#Farrell Penguin

[ladylaviniya]

He's so babygirl

Look at his side profile!!!

[taintandviolent]

Regular ; Oz Cobb x Reader

summary: You live in Gotham City and are a waitress at a little hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant. Oz is a regular and you've developed quite the crush on him.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 6.4K | older man/younger woman, semi-established history, making out, cockwarming, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, fingering (female receiving, dirty talk, smut with a teensy bit of plot (but not really).

a/n: to the 99.9999% of my followers... I'm so sorry but I am begging you guys to hear me out about him!!!! I thoroughly expect this to flop, but I needed to write it for my own sanity. absolutely massive thank you to @redravenblogs for beta-reading! banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

Ah, Tuesday night. 

In Gotham City, every night is a good night for an Italian restaurant. Especially one that’s been in business since 1964 and acquired a hefty lot of aging locals that know the food is good, and a possibly even longer list of trendy, younger foodies that have heard that food is good because of the aging locals. 

There’s also the… criminal side of the patrons. Have a place with delicious food and wine, and Gotham’s elite underground is sure to follow. You’ve seen your fair share of men who look like they’re here to discuss a deal over a good meal, and a number of elected officials with them. You know better than to meddle, though. You just do your job, and hope for a good tip. Usually, you get one. 

Tonight, it’s raining. Heavily. Surprise, surprise. People flock in from the street as an escape from the deluge outside and the restaurant is filling up quickly. Your section is about three quarters of the way full, and you’re busy. You hear the door open again, followed by the momentary rush of the sound of tires on wet pavement outside. You straighten up, throwing your glance in the way of the entrance. 

There he is. A warm smile spreads across your face as you watch him amble in, shaking the rain from his leather coat. Though his appearances aren’t regular, his habits are. He always sits at the same table in your section, towards the back and next to the corner window. Once he figured out it was in an area you attended to, he never sat anywhere else. 

You only know him as Oz, the big sweetheart of a man who comes in and always orders the chicken parmigiana. Says it’s the best in town. After seeing him a few times, and sneakily taking note of his last name, you took it upon yourself to do a little digging and found out that he’s known for running with Falcone’s gang and that he’s also the owner of the elite Iceberg Lounge. You never bring those things up to him in fear of starting a conversation he doesn’t want to finish. It’s really none of your business, anyway. You give him a moment to settle into the booth, but once he does – you’re immediately headed that way. 

“There she is,” he starts with a smile, watching you as you make your way over to the table, pulling your order notebook from your apron pocket. “There’s my girl.” 

A blush hits your cheek – it does every time. From day one, he flirted with you, harmlessly and has continued it ever since. You’re used to patrons being a little flirtatious, but something about the way Oz does it makes your stomach tighten. 

“Buonasera, Oz…” you say, your lips curling into a warm smile. In the year you’ve worked here, you’ve picked up a little Italian, but the appropriate greetings are mandated by management. “How you doin’?” 

“Better now.” 

You smile again and dip your chin to your chest shyly. He’s always so affectionate, so warm. For being a guy who meddles in Gotham’s seedy underbelly, he’s one of the nicest guys you’ve ever met.

“The usual?” 

He nods. “The usual, sweetheart. But gimme’ a side of fettuccine tonight, huh?” 

You scribble the order down, and snap your book shut. “You got it.”

“What time you off tonight, doll?” 

“Same as every night, Oz. In about an hour.”

“They keepin’ you late every night, huh?” 

“Yeah, but a girl’s gotta’ eat.” 

He scoffs, shaking his head and shifts in the booth before looking up at you. “I keep tellin’ ya, I could take care uh ya, baby.”

The running joke, but sometimes you wonder if he’s serious. He always tips you generously, alarmingly so, and it’s always put directly in your hand, as though he doesn’t want anyone else knowing that he takes care of your groceries for the week.

“And I keep sayin’ I couldn’t do that to you.” 

“Ahh–!” He jerks his head to the side, dismissing those words. 

You reach forward to touch his broad shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “Let me put your order in, honey. I’ll be right back with your wine.” 

With that, you walk proudly off towards the back, swaying your hips. You can feel Oz’s eyes on you as you go and maybe the way you move is intentional, because you know he’s watching. So, what if it was? Can you really blame a girl for liking the attention?

As you round the corner to the kitchen, you clear your throat and call out to the cooks. Angelo is working tonight, and he’s one of the few guys who knows about your little affinity for Oz. As soon as you pin the ticket, Angelo spins the wheel around, looking at the order. He recognizes it, and gives you a knowing smile. 

“Oh, look who’s back, eh?” 

“Quiet,” you hush, looking back towards the table. You can’t see it from this angle, but you know he’s there, sitting, probably on his phone, or tapping his big knuckles on the wood of the table. 

He looks at the sheet again, noticing the addition, and raises an eyebrow. “Boyfriend’s hungry tonight.” 

“Angelo, will you quit it? He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“Sugar daddy then, eh?” 

You scoff, giving him the finger before reaching for one of the bottles of wine – Oz’s favorite.

You return to his table with a skip in your step. It’s been about a week since you’ve seen him, and you can’t help the giddiness in your gait. As you bump your plush hip into the corner of the table, Oz grins crookedly at you, his gold teeth glinting in the low lighting of the restaurant. You reach into your apron, pulling out a corkscrew. 

“So, whatcha’ been up to, Oz?” You say, as you twist the prong into the cork. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” 

“Ah, y’know… business as usual.”

He usually gives you an answer like that – something that doesn’t reveal too much about what he does. You wonder if he knows that you’ve looked into him. You suddenly furrow your brow at the cork – it’s being stubborn – and quickly situate the bottle between your legs, squeezing it tight between your thighs. This action isn’t lost on Oz, who watches you with a deeply interested grin, watching how your skirt rides up just slightly at the front, not enough to reveal anything aside from some of your creamy soft thigh flesh. Everything you do is done with such innocence, but there’s no way you don’t know what you’re doing to him, he thinks. After a moment of yanking, the cork finally gives way with a hollow POP and you grip the bottle, bringing it up to the table. You mutter a quiet apology and fill the glass, pulling the bottle back to wipe the edge on your apron.

“Well, it’s good to see you. Always is.” 

Someone calls your name from behind you, and it’s one of the other tables, looking for refills. You offer Oz an apologetic smile, and head in that direction. Sadly, you don’t return until his food is ready.  He’s extra present tonight; your eyes meet every time you look in his direction, giving him a timid smile and going about your tasks, but your heart flutters with an adoration for the older man. You’re attentive too, and go over to his table a million and a half times to ask how the food is, if he needs anything else. 

“Only you, doll.” 

You swat playfully at his shoulder, though the little quip has heat pooling in your core. You’d be lying if you hadn’t thought about him taking you over the table a handful of times; lustfully imagining what his hips would feel like rutting against your ass as he sunk himself inside of you. You constantly wondered what his cock looked like. He was a big man, and you assumed that rang true for all parts of him – but the hunger to find out was terrible.  

He’s one of the last ones to leave, lingering as long as he can before it’s considered rude. Tonight, something’s different about him, like something is on his mind, something he wants to say. Each time you’re at his table, he looks like he’s about to ask, but never does. Finally, as you return to clear his table, reaching for the empty plates on his table, he downs the rest of his wine and clears his throat. 

“Listen, sweetheart,” he says, pivoting slightly in the booth with some effort. “You uh, you busy after work?” 

“N-no.” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You straighten up, holding the stacked plates with one flattened palm.

“Why don’t you come down to the Iceberg Lounge? Unwind a little.”

“Oh, Oz, I’m not much of a clubbing girl.” 

There’s a glimmer of disappointment in those dark eyes of his, but he sets his jaw, and gets to his feet. This puts him in your proximity, and you can feel the heat rolling off his large body. Your stomach aches to lean into him, press yourself into his gut, and lace your arms around his neck.

“Just think ‘bout it.” He reaches in his pocket. 

The tip he gives you tonight almost makes your knees give way. It feels thicker than usual in your left hand and when your fingers close around the bills, you swallow down the protests. You don’t dare count it, not in front of him or anyone else. You’ve stopped telling him no, or that he doesn’t have to, because it’s almost like it offends him. He always hushes you, and acts like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You tuck it in the pocket of your apron, and swallow hard again. 

He smiles and steps around you. Your eyes are glued to the visual of him leaving, watching him through the windows as he limps down the sidewalk. God, you want him. It’s a lethal hunger, something that claws and rips at your insides. 

Once the restaurant is empty, you and the rest of the crew make quick work of cleaning up and closing up shop. It’s about forty-five minutes later when you’re slipping your arms into the sleeves of your black, wool overcoat and heading through the door. The rain hasn’t stopped. If anything, it’s gotten worse. You heave a sigh. You’ve got a walk ahead of you, but it’s something you’re used to. 

“Doll!” 

You stop walking, poised just at the end of the sidewalk. You hoist your bag up on your shoulder and pull your jacket right around your neck, squinting into the rain. 

“Oz? That you?” You take a step in that direction, knowing full well it is. Your casual act is embarrassing to you, but you persist, pretending you’re surprised to see him getting out of his car. It’s a nice one, too… a Maserati. Was he… waiting for you?

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “You ain’t walkin’ home in this, are ya?”

“Just to the station,” You defend. 

“Nah. C’mon.” He limps around the front of his car, rain splattering against his leather coat. “Lemme’ give ya’ a ride.” 

He doesn’t have to ask you twice. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Really. The rain is brutal and you’re cold, a chill settling into your bones. You hurry towards the plum-coloured car, your high heels clacking against the wet pavement as you do. Oz opens and holds the door for you, waiting patiently for you to make your way over. You get in the car gracefully, making sure not to flash him, though, you doubt he’d mind if you did. It’s warm inside, the heat is on, and the leather interior has absorbed some of that heat. You snuggle into the seat, watching in the rearview as Oz makes his way back around the car, and for a moment you’re surrounded by nothing but the sound of rain on the roof and the shlick of the wiper blades as they whisk the droplets off the windshield. The driver’s side door opens, and he tucks himself in. Droplets of rain decorate his shoulders, and he smears his hand over his hair. 

“Where to, sweetheart?” He asks, a familiarity in his voice. He’s used to driving people around, but he’d drive you around the whole city if you asked. 

“The complex on the corner of 7th and Onyx…” you say, almost sheepishly. Sure, it’s not the best part of town, but your little apartment is cozy, overlooking the city. You imagine he’s used to much nicer, and is probably silently judging the location. 

“Oz,” you start, looking at the girth of his fingers as they wrap around the steering wheel. Your mind starts to wander, but you quickly reign it in with a hard blink and an inhalation of breath. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, doll. Anything you want.” 

“Were you waiting for me to get off work?”

 “Gotta’ look out for my favorite girl, y’know?” 

It’s an indirect answer, but an answer all the same. You smile to yourself as he eases his foot into the gas pedal, the car moving forward. His right hand departs from the steering wheel to turn on the radio. Frank Sinatra’s crooning voice fills the inside, and for the rest of the drive, you’re silent, occasionally stealing looks at Oz as he drives. He handles the car beautifully, and you wonder if he handles a woman as well. 

Oz is sweet. You know this. Despite his constant heavy flirting at the restaurant, he’s sweet, charming and at times, awkward. Endearingly so. But you aren’t taking pity on him. Your interest in him is purely selfish, driven by your lust for older, dangerous men. You inhale a deep breath and turn your attention to the road. You’re close to home. A few minutes later, he pulls up next to your building and puts the car in park. 

You reposition yourself to face him, shifting your feet underneath you. He’s watching you, those smoldering, dark eyes following your every move. Carefully, you lean over the center console, enough to close in the distance between you two and press your lips against his warm, scarred cheek. His aftershave wafts into your nose, and you take a deep breath of it, remembering it. You think you hear his breath hitching. 

“That’s for the ride, Oz.” 

“Shit, I oughta’ drive you ‘round more often if that’s what it gets me, huh?” 

You hesitate a moment, looking into his eyes. There’s that look again –  like he wants to ask something. You fill the void with another question. 

“Is our chicken parm really the best, or do you just come for me?” 

Oz’s thick brows flick up on his forehead and he lets out a throaty chuckle. “Sweetheart...” 

“Do you come for me?” 

Now he’s really looking at you, squinting at you. Hearing that question repeated has him twitching in his goddamn slacks. He looks out to the rain, then back to you and you’re still staring at him, waiting for an answer. 

“If you only fuckin’ knew,” he chokes out.

“Well.. what if I wanna’ know?” 

“Doll,” he grins and laughs, almost nervously. It’s loveable and you can’t help but smile, your gaze fixated on his scarred mouth as he speaks. You aren’t staring negatively, quite the contrary. Like everything else unusual about him, you find his scars sexy. 

“You don’t gotta’... y’know, do that.”

You smile again, letting your lids close slightly. He thinks you’re doing this because you’re what? Paying him back for all the tips? Treating him like a charity case? Hysterical. If he only knew.

“Answer my question, Oz. What if I wanna’ know?”

He shifts in his seat. Uncomfortable? You can’t tell. 

“Then uh… I ain’t gonna’ deny you that. Find out.”

You lean back over, and instead of kissing his cheek, you tilt your head and go for his mouth, your soft, plush lips pressing against his. He doesn’t respond… not right away, at least. He’s stunned, but also trying not to devour you like some goddamned hungry animal. Finally, his lips twitch to life, pressing back against yours. 

He ain’t used to this. But, fuck, it feels good. 

As his mouth opens, his large hand comes up to the side of your face, holding you where you’re at. The cool chill of the band of his ring is a stark contrast against the warmth of his digits. His fingertips graze the edge of your hairline, massaging gently. The taste of his tongue in your mouth is intoxicating, the wine lingering on his breath mingles with his own personal notes. You let an open-mouthed moan fall from your throat, into his, and he reciprocates, moving his body slightly towards you. Your tongue slips along his bottom lip, pausing to nibble at it softly. He groans deep, his eyes rolling back in his head. You’re getting him stiff, worked up and all you’re fuckin’ doin’ is kissin’ him.   

This is getting heavy. You feel your own arousal burning between your legs, a fiery, throbbing heartbeat that gets more incessant the longer his tongue is in your mouth, tasting you. Oz is practically taking you in mouthfuls, and your hand crawls over the center console, just far enough that your fingernails scrape against the fabric of his slacks, over his thigh. A desperate attempt to get closer to him without just straddling him in his front seat. 

A deep rumble of thunder and a crack of lightning pulls you two from each other. You lurch away, panting, and look out through the front windshield. The rain comes down harder, and you can hardly make out the outlines of the buildings in front of you. 

“I should… probably go inside before this gets any worse.”

You aren’t sure if you’re talking about the rain or the mutual arousal. Maybe both. He clears his throat in response; he wants to tell you that you’re a cruel woman, leaving him like this, but with the taste of you still on his tongue, he ain’t about to push his luck and get greedy. He unlocks the doors from the panel on his left. You open the door and get out, dragging your bag with you. You lean back inside, looking at him with dreamy, half-lidded eyes. 

“I’ll see you, Oz. Thanks for the ride.” 

But not the kiss? You cringe at your words. There’s that look again – but this time, you know he wants to ask you if you’re coming down to the Lounge later. You know it, and you’ve already made up your mind. 

Instead, he shrugs with both of his shoulders. “Sure, sweetheart. Any time. I mean that.” 

With butterflies in your stomach, you exit the car, and shut the door, careful not to slam it. You hold your purse above your head as you run to the front door and you hear the roar of Oz’s engine as he speeds off. The second you’re inside, you kick off your heels at the door and hurry to the back of the apartment. You flip the lightswitch, illuminating the modest bedroom. You pull the dress from the back of your closet, half expecting a cloud of dust to come with it.  

Thank god it still fits. 

You catch a cab downtown, which is much less luxurious than your previous ride. It drops you off in front, and the line to get in stretches down the length of the building. You knew it was a popular place, but you hadn’t expected this. The rain, nor the fact that it’s a Tuesday evening, deters these patrons – whatever’s inside must really be something. You pull your dress down your thighs, and walk carefully up onto the sidewalk. Deciding to try your luck with the bouncers, you bypass the line, trying not to look at anyone to your right. If you stand in line, you won’t be inside for hours. 

Two men – identical twins – stand in front of the door.

“Can we help you?” One of them asks, sternly. You don’t take offense, they’re only doing their job. 

“Um…” You blurt out your name, adding, “Oz asked me to come.” 

One of the men speaks into a small mic attached to the lapel of his jacket, covering it with his hand. It’s only a moment before one of them opens the door and the music goes from muffled to booming, vibrating your bones. You mutter a quick thanks, and step inside, feeling like you’ve just cheated the system. The visual that meets you truly overwhelms you at first, and you hesitate. 

It’s a staggeringly massive venue, filled with undulating bodies. The building itself is industrial in nature, all steel and flashing red lights. The dance floor stretches as far as your eyes can see, a literal sea of human beings, all grinding against each other, feeling the music in their veins. You stand, stunned at the start of the crowd, unsure of where to go.

After a moment, you lift your gaze and your eyes meet for the hundredth time that night. Oz stands on the second floor, on almost a catwalk above the crowds. He looks like he did at the restaurant, save for the leather jacket which was replaced by a white suit jacket; he’s wearing the same purple shirt and black slacks. Your shoulders relax, knowing that whatever happens next will be something you remember for the rest of your life.

He doesn’t make it a secret of how he’s checking you out, a devilish sneer on his face. He’s only ever seen you in your waitress outfit, which let it be known, is sexy enough on its own, but this plunging number that gives him a peek at your cleavage, and hugs your hips in ways he could only dream of… He deepens his grin and jerks his head to the side, urging you up. You follow his gaze and clock the staircase to your left. You make a beeline for it, holding the chain of your purse in a fist and climb the steel staircase carefully, until you get to the platform that Oz is standing on. 

“Hi!” You shout over the pulsing music. You’re giddy, like a schoolgirl. It’s embarrassing, really. 

“I gotta’ be honest, doll, I didn’t think I’d see you.” he confesses, leaning into your ear. His voice is rough, but enticing. He pulls back, gauging your reaction. You stare at him for a moment, saying nothing, prolonging the moment and torturing him. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and your eyes flick down to watch. Something he does a lot, you notice. 

“What?” you ask, leaning into him. “After what happened in the car?” 

When you pull back to look at him, there’s a bemused smile on your face. Confident. Cocky. Like there was an unspoken contest of who would mention it first and you won. He shrugs lightly, huffing out a laugh. You reach for his cheek, palming it softly. Oz keeps his composure, even though inside, he wants to lean into it and whimper like a dog. He’s glad he doesn’t though. 

“I’m the one who kissed you, remember? It’s not like you did anything to offend me, Oz.” you coo.

“I ‘spose not, huh?” 

You nod, slowly, coyly. 

“The chicken parm,” he says suddenly, shrugging with his hands. “It ain’t bad. But I guess you’ve figured out the real reason why I come there, huh?”  

You laugh brightly, looking over the railing at the throngs of people below you, neon red lights washing over them in time with the music. You smile softly, feeling special. It’s not every day that you get private access to an elite club in Gotham City and get to schmooze with the owner. 

“Come upstairs with me.” Feeling like your attention is drifting from him, Oz takes your hand, guiding you in the direction of yet another flight of stairs. Your eyes trail up the steps; they lead to a loft, glass windows on every side. 

You’re stone cold sober, so you can’t blame the alcohol, but the second you’re in his office, above the crowds, above it all, you’re on him like a bear on honey. Your hands smear over his chest, fingers grazing through the hair that peeks out from his open shirt. He smells like cigars and an expensive cologne that you take lungfuls of. 

“You're an eager girl, aren’t ya?” 

“Yeah, Oz… I am.” You reply breathlessly, kissing a path along his bottom lip and chin. 

“How long have you felt this way, huh?” 

You finally pull back, and lick your lips, watching him intently. You knew he was a talker from the restaurant, always chatting. But right now, you wanted nothing more than to kiss him. “Uhm…” Your chest heaves visibly, and Oz has to fight to keep his eyes on yours. “The first or second time you came into Bellini…” 

“Ah, c’moooon!” he says, incredulously. 

“No, I’m serious!” You laugh a little, moving your head to try and keep Oz’s gaze. He looks off behind you for a moment, and when he returns his attention to you, his expression is serious.

“Chicks like you don’t go after guys like me –”

You bristle and take his face in your hands. “Chicks like me? What do you know about chicks like me, Oz? You think you’ve got it all figured out, huh?” 

He sidesteps that with another question. “What, you like older guys or somethin’?” 

“They’re better…” You say in between tiny kisses. “They know better. They’re more experienced. Guys my age…” You pause to run a finger along his lip. “They don’t know how to take care of women.”

Oz smiles. It’s a dirty, devious smile, and it sends a pulse to your core. There’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, and he brings his hand up to the curve of your shoulder. “You want me to take care of ya, baby? Is that what you’re sayin’?” 

You nod. A little too enthusiastically, maybe. 

“It’s a busy club, sweetheart.” He says, almost nonchalantly, as though his slacks aren’t tenting in between both of you. 

But… he has a point. You hum quietly. 

“Later, then? Give me a tour of the club and – “ Your voice trails off because Oz looks like he’s just gotten an idea. He smirks, and his hand grips your hip, pulling you close to his gut. “What?” 

“How’s about you sit on it, huh?” 

Your head turns, gaze heavily resting on the room across the way. You assume it’s for the dancers of the club. Whatever it is – it’s right there. You glance at it nervously, and your expression reads strong, apparently, because Oz chuckles next to you, and brings his hand to your jaw, forcing it back in his direction. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me. It’s okay. They ain’t gonna’ know a thing.” 

His hand drops from your jaw to your waist, where his thumb swipes circles over your dress. His hand sweeps around to the back, where your skin is exposed, and begins stroking patterns over the skin, igniting tiny fires wherever he touches. You lean forward, pressing your mouth against his again, hungry for his taste again. After a few minutes, Oz pulls away, ending the foreplay. He turns and ambles to the leather sofa angled in front of the window and you follow, taking slow, careful steps. One foot in front of the other. 

Once he’s seated, you lift your dress just enough to grip the delicately stretchy lace of your panties on either side, and carefully pull them down the curve of your ass. Oz is watching, his brown eyes locked on the tantalizing visual in front of him. You discard them on the sofa cushion, not thinking about where they land. Oz watches though, and his large hand snakes out, fisting them and discreetly tucking them into the pocket of his slacks. If you asked, he would’ve told you that he didn’t want anyone fuckin’ seein’ ‘em. The reality was that his perversions were too loud, and he was going to take a token of this dream he was experiencing.  

Oz reaches down, unlatching his slacks, and pulling the zip down just enough to reach in and pull his aching cock free. As you lower yourself, he lines it up, watching intently. You whimper his name, feeling the cockhead nudge your entrance. 

“Easy, sweetheart, easy. That’s it, nice n’ slow.” He licks his lips. 

At first, you nestle yourself down onto his thick cock gradually. The fat, leaking head pops in first, sending a shockwave through your core. Your breath hitches in your throat, and instead of sliding yourself down his shaft slowly, with a huff, you slam your ass down hard. You’re sitting all the way down on Oz’s wide lap, stuffing the rest of him in. He’s thicker than he is long, but god, it’s everything you thought it would be. He vocalizes, surprised at your determination. You still, letting your walls accommodate the girth of the man beneath you. 

“Hoo, baby...” 

The tiniest little movements have him clenching his jaw, hissing through his teeth. And then… with his hand casually holding onto your hip, Oz starts to rut his hips up into you. It’s just enough to rock your body up and down and move his cock inside you. 

He grunts underneath you, his grasp tightening on the satin of your dress. He craves skin, and his hand slides into the space between your dress and your back. You can’t help but let out the tiniest of whimpers at the feeling of being so full – you don’t remember the last time you were stretched like that. Your dress pools, hanging heavy between your legs and concealing your leaking core. 

Abruptly, the collective sound of high heels approaches, and your eyes snap up to the glass windows. A group of girls crowds the room parallel, and the second one of them spots you two, they’re heading your way. Oz stops moving. 

“Alright… quiet, doll.” He slaps your hip a few times. It’s a warning, and one you immediately heed, straightening up, tucking your hips into a more natural sitting position. His cock twitches inside you, and you swallow back the noise that bubbles up your throat. 

“Ozzy,” the girls coo in unison. One of them has a martini in her hand and asks who you are. God, they’re all so beautiful, you think. Insecurity threatens, but the stretching between your legs calms it.

Leaning to the side to meet their gaze, he tells them your name, proudly – the bastard – and you wave, sheepishly, trying not to allude to the fact that Oz’s girthy cock is buried inside you. Maybe they know. Maybe he’s done this before. You swallow hard, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

“We was just havin’ a meeting. She’s thinkin’ of workin’ here.” A bold faced lie, but it distracts the women from looking too hard at the scene in front of them. They all titter excitedly, delighted by the prospect of having another friend to play with.  

“Oz takes real good care of us,” one of them chimes in, earnestly. “You’d love it here.” 

You clench around his cock as hard as you can, your internal muscles squeezing him in a vice. You smile as naturally as you can at the girls as Oz continues speaking casually. The man’s poker face must be insane because he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t give away a single thing. 

“Alright, alright. Girls, what am I payin’ ya for, huh? Get down there.” 

In a flurry of nods and apologies, the women disperse, heading back down to the throbbing club below them. The sound of their high heels clicking down the stairs fades away, replaced by the dull, muffled thrumming of the music below. As soon as you two are alone again, Oz bucks his hips up into you hard, almost painfully, pulling a low groan from your throat.

“Tell me how good that feels, sweetheart. Tell me.” The roughness of his voice, the harshness of his accent makes everything sound intense, but the desperation in which he asks that isn’t lost on you. He’s practically begging you to tell him, revealing a deep-rooted hunger for praise. You wet your throat, and lean your head back onto his shoulder, bringing your hand up around to the back of his wide neck; the flesh is warm and damp with sweat.

“It feels so good.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Y-yeah…” You close your eyes, wincing slightly at the way his cock bullies you and stretches you open. “So good, Oz. I’ve thought about this… so many times.”

His hips rut up into you, finding a hungry, incessant rhythm and your slick walls clench around him. The action brings a choking grunt from his mouth, and your ego swells with the control. An idea blossoms. You straighten up; setting your hips and grinding them back and forth on his lap. Beneath you, Oz moans, his grip on you tightening. You feel his large body shudder, and a cocky smile curls its way around your lips. 

“You like that, Oz? You like me fucking you like that?” 

He nods, breathlessly, reaching up to palm the sweat that drips into his brow. 

“Tell me,” you whisper, arching your body against his. 

“I l-like the way you’re fuckin’ me. It feels real fuckin’ good… ” He grumbles, pleased. “Feelin’ that tight pussy uh yours… like heaven, doll.” 

You whine at that, loving the way it sounds coming from his mouth. Your hips gyrate, continuing their ruthless pattern on his cock. His hand strays from your hip and juts between your legs, finding your cunt. His thick fingers slip between your folds, stroking you just enough to drive your orgasm closer to the edge. You whimper, tossing your head back. 

Oz’s gaze drops from your back to your ass, watching as the flesh swells when you push back against him. God damn. It’s a perfect fuckin’ view, and he sucks in a deep breath. Every muscle in his body tightens, even if he ain’t ready for that.  

“Aw, fuck–” he grunts, low. Deep in his stomach, his muscles clench, trying hard to stave off the oncoming orgasm. His eyes open, focusing on the ceiling, the sound of the music, anything except for the way you’re ridin’ him. It ain’t workin’, because he feels his whole body tense up. Fuck. 

His hand goes slack between your legs and you grit your teeth, bringing your brows together in a pained expression. The dual stimulation was nice, but the way his cock massages your walls, stretching them out and filling you in a way that has you gasping is enough to drive you mad. You’re thankful that the music is so loud beneath you, because your desperate mewls and whines are getting higher and higher in pitch. Oz mutters something, something filthy about filling you and you drive your hips back against him. And with that, he loses it. He thrusts his hips up into you a few times, with a frenzied sort of desperation. You feel the heat painting your insides, coating your walls in his ecstasy. Underneath you, Oz’s thrusts have turned languid and lazy. He’s silently justifying the too-quick orgasm with the fact that he had to; anyone could’ve walked in at any time. It had nothing to do with the fact that he’s been like a slobbering dog for you for months. 

Chest heaving, your hips continue rutting back and forth, and Oz shifts underneath you, still panting heavily. It’s tender, but he doesn’t complain. His thrusts continue to slow and you desperately reach between your legs, tapping his hand back to life. “D-don’t stop Oz, please… don’t stop…” 

Behind you, Oz chuckles under his breath and straightens up, having sunk back into the sofa a little too far when he lost it. His thick index finger strokes your clit upwards, and a shiver rips through your body. The coil in your stomach winds tighter as you settle into the oncoming feeling. Still full of him, your slick walls shudder around his cock as the first wave hits. The coil snaps, your thighs clamp shut around his hand, and you look down, sighing loud as he continues flicking between your folds. One of your hands is situated on his thigh, and the other comes to grip his wrist, feeling the cuban link chain beneath your palm.

“That’s it, sweetheart… that’s it…” As you ride it out, bucking your hips against his groin, he coaxes you through your orgasm, both vocally and with the way he massages your clit, the pad of his index finger pressing into it. You can hear the pride in his voice, it’s absolutely dripping with it. “Atta’ girl. Feels fuckin’ good, don’t it?”

You try to speak, but nothing comes out. You furiously nod your head as your legs begin to tremble. He doesn’t stop, and your immediate reaction is to dig your nails into the flesh of his hand, silently begging. 

“You good, doll?” 

“Y-yeah. I’m… wow.” 

Oz removes his hand from between your legs, and strokes the side of your thigh, gently. Tenderly. For a moment, you stay like that, just enjoying all of the post-coital sensations. Eventually, you get to your feet, curious about how the patrons downstairs are faring. Speaking of dripping… You swallow hard, and press your thighs together. 

While still in front of Oz, you straighten yourself out, pulling your dress back down over your hips. Now, you’re suddenly aware of the throbbing beat beneath your feet and make your way over to the window. 

“How about that tour?” You ask, running a nail along the glass that overlooks the dancefloor below you. After a few moments, you feel Oz’s presence behind you, his stomach pressing into the curve of your back. 

“I thought you weren’t a clubbin’ girl…” he murmurs throatily, in between kisses to your neck. You tilt your head, allowing more space for him to smother. 

“Well,” you confess, honesty tinging your voice. “I’m not. But it’s not every day you get invited to the most elite nightclub in Gotham City.” You shrug. “Might as well.”

[gilverrwrites]

Somethin' Sweeter

2022!Penguin/Reader, 1K words Request: LOVE the ozzie fics! Can you write something fluffy & smutty where it's their anniversary and reader prepared his favorite meal for dinner, wearing a cute sexy dress, and after dinner a special dessert 😏 Rating: 18+ I certainly can, honestly cannot get enough of this man, I don't think i'll ever turn down an Ozzie request.

CWs: Sugar baby dynamic vibes, vaginal fingering, oral (fem receiving), petnames: doll, princess, darlin'. F!Reader.

In case nobody has told you recently: I am proud of you.

He’s been grinning at you like the early bird who got the worm all evening, but as he bit into his entrée his demeanour shifted. You perched on the edge of your seat, watching every micro-movement of his face as you await the verdict.  

Preparing for tonight had been gruelling. Tracking down all the right ingredients, multiple practice attempts, conveying to Oz’s people that he was not to be disturbed, not to mention the priming that went into looking good for him. You know he would have loved whatever you’d made, would have fawned over you however you looked, but you wanted tonight to be perfect, and it was all worth it for the blissed-out look on his face right now. 

He takes a second bite, and you can’t stand the anticipation. “Well, what do you think?”

“It's great, Doll.” He smacks his lips as he speaks. “It tastes just like my-“

“Just like you’re Nonna’s. I know!” You feel bad for interrupting, excitement getting the better of you. “It’s her recipe.” 

“How did you manage that?” He asks, dabbing his mouth with his handkerchief.

“I made a few calls, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you like it.” 

“Of course I like it, I’d like anything you serve me, but this, this is exceptional. You treat me well, don’tcha?” In earnest, you do your best, but Oz really is the caretaker in your relationship. You might cook on special occasions, make sure he doesn't work too hard, but he keeps you well-kept. No bills to worry about, a luxury roof over your head, a wardrobe full of so many clothes and shoes that you’ll never manage to wear all of them, and a soft bed where he reminds you why, of all the men in Gotham, you always come back to him. 

“I do my best.” Plates scraped clean; you begin to clear the table. “I hope you’ve saved room for dessert. We’re having dark chocolate and coffee panna cotta.”

“Oh.” The plates in your hand nearly slip back onto the table, distracted by the disappointment in his tone, but when you turn to him, he’s looking at you with a sly glint in his deep brown eyes. He rests his palm on the back of your exposed thigh, ever so gently caressing your skin as he ghosted upwards, lifting the skirt of your dress in the process. “It’s not that princess, I just had somethin’ sweeter in mind. If you catch what I’m laying down here?”

“Sweeter?” A giggle escapes your lips as you tilt your head at him. Dishes abandoned you stride over to him, placing yourself on his good leg, holding onto his lapels as you pull yourself closer. The way his gold teeth gleam under the dim lights as he smiles at you sends a chill down your spine. “Like what?”

Oz places both his hands on your waist, strong fingers tactfully rolling up your dress once more until he’s able to admire your panties, soft purple satin with lace trim. There's a small wet patch already forming. With anybody else you might be embarrassed by it, but you know Oz loves the effect he has on you, even when he’s not eyeing you up like a prize. 

“This is nice, but how about you hop up on the table and keep your legs spread open for me?” He punctuates his question, by tapping one hand on the dinner table behind you. You don’t need to be asked twice, as you situate yourself, Oz takes two big gulps of his water. “Cleansing the palate.” 

His hand is steady as he hooks your underwear, far steadier than you feel as you watch the casual way in which he exposes your folds.

“Looks deliciosa.” He sniffs as he leans in closer to your wetness, angling his elbows to spread your thighs further, keeping them in place. 

There’s no test taste, no teasing, his mouth covers you in seconds, engulfing you like a man starved. His tongue immediately begins work, tracing circles around your entrance, pushing in ever so slightly, in endless circles. The tip of his nose digs against your clit, every brush sending a wave of heat through your body. 

It shocks you, making you cry out when he suddenly penetrates you with a thick finger and refocuses his tongue on your swelling clit. Your fingers unwittingly spread out into his dark thinning hair, as you fight the urge to ride his face. Oz likes to eat you out his own way, and you know you’ll be rewarded for sitting still. 

“Ooh-, Oz!” 

He hums between your lips, the resulting vibrations make your toes curl. He slips a second finger inside, continuing to suck at your sweet spot, all the combined sensations have you whining and shaking, orgasm fast approaching with every wave of pleasure. You chance a look down, and the sight of him hazy-eyed and buried in your core has you cumming, fists in the tablecloth, legs in the air as hit your climax. 

The room falls silent, excluding your shared rapid breathing; you coming back down from your high, Oz catching his breath. Oz’s presence always had that calming effect on you, regardless of the situation. It doesn’t, however, stop the whine that escapes your lips when you feel his fingers brush against your sensitive slit. He thumbs your panties, situating them back in place. 

“These are nice, did I buy these for you?” He knows he did. 

“You bought the whole outfit.” You sit up straight, smoothing your dress out before gesturing to yourself up and down. “You have excellent taste.” 

He gives you a once over, for what feels like the hundredth time that night, and despite him having had his face immersed between your legs only moments ago; your face warms with a bashful heat. 

“You’re not wrong, Darlin’. But I can’t help thinking this whole get-up would look better on the floor.” It’s a cheesy line that would make you cringe if it came from the mouth of anyone else. Instead, you’re filled with enthusiasm, excited for the night ahead of you. “Now how’s about you head on to bed an’ get ready for seconds while I clean up?” 

[hazyhalloweenz]

dude oz doesnt have his gold teeth in episode 4 before sofia went away... girly what happened after she went away tf did falcone do to my wife :[

[crazyeeeeeee]

[bbrojenreed]

I had an amazing Riddlebird 2022 story idea while watching The Penguin and I can't not share the idea. (TW: m/m NSFW mentioned at the end and violence. Duh.)

Edward gets really upset when he finds out Oz was working so close with Victor. Obviously nothing was happening there, but Ed's crazy and doesn't believe him, so he gets insanely jealous despite the fact that Victor is dead.

But he's not jealous because of sex or romance, but because he doesn't want to be replaced as Oswald's partner. HE is The Penguin's number one, no one else, and he'll kill anyone to keep his place there.

Oswald knew Edward would feel this way about Vic from the start. Oz knew he would kill Victor once he was freed from Arkham Asylum, once he found out about what all went down while he was locked up.

And The Riddler was going to be broken out soon because now that Oz has real power, the kind of power to free him, there's no way he's going to waste another minute. He needs Ed's incredible intelligence and his particular kind of ruthlessness back beside him as soon as possible.

Not to mention he missed him, though he won't let anyone know it.

But, before breaking Ed out, he has to kill Victor.

Not because he doesn't care for him or thinks he needs to cut off any potential liabilities, but because if he doesn't do it himself, Edward will, and it'd be a lot more painful.

Because the truth was Victor was dead the minute he got too close.

As much as Oz cares for the kid, as valuable of a friend as he is, he can't risk losing The Riddler's loyalties. Not now, not with the Bat on his trail.

Of course, Edward still finds out about Victor after he's freed, and he has an emotional episode about it. He screams hatefully, beautifully, at Oz. He threatens and sobs, but luckily, when Oswald spares him some sweet words, makes him promises, and proves that he killed Victor FOR him. That's all it takes to win the little mad genius over again.

Then they're kissing crudely, and the possessive sex is messy. Riddler threatens him while Oz is balls deep inside him, and that scares the Penguin as much as it turns him on because, yeah, there wasn't a doubt in his mind that Ed would skewer him.

(idk. I just have a strange fascination with this ship and I think this story would be neat. I wanna write it but I don't have time. Maybe one day.)

[yeyinde]

Oswald "Oz" Cobblepot | The Penguin

If you step outta line even once, I'll gut you like a goddamn fish

[fizzyscoffin]

Sunday it's coming and we gonna have a new cap,I'm so excited! So... Here's more fizz x Oz

Fizz really admires, and has this deep need to take care and spoil Oz,

I think over time she started connecting the dots and feel empathy for Oz, his life and how he's been underestimated by others. her crush just intensified.

[acapelladitty]

What do you think of the movie versions of the Penguin (such as Danny DeVito and Colin Farrell, for example)?

I think both are fantastic and play into the world which they exist in a really interesting way. DeVito Penguin is so fucking wretched and he wields his manipulations while also possessing a very off-putting sexual energy. He's cartoonish and feral and it's lots of fun.

Farrell Penguin is so different. He's much more grounded to reality and plays the role of a man who knows that he's destined for greater things really well. In his interactions with others it's clear that he knows how to play the game AND play it well and I think he's gonna be fun to watch in his TV show.

[catnelli]

@mojitophobic perfectly captures Oz in their drawings and I'm happy to see he compels others🫰

[taintandviolent]

Bliss ; Oz Cobb x Reader

summary: After trying a new drug at a nightclub, you lose your friend and run into someone else.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 4.5K | female reader, canon divergence (this kind of warps the events of episode 3 a teensy bit and uhhhh sorry about that, it's all in the name of spice), drug mention (fictional Bliss), technically mild dub con cos reader is hiiiiiiigh as shit but she's very into Oz, grinding, hook-ups, mentions of arousal (both parties), semi-public oral sex, blowjobs.

a/n: thank you for all the love on my last oz fic!! wahooo!!!! here's another, because i'm still obsessed with him! not beta-read or anything... just had to get this out. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

“Open your mouth, honey…” 

You extend your tongue, obediently. The nameless (but very pretty) woman puts a triangle of translucent red candy on the meat of your tongue, and you draw it back in, sucking on it. It’s slightly sweet and melts straight away, leaving a slimy, almost syrupy finish on your tongue. You swallow it down, and look over at your friend, who had taken the Bliss before you had. 

It only takes a few minutes for it to hit and when it does, your entire body feels like it’s floating, your nervous system is buzzing happily while your friend’s eyes are glazed over, a delighted smile on her face. Everything seems to sparkle like the glitter that you’d dusted your eyelids in. “Holy shit…” 

“Yeah,” you echo, equally as shocked as she is. The feeling is indescribable, and you immediately understand why it’s called Bliss. You can’t recall the last time you’d felt this… elated. You’d smoked, you’d done ecstasy, but this… this was something else entirely. 

The two of you collide, crushing your bodies against each other as the music throbs in your ears, thumping in your bones. Your hands explore each other’s exposed skin, tasting it with your fingertips. You’re dancing with her, your ass in the crook of her hips… and then you aren’t. The presence is suddenly gone from behind you. You spin around, searching for her face in the crowd. You spot it as she turns to wave at you.

“I’ll be back!” She shouts, nodding excitedly as she disappears into the sea of people. “I’m going upstairs!” 

Even though you’re still riding the high, you don’t particularly like the concept of being alone. You try to chase after her, turning left and right to avoid the shoulders of other patrons. As you pass them, you see other people indulging in the same drug that is coursing through your system. It’s a collective high, you think to yourself, smiling. How cute. 

Finally, after meandering through the crowds for a few minutes, you spot a small staircase and make a beeline towards it. Your limbs feel jello-y, and you nearly stumble as you take the stairs one at a time. Just as your foot hits the last step, you hear a stern voice calling out to you. 

“Hey-hey, sweetheart.” A man gets to his feet, limping slightly as he takes a step towards you. His voice was heavy, commanding. Even in your intoxicated state, you could tell you were interrupting something. Fuck. Your head sweeps from side to side as you search for your friend. 

Oz takes another step towards you, watching you closely. You were a cute little thing, all dolled up and pretty, just how he liked ‘em… but you didn’t belong here. 

“This ain't an open invitation. You lost?” He nods his head, his scarred lips turning into a frown. 

“I…” You slurred, blinking slowly, a dreamy smile on your face. “I lost my friend… she said she was going upstairs… is this not… is this not upstairs?” 

He heaves a sigh, and seems to mutter an expletive under his breath. “Nah, doll, this ain’t upstairs.” 

You blinked again, pressing the back of your palm against your lips. You pause to shift your small purse back up onto your shoulder. “Shit…” 

Your eyes unfocus and focus again. The man in front of you is big in every way describable. Broad, tall, and his aura… it swallows you whole. He looks rich, dressed well. Dark hair peeks out from over his slightly unbuttoned shirt. You hum. You’d like to blame it on the drugs but you’ve always had a penchant for older men. Especially ones that looked dangerous… and he looked dangerous. 

“I’m… I’m so sorry…” A girlish giggle tumbled out of your throat. “I’m… oh god, I feel so good, I’m sssso sorry to interrupt your…” 

“You take somethin’?” He narrowed his eyes and nodded once. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, looking into his dark eyes. “That red candy… you got any more of that?” You perk up at the idea of prolonging this feeling.  Oz smiled at that, his gold teeth glinting in the light. An example had fallen right into their fuckin’ laps, and Zhao could see it firsthand. Your tongue jutted out at the corner of your mouth, and swept along your top lip, euphorically. He couldn’t help but stare, feeling the heat of arousal grip his loins.

“Gentlemen,” he said, diverting his attention before he stared too fuckin’ hard at you, his accent heavy. “As I was sayin’, Bliss is the new craze. The second it hits the streets, they’ll be bustin’ down the doors for it.” 

He steps out from behind the table and ambles his way over to you. Standing next to you, he’s even taller. You tilt your head back slightly to look – no, to gaze up at him. His face is aged, and deeply scarred – the biggest one disfiguring his top lip – but it’s hot. This guy’s been in a few, and you’re sure he’s got some stories. 

You giggle again, an absolutely delirious sound, and press your hand on the breast of his suit jacket, tracing tiny little circles on the fabric. “Hi…” 

He smirks, feelin’ like that cat that got the canary. A pretty little thing, whacked out on Bliss, fawning over him in front of Zhao and his gang? Priceless. Oz turns his head, nodding to one of the guys sitting at the table. 

“You think on our deal, and I’m gonna’ take care uh’ this one, huh?” 

You visibly preen at the fact that he’s leaving his meeting to ‘take care’ of you… whatever that entails. He could’ve just told you to fuck off, but instead he takes you by the shoulders, steering you back towards the stairs from whence you came in true gentlemanly fashion. As he guides you down the steps carefully, you look behind you at the booth to see the men, all solemn, watching you as you go. Just as they disappear over the wall, you see one of them lean over to discuss something with the others. 

God, his hands are fucking big on your shoulders.   

“Sweetheart – where’s your friend at? You can’t be wanderin’ ‘round this club like this. It ain’t–” 

“I’m safe now…” You lazily murmur, pressing your body against him. He’s wide and warm and you want to press yourself into him until you disappear. “What’s your name, big guy?” 

He swallows a lump in his throat. Your tinier body pressed against his has him feelin’ things he shouldn’t be feelin’, especially seein’ as he’s in the middle of one of the most important deals of his career. The crowd is undulating around the two of you, dozens of hands outstretched towards the ceiling as though it were heaven, sweaty bodies smearing against other bodies, washed in a bright red light. The song swells in your ears, its heavy beat forcing your hips to grind against the man in front of you. 

“We should dance. C’moooon. What’s your name?”

“Oz,” he says plainly, steering you around a corner, through the throngs of people. He’s in the middle of a deal, he has to keep reminding himself of that. This ain’t the time to pick up a new dame.

You repeat his name, drawing it out like a moan, hoping it sounds as good as it feels on your tongue. Another giggle, and you reach up to stroke the side of his face. “C’mon…. Dance….. With me.”

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel him pitch back slightly, stiffening against you. You reach up and wrap your arms around his broad neck, pressing your breasts flush against him. The warmth of his body immediately penetrates the thin fabric of your satin dress, seeping into your clammy, sweat-streaked body. It doesn’t occur to you that he’s not much of a dancer. 

“Sweetheart, c’mon.” He looks over your shoulder, prayin’ that your friend will show up. You’re making it harder and harder to focus. “Where’s your friend at? Huh? ” He’s persistent. You try to frown, but your smile is too strong. 

“I don’t know, silly… I said I lost her. That’s how I found you…” Your hands are still wrapped around his neck, tugging as you let some of your body weight fall, sliding against the front of him. He has no choice but to put his hands on your hips, to hold you up slightly. The touch has you reeling. “What’s she look like?” 

You ignore his question. Besides it’s not like describing her in a sea of people who match the description will help him locate her. 

“Don’t you wanna’ touch me, Oz…?” 

That hits him and he looks down at you with a glimmer in his eye that wasn’t there before. Fuck. Guy like him? Doesn’t get this kind of attention all too often. So yeah, of course he fuckin’ does. And he is touchin’ you, with his large hands still planted on your soft, satin-clad hips, but that’s not in the way he wants. He licks his lips. It probably ain’t you talkin’, it’s the Bliss.

The music swells again, and you spin around in his grasp, pressing your back against the curve of his stomach. He makes a fist in front of your dress, gathering up the fabric just enough so that his fingers can graze the smooth skin of your thigh. It’s so soft… feels so fuckin’ good underneath his hand. Immediately, like a child that was caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he lets go, and shifts himself against your body again. God damn. 

You whine at the sensation, open-mouthed and dizzy. Every ounce of Bliss that was coursing through your system had you feeling better than you’ve ever remembered… and you were grinding on some hot older guy? Win-win. 

Your hips continue to sweep back and forth across his body, dipping your hips back to grind against his groin. You feel movement against your ass, and he eases himself into your soft, plush cheeks, forcing more friction. 

“You ain’t thinkin’ straight, doll.” He says into your ear and his hand moves back to your hips, adjusting you. He thinks about movin’ his hand between your legs, fingers teasing at the mound of flesh there. Your soft panties are hardly there to begin with, so the contact would have you both reeling. He knows could feel the outline of her, and you could feel the warmth of his fingers. 

But he doesn’t, it ain’t right and for all he knows, you could sober up and be horrified by your choice. It wouldn’t surprise him any. 

The warmth of his body is enough to arouse you, and you draw the side of your lip into your mouth and bite down, feeling a blush start down your neck. People are grinding on each other all around you, measly amounts of fabric impeding any actual fucking – what’s another pair?

“What? About you?” you say, looking out into the crowd, watching as others are doing the same. You lean back, pressing the side of your head against his chest, and close your eyes, letting the music take you wherever it needed to.

He mutters a yeah; you feel it vibrate in his throat. 

You spin back around and the action puts Oz’s hands on the meat of your ass cheeks. He doesn’t move them, despite his previous thoughts. You snort, dismissing his insecurity. He says nothing, only looks at you, studying the features of your face. 

“Ohhh, I get it.” You nod slowly, closing your eyes slightly. Your finger taps his chest a few times, punctuating your disapproving revelation. “I get it, you think I’m too fucked up to know what I’m doing, is that it?” 

One of Oz’s hands leaves your body to come up and grip your chin, his thumb pressing into your bottom lip just enough to expose your teeth. You lean into his grasp, reveling in the feeling of his hand on your face.  He brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. It’s plush and waxy underneath the pad of his thumb, which leaves a glittering streak of lip gloss on your cheek.

“Nnooo…. It’s cute that you care… but no, the red candy –”

“Bliss,” he interjects, making sure you remember it. The more people that know it by name, the better. 

“ – Bliss, okay, yeah. I’d hit on you without it.”

Oz considers that, his tongue darting out to lick his lips again. He squints at you, assessing your sincerity with a hint of intrigue. 

That second of consideration is all you need apparently. You’re craning your neck towards him, your heavy-lidded gaze dropping to his scarred lips. You bite your own, and inch closer – close enough that you can smell the scotch on his breath. You tilt your head to wordlessly indicate to him where you’re headed, and he looks at your ever-approaching mouth with a restrained sort of longing. His hands are still on your waist, which you take note of. 

“Hey! There you are!”

Hearing your friend’s voice, you immediately pull away from him, though he’s a little slower to let go of you. He seems less concerned with being caught; probably a by-product of his lifestyle. You turn to your friend, smiling sheepishly. She eyes the man behind you, quirking a single, defined brow. The apprehension is visible on her face. 

“Heeey. One sec,” you say, before spinning back to Oz. “Give me your phone.” 

You expectantly hold your hand out in front of him, opening and closing your palm a few times. 

“Oh, c’mon, I know you’ve got a phone. You’re not that old.” 

With a slightly perturbed sigh, he leans to the side, his hand slipping into his pocket. He retrieves the phone and holds it out to you, almost guiltily. 

Hastily, you create a new contact before returning the phone to him. 

“Text me if you don’t believe me. Or text me if you do believe me and are curious.” You lean up onto the toes of your heels, and whisper in his ear. “Just text me.” 

With that, you reach behind you, grabbing at the air until your friend’s fingers intertwine with yours. She grips your hand tight and yanks you away from Oz, pulling you into the undulating crowd until you can’t see him anymore. She wastes no time, and immediately drags you back to the dance floor, finding the same woman who gave you Bliss the last time. You both dish out more cash and suck down the crimson shard before both of you are consumed by the drug and the need to dance. 

You run your fingers through your hair, lifting it off your shoulders. “Fuck, I feel amazing….” 

Only an hour passes before your phone vibrates in your bag. Licking your lips, you pull it out. It’s from an unknown number… Gotham City area code… but you know exactly who it is. A pleased smirk curves its way around your glossy lips. 

It reads: You still here?

Yea lol. Are you? Your hips continue swaying back and forth to the beat. 

Yes

You suck on your bottom lip for a moment, mulling over what you want to do. You’re apparently taking too long, because the typing bubble pops up again. You smirk to yourself and run your free hand through your hair, touseling it. You quickly thumb out a string of messages; you’re much faster than him.

Meet me at the bathrooms in 10 

Mens

There always too many girls in ours 

Oz doesn’t reply. 

“Girl, I’ll be back!” You shout over the music. Your friend’s attention snaps to you, looking perplexed.

“Where are you going!?” 

“I just gotta’ meet up with someone!” 

The realization dawns on her and her eyes widen. “Shut up…! Is it that guy from earlier?!” 

You nod. 

“Are you serious?!”

You nod, looking proud. Your friend screws up her face, not withholding how she felt about him. 

Sandwiching her face between your hands, you pull her head down for a loving forehead kiss. “You need to broaden your horizons, baby doll!”  

And with that, you plunge yourself into the crowd, gripping your phone in your hand. A neon sign in an archway guides you to your destination. By the time you get to a vantage point where you can see the bathrooms, you spot Oz; already there, his scarred face illuminated by the glow of his phone. He looks worried, like you aren’t going to show up. After slipping your phone into your purse, you close in the distance. With a smirk, you move your hand towards him, reaching out to touch his forearm. 

“You missed me, huh? Tell me you missed me…” 

“What is this, a fuckin’ – “ 

“It took you a fucking hour to text me, baby. You were thinkin’ about me, weren’t you?” 

“Maybe I was.” 

Oz flattens his palm against the door, giving it a hard push until it opens. You duck underneath his arm and after casually checking your makeup in the line of mirrors to your left, fling yourself into the first open stall. Oz follows, lumbering in after you. It’s a tight fit, but you’re about to give him some breathing room. 

You drop your purse to the ground, and promptly get to your knees, the cold tile floor chilling them as you do. Oz stands tall in front of you, his chest heaving with each breath. His head drops to his chest, leaning forward slightly to look at you over his stomach and he chuckles breathily, looking almost embarrassed.

“Hoh shit… you ain’t fuckin’ around, are ya?” 

You shake your head as your fingers crawl up his thighs, step by step, until you get to his waist band. You unlatch the closure and reach inside the folds of fabric, finding the small zipper with your fingers. A slow, teasing tug pulls it down and you look up at him, a wanton grin on your lips. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his bottom jaw hangs slack, his brown eyes watching you with an intensity that reveals something deeper. 

“You don’t do this very often, huh?” 

He doesn’t answer, but his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Shit, sweetheart… you do though, dontcha’?”  “Enough to know what I’m doing.” Your reply is sharp, and you punctuate it with a curt nod, swiping the pads of your fingers across his underwear to tease his quickly hardening dick. You palm the outline, rubbing it softly. Your thumb finds the tip, teasing it through the layer of fabric. Above you, Oz is still watching you intently, committing all of this to memory. You chuckle through your nose, and lean forward, nuzzling your nose against the hardness. 

“Lemme’ see what I’m working with…” you murmur, before reaching up to the elastic of his underwear, pulling it down harshly underneath his balls and freeing his cock. Framed by a thatch of black hair, it bobs heavily in front of your face, clear beads of pre-cum already leaking from the slit. You breathe hotly, causing it to twitch slightly. He pitches forward, bumping the tip into your lips and leaving a string of pre-cum stretching from your bottom lip to his dick. You lean back, just out of reach and laugh, watching as his expression contorts. You beam, pleased. The smile is mischievous; you love giving head because of the power it gives you, quite literally holding it in your hand. 

You bring your hand up to his dick, wrapping your fingers just underneath the tip. The girth is impressive, even here. With a smirk, you tighten your grip and drag your thumb over the head, bringing some of that luscious pre-cum down onto his shaft. You drag your fist away from your face, watching as the skin slickens underneath your fingers. With a clang of metal against metal, Oz grips the side of the stall tight to steady himself. You haven’t even put your mouth on his dick yet, and he’s already acting like he’s going to topple over. 

“Easy, Oz…” 

Your tongue stretches out past your teeth, flattening over your bottom lip. Taking hold of his cock hastily like a toy, you slap it wetly against your tongue a few times to rile him up. It works; his breath hitches in his throat and he drops his head back against his broad shoulders. His body temperature is rising, even you can feel it rolling off of him. It’s a nice contrast to the chill of the bathroom. 

You swallow once, relaxing your throat before leaning forward to wrap your lips around the cockhead. Your tongue, still flat, massages the underside of his cock as you push your head down onto him, not stopping until your nose reaches his pubic hair. Oz can’t help the sounds that tumble from his mouth; low, tight groans and a string of expletives as you deep throat his cock. His free hand comes down to the back of your head, caressing your tresses and he lets out a deep sigh, adjusting to the warmth of your mouth. You feel the tension in his grip and know that he’s fighting the urge to grip your hair, controlling the speed at which your mouth pleasures him. Your blood is buzzing in your ears, hazy with arousal. 

You pull back and he inhales sharply as you open your mouth wider before diving back down, letting the tip hit the back of your throat. You gag and your eyes snap shut, tears welling at the corners. 

“That feels so fuckin’ good. Shit, sweetheart.” 

Your cheeks cave as you suck him off, bobbing your head back and forth. 

“God damn, that mouth uh’ yours…”

You pull off his cock with a wet slurp and look up at him, dizzy with lust, before reaching up behind your head. Your smaller hand closes around his large hand, forcing him to make a fist in the soft strands before trailing over his wrist, fingers catching on the metal of his gold bracelet. “It’s okay, Oz. You can pull my hair.”  Your tongue darts over your swollen bottom lip, lapping up the taste of him. “Pull it, baby. You’re doing so good…” 

The comment is both a reprieve from his fat cock bullying your throat and a genuine statement. You see those dark brown eyes of his disappear under his lids as they roll back in his head, incapacitated by lust. He growls deep in his throat. Having been given direction and permission, he meticulously begins gathering it up into a ponytail, scooping all the tresses into the curve of his palm. While he does, you lazily lick at the sensitive, reddened head, teasing him further. The action practically makes his hands shake, but Oz manages to grip your hair tight and takes it upon himself to jerk his hips back against your face, sliding himself back into the warm, suctioned confines of your mouth. You nod against his cock, your nose brushing against the hair that greets you. 

You want to tell him that he can fuck your face, but he’s already found a rhythm of bucking his hips into your mouth, so instead of words, the bathroom is filled with the muffled music from outside and the sloppy, wet sounds currently coming from your throat. You walk your knees out a little farther, giving yourself room to slip your hand between your thighs, and into the thin, stretchy fabric of your panties. 

You feel every part of his body tense. He’s close. You know it, he knows it. You push yourself further onto his cock, until your gag reflex activates again, and Oz immediately pulls you off, backing his hips away from your mouth. Your eyes fall to his cock; the tip is glossy and reddened, almost purple, and is leaking profusely. It twitches once and you reach forward to stroke the length of it with your middle finger. 

“You gonna’ swallow that load, sweetheart?” 

With your throat sticky with his arousal, you swallow before speaking. “You wouldn’t ruin my makeup, would you?” 

He grins and chuckles, shaking his head softly. “Nah, doll. I wouldn’t fuckin’ dream of it. Open up.” 

You do. You open your mouth wide, and let him ease his cock back inside until it hits the back of your throat again, relaxing the muscles as best you can. Your finger moves from circling your own sensitive, swollen clit to delve into your wet cunt. You let out a little moan around his cock.  Closing  your lips around the shaft, you begin bobbing your head again, waiting for him to take control. 

To your surprise, he doesn’t. He doesn’t, and the hand that’s tangled in your hair goes slack, letting the strands fall back against your neck. This close to an orgasm and he doesn’t absolutely wreck your mouth? He’s got a whole suitcase full of kinks you’d like to unpack, but now’s not the time. With a crooked smile, you bring your free hand up to the base of his dick, stroking into your mouth while your tongue lets the tip grind against it. As he groans and grunts above you, you continue fucking yourself on your own fingers, pumping them in and out of your slick, dripping cunt. It doesn’t take you long to feel that first warning clench.

“That’s it, don’t fuckin’ stop, don’t fuckin’ stop–”

One of his hands comes to rest on your shoulder, gripping it tight. His thick cock twitches in your hands and you brace for the oncoming orgasm. A few more languid pumps, and he groans loud enough for it to echo against the tile walls. His grip tightens on your shoulder as spurts of hot, white cum decorate your tongue and the back of your throat. As promised, you swallow. And swallow again, and again. The heady taste of his cum brings you to the edge, and the heat reaches its peak between your legs, which snap shut at the sensation. Your cunt flutters around your fingers, arousal leaking out onto them. 

You pull off his cock, swallow again and collapse slightly against his groin. His hand finds your head again, petting your hair tenderly. As you both come down off the high, there’s nothing but the distant sound of music and your ragged breaths.

Finally, you slip your arm into the handle of your purse, and albeit somewhat awkwardly, you pull one foot underneath you and push up, getting to your feet. Once Oz sees this, he helps you, lifting you carefully. Once you’re standing in front of him, you reach between your legs again, and gather your finishing with two fingers.  

“Open up.” You repeat, in an almost mocking tone. Though his expression paints a story of confusion, he parts his lips slightly, just enough for you to slide two of your fingers inside. You swipe the slickened fingers over his tongue, back and forth until the slick has coated the muscle. Finally, you withdraw your fingers, watching wordlessly as Oz sucks the intoxicating taste of your orgasm down his throat.

“Thanks for that, Oz.”

“Feelin’s mutual, doll. Feelin’ is fuckin’ mutual.” 

[gilverrwrites]

Did you watch the new penguin trailer? I love that we got to see his mother. Can you write something where the reader meets her for the first time?

me watching the trailer

but actually I'm so hyped for it. I don't care that theres a million Penguin adaptaions I love all of them. I'm down for the pemise, legit I'm excited for Sofia, the action looks interesting. The gritty realism asthestic looks so pleasing. It reminds me of UK shameless but like, darker obvi.

In the like 5 seconds of momma Penguin screen time we got I already love her. I'm getting the vibe she would never, ever approve of any of Penguins partners tbh. Shes one of those boy moms. Nobody will ever be good enough. They're always trying to take him away from her, is that what you want Oz? You gonna choose some tail over your own motha? I raised you and this is how you treat me, I deserve bettaah.

But I guess we'll have to wait to find out. Tbh I probably wont write anything on her until the show has come out to be sure.

[animusrox]

The Penguin (2024) S01E08 "A Great Or Little Thing"

[crazyeeeeeee]

It's a drink shop. I mean, I may not be able to buy him a good wine, but I can buy him a beverage if he wants

[alpacinosgf]

[bittwitchy]

The Penguin (2024) 1x01 -- After Hours