper fills their kiss.
"Your kindness and gentle nature are what drive me wild, Eliza Louise Tucker."
The hand squeezing her arm releases, allowing Eliza a brief reprieve before he snakes the same gloved hand up to her throat, which he grips like a vice. He pulls her close by her neck, those devilish fingers coaxing her closer and closer to the edge. He whispers with malice and desire, their lips barely touching,
". . . I want to ruin you."
His grip tightens incrementally as he grins, "I want to break your spirit and make you mine forever."
Eliza feels dizzy, pulling her hands up to pull at his tight hold and push him away futilely. She just needs a little a little space to breathe. She enjoys the feel of his fingers inside her; the gloves provide a new, different sensation, but his hand on her throat detracts from the pleasure below.
"I want to consume you – mind, body, and soul. You'll be mine forever," he promises.
The nurse is frightened. She is so confused by his actions and words. This is not what she signed up for– or wanted. Some of this feels good, and she relishes him touching her, but this is too far. Her vision is starting to blur, and she knows her brain is not getting enough oxygen. There is a gasping stridor as she struggles to breathe past the occlusion on her trachea.
"Do you feel it, my dear? The thrill of danger with pleasure. You can resist all you want, but deep inside, you know this is your desire. This is what it's like to indulge in the forbidden," his voice is a mix of dominance and longing as he watches her eyes start to glaze over. He can feel her tremoring in his hands.
"E-Eddie, please," she squeaks through his grip, which he tightens in response, cutting off her air supply completely.
Eliza knows she won't last another minute now, and Edward is delighted with her struggle.
"Shh . . . just surrender to me, Elizabeth."
Her chest is heaving and arching for oxygen; her vision blackens in her periphery. Tears are streaming down her face as her lips are turning a bluish-gray, hypoxemia setting in. Edward watches the struggle, forcing her own near-death experience, and he relishes getting to witness it. The moment before she finally closes her eyes, he releases the choke and removes his fingers from her vagina simultaneously, and she falls to the floor, gasping like a fish out of water and coughing.
Edward Nygma crouches down beside her, observing the recovery with sinister admiration.
Eliza wheezes out, not looking him in the eyes, "I - I think you s-should leave."
A maniacal laugh leaves him, "Leave? Oh –"
He pets her head, patronizing the downed woman. He then gently touches her face and tilts her chin up to him with his clean hand, "I am just getting started."
He gives a wicked smile as he shows her slick juices on his fingers before licking them clean. Any other time, Eliza would have found this action undeniably sexy, but his previous strangulation taints it. He lets her go, reaches for a handkerchief, and cleans his hand more appropriately. He revels in her look of abject agony and hurt before granting a reprieve.
"But I should give you some time to recover before I continue our journey. I think I've made my point for now."
That fucking, haughty, melodic voice.
A-lister of Gotham's Rogue Gallery, Edward Nygma, the Riddler, stands, leaving the woman on the floor. He adjusts his tie, gloves, and hat in the mirror on the wall, a smarmy grin on his face, before reaching down one last time to pat her head.
"Don't miss me too much, Eliza. I'll see you soon, my dear. Don't forget to put the roses I bought you in a vase."
He strides to the balcony, disappearing into the darkness of Gotham, leaving Elizabeth Tucker a sobbing mess on the floor.
Without a chain,
Without a lock,
Yet holds you tight,
Like hands of a clock.
Dictates your moves,
Your every choice.
A silent force,
Without a voice.