#lawriters

[lawrites]

Oswald Cobb x Gender Neutral Plus Size! Reader

CW: NSFW, like HEAVY NSFW, descriptions of Oz's body and a little massaging of his club foot (the poor man deserves it), body worship, PLUS SIZE/FAT LOVE, and lots of blowing/cocksucking and dirty talk.

This is for the people who watched the first episode of the Penguin show and went "okay so...raise a hand if you wanna suck his cock?" Like I'm not joking this is mainly 2k words of Oz tummy worship and cocksucking. So...enjoy 😅. Ty to @finniestoncrane for encouraging me to post this lol

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You feel like you are in heat tonight. A voice snaps inside your head, asking what's wrong with you, but you brush it to the side. You can't tell if your reactions are due to Oz’s weeklong absence or if it's because he's being particularly doting towards you. Or…maybe it's his outfit.

Oz being out on business was always stressful, 1) because he is a criminal at the end of the day and he could never return again and 2) you are left to your own devices for a whole week. Sometimes he calls to see you through his security cameras, walking you through it and getting off on the other end, but it is never the same as having his hands, his voice in your ear, his tongue…

And his first night back, Oz has decided to forgo his usually very well-dressed image, instead opting for a white suit with a fitted purple shirt. It's casually done up so you can see his chest and a little bit of his belly, the dark hair that covers all of his skin on full display. To complete his look, Oz is wearing a nice, heavy gold chain, which sits directly at the point of his body where his tummy begins to round out.

You lost your mind when you first saw him, but kept your cool. The only thing that betrayed your initial feelings was your face turning red and your inability to meet his eyes, which Oz supposedly attributed to your choice of tight dress and nervousness to head to the Lounge with him. Thankfully he didn't pick up on or didn't comment on your pupils which had blown wide, and your slightly husky voice when you said you were ready to go.

Before you left out the front door, Oz grabbed you to his side, his thick fingers digging into the generous meat of your hip, and whispered in your ear, "I like this dress, Dove. You look so good for me tonight."

And now you find yourself at the Lounge, directly next to Oz as he schmoozes and smiles and charms those that come to ask him favors or update him on business. (You tease him about his Mob-boss like behavior, saying that he should just have them kneel down and kiss his ring at this point, with all the groveling he makes them do. He grins wolfishly in response to you calling him Don Corleone. “Sweetheart, I'm being nice to them by letting them leave with a little dignity here.")

Oz has gone from having you sit next to him, to laying a hand on your soft, plush thigh, to pulling you so close that you're almost on his lap. His strong hands dig into the softness around your waist, forcing you against him so your hands have to hold onto him for support and your head rests on his shoulder.

Leaning on Oz, he occasionally whispers sweet nothings in your ear and chuckles when they make you squirm in your seat.

"Who bought you that pretty dress, Bird? They have good taste."

"You're so soft against me, Dove. Driving a man to distraction over here."

"Want Daddy Oz to get you one of your fancy drinks, hmm? For bein' so good tonight?"

It's like you're possessed, you can't help it…your hands start to wander. Not too much, you don't want to make him nervous or be inappropriate, but Oz has never minded you reminding others that you're his.

First, when Oz has no business partners around, you slowly move a hand through the fuzz at the nape of Oz's neck, carding your fingers through his hair a bit farther up and making his eyes roll back. "Guh, that's the stuff, sweetheart. You treat me so nice."

Then, your other hand slowly inches down to rest just at the edge of where his shirt is unbuttoned. One finger extends to trace the seam, where it slowly, slowly inches so it is lightly running up and down the little sliver of tummy he is showing, right below his gold chain. You pick up the texture of his rough body hair against his soft, warm belly, and it makes you clench your thighs together. His breath hitches just slightly and Oz lets out a soft groan. "Just playin', Dove? Or do you intend to follow through?"

You look up at him, and Oz has to hold back a pained noise when you say, "I'll do whatever you want Oz. Been gone for so long, and you look so handsome tonight. Can't think."

Oz grins, still unused to a pretty thing like you giving him so much attention. "Yeah? You like this look? That why you're feeling up my chest?"

You stop your hand in its path, realizing that you had started fully running it up and down his hairy chest absentmindedly. You blush and pull it away, but Oz grabs your hand and brings it up to his lips. He coos at you, voice low "Pretty Dove, don't be ashamed. Just surprised that you're so handsy tonight." He leans over a bit so you can feel his breath against your neck as he whispers in your ear, "Where's my prim and proper birdie, huh? Flown away for the night? Left a sexy little thing like you in place?"

He nips your ear when he pulls back, making you whimper and squirm again in your seat. Oz takes you in hungrily, eyes roaming down your rolls and bumps on display as he presses you to him harder. "God, you do look good, kid. Decadent. So much for a man to grab and play with. Perfect for a guy like me." His hands dig into your hips, shaking the excess flesh there and taking in the way your body wobbles with dark eyes.

Oz looks at his watch, takes in his club, and then stands up, hauling you up with him. "Let's leave early, Sweetheart." You giggle and take his arm when he offers it, acting the gentleman even after his teasing words.

Heading back to his place feels like it takes forever, especially with Oz getting handsy. The driver closes the partition between you and the front as Oz’s rough hands pet up and down your body, pulling you all the way onto his lap. He gives you a mischievous grin as he brings you down against the bulge in his pants and grinds up into you, his eyes shining when you let out a soft whine.

But he keeps your pace slow, trying to edge and tease but not end anything too soon. You feel your eyes screw up as your body gets hot, letting out a groan of frustration as they open again to give him a pleading look. He lets out a sound like he's been punched, throwing his head back against the seat. "Can't look at me like that, makes me wanna just give you everything you want.”

A thrill moves through you, filling you with a tingling pleasure at the thought that you were so pretty you could make him do whatever you wanted, in this moment. But instead, you just give him a pleased grin paired with a blush that makes his heart skip a beat.

The driver taps on the glass, and the two of you hurriedly try to straighten your clothes as much as you can. Oz hands over a tip, and then you both turn towards his place. He limps behind you as fast as he can, trying to match your pace. Usually, he may feel insecurity over his leg at this moment, but instead he just thanks whatever fate allows him to get a glimpse of your ass and wide hips shifting and swaying as you take the lead.

As soon as you're through the doors, Oz pushes you up against them and kisses you. You both breath heavily and desperately try to take in as much of the other as possible. Separating, Oz presses his forehead to yours and shakily speaks, "Whatever you want tonight, Dove. I'll do it. You…you got me. I can't say no.”

The thought of bringing such a powerful man to his knees…it makes you whine and grind against his front. He bucks into you, his soft tummy pressing against your own. "O-Oz! I-"

He grins, realizing how flustered you already are. His fingers skim up and down your hips, lightly pressing into them, "Yeah? What's my Angel want, huh? You just gotta say it."

You pause and swallow heavily, trying to slow your racing mind and even out your heartbeat so you can think. The mind you're stuck with manages to form only one thought: "God, Oz...wanna suck your cock."

Oz blanches, but then grips your hips harder and grinds into you again involuntary. You whimper and grab desperately at his arms. Oz is breathier now, "F-fuck, bird. Whatever you want."

He starts to pull you behind him quickly, desperate to get to anywhere where you can kneel in comfort. Oz grips your hand harder as you see his office, bringing you through the wide doorway and shoving the doors closed behind.

He hurriedly walks to his desk, stealing a cushion from the couch as he goes and putting it on the ground for you. Impatiently, you wait for him to settle in his office chair, and then get on your knees immediately.

You look up, hands resting in your lap, and Oz groans at how good you're being for him. He hastily starts undoing his belt buckle, but fumbles a bit. You whine, "Ozzie…let me help."

Oz groans and holds his hands up, gesturing for you to get to work, and your hands dive in. They make quick work of his buckle and separate his belt, and then start unbuttoning, unzipping, even undoing his shirt, until his cock is free, so hard it's resting against his soft, fuzzy belly.

You almost drool. But then, you go a bit further. You move down his pants-covered legs and start to leave little kisses on his brace, making him draw in a shaky breath. When you get to his shoes, you carefully untie them, slowly and gently removing them until he is left in socks. Your clever hands start to knead and rub his club foot, making his eyes roll back and his posture soften almost instantly.

After a few minutes of massaging his poor foot, that he never lets anyone know is almost constantly in pain, his whole body is relaxed and his voice lets out occasional grumbles of praise. "Right there, Dove, yeah, that's the stuff."

Deciding that you've given him enough kindness for the night, your hands pull away. Oz's head raises up, and you almost giggle as his face screws into a confused look. "Why'd you stop, sweetness?" You do giggle now, "Oz, don't you remember why we are here in the first place?" And to remind him, you spit in your hands and Oz whimpers, "Dove, so dirty, where'd you learn that?"

But he doesn't get to speak more as they close around his length, your fingers gently tracing and running up the vein at the underside of his cock until he's panting, already leaking. You take time to gather a drop from his tip, sweetly looking at it on one finger before desperately plunging it into your mouth, groaning at his salty taste. Oz sees your thighs rub together and his eyes roll back, hands gripping his chair.

You lean forward when you're done, looking up at him and sweetly licking the tip of his cock with your pink little tongue, making Oz shiver and moan. "G-good, good job-fuck."

His praise makes you whimper, and that's when you decide to really go for it. You barely give him notice before your mouth is surrounding his tip, tongue laving around the head and making Oz shout out your name. Your mouth works down his length, using your fingers to spread out your own saliva and Oz's precum to allow you to move further down his length.

Oz is spewing obscenities, doing everything to keep from bucking into your mouth like some sort of teen who is getting his first blow, but it's difficult. His heart, his sweet bird, acting like a whore and begging to suck him off? Your sweet little mouth and hands working him so nicely? He's close already.

Vision starting to go black around the edges, you realize you have to breathe after being so obsessed with him for too long, and you pull back. Your lungs fill with big gulps of air and you can only taste and see Oz, his cock, his tummy…"So good. You taste so good. Wanna take you all the way now." Oz swears again.

He nods, out of breath, and you sweetly wrap your lips around his length and start opening your mouth wider, opening your throat, letting him slide in until your nose is pressed into his hairs and his gut is pressing into the top of your head. You whine, feeling him surround you, and your hand reaches down, pushing up your dress and playing with yourself. Oz looks down, sees your glazed over eyes and your drool around his cock, your plush body pressed into his leg, and hears your hand moving.

Oz bucks up, unable to help himself. "Fuck, Angel." You choke around his length, your throat muscles clench, and then he's finishing with a shout of your name. Sputtering, you're unable to even think about swallowing, allowing it instead to drip down your chin and onto your chest. Oz feels like he's in heaven and hell as his orgasm lasts a while, for him, groaning and throwing his head back and reaching for you. He clenches a hand in your hair and murmurs to himself “Mine, sweetness, God" around his moans.

When he comes back to Earth, he sees the mess he's made of you. His spend is pooling in the valley of your soft chest, and he groans and bucks up, his cock softening. "Dove, you killed me. You gotta stop it."

But his brain kicks in only a moment later, his eyes darkening and cataloging every part of you like he needs to remember it. "Fuck you look good, all covered in me." His hand reaches out, fondling your chest and making you moan and whimper as his cum starts to run down from where it had pooled and onto your dress, soaking it.

He fishes a handkerchief out of his pocket with his other hand blindly, loathe to stop playing with your chest or look away for a moment. Then he gently starts with your mouth, cleaning your chin and pressing a thumb to your lips, making you open for him. You do, of course, eagerly, gladly.

"You got messy, Sweetheart. Too eager for my cock, huh?" You nod and blush and he is on the cusp of getting hard again, your embarrassment after basically pawing at his cock making him feel obsessed in a way he only remembers experiencing around you.

He grins, but his eyes remain dark, like his mind is racing with vicious plans. “Well, fair’s fair, Dove. Gotta let me show you how a real man thanks you for a show like that, huh?”

[littlebit-of-art]

commission for @lawrites

💖

[finniestoncrane]

KTJL!Boomer x Fat!Fem!Reader, word count: 2.5k this was a trade with sweet @lawrites and i am always happy to indulge her in big boy thoughts (since she always does the same for me!!) so enjoy george with a belly being adorable and sexy💙 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: lil bit of self-sonscious talk but it is quickly erased by lust, biting, sucking, piv, cowgirl

In the dim light of your apartment, cast by the warm standing lamp and the screen of the TV, you admired George’s side profile and the way it cast a shadow, a reflection of the lines, onto his freckled dotted, sun damaged cheek. The crooked nose which felt good no matter where he pressed it against you, innocently or otherwise. The fuzzy outline of his facial hair, which, despite the unique style, suited him so perfectly that you couldn’t imagine him without it. His slightly pouted lips, the bottom one thicker than the top. His long, fine lashes that framed his sweet, olive green eyes. 

And then you were drawn away from his face, watching as he arched his back away from the sofa, stretching his muscular arms up and backwards behind his head. His tattoos were difficult to make out in this level of light, but the shape of his body wasn’t. Strong, sturdy, well bulked out. His tight, white t-shirt rode up over his stomach as he scratched at the back of his head, letting you see more of him. His body, softened by love, protruding forward in a way he hadn’t quite gotten used to yet. The curves, the soft contrasting the stiff. 

George groaned, ending the guttural sound with a satisfied moan as he settled himself back down into the sofa beside you, one of those big, strong arms reaching for his can of beer, the other one slipping effortlessly behind your back and lifting you like you weighed nothing, his fingers pressing into the ample flesh that spilled over in curves and rolls, textures he could never get tired of. 

In a move far more polite than he might have been when you first met him, a testament to your positive influence over him, your ability to domesticate even the most feral of wild dogs, he covered his mouth and hid the quiet burp, apologising quickly before changing the subject to try and distract from his tetherer, but still unbroken, more uncouth habits.

“Well, fuck me sideways, babe. You’ve outdone yourself again, lil sheila! I couldn’t move off this couch even if I wanted to.”

He rubbed his hand up and down your arm, his strong, thick limb still wrapped tight around your shoulders, pulling you into him as you both relaxed after what you could only describe as an indulgent meal. Post-dinner was always one of the nicest times with him. It gave you so much endless joy to see him fed, satisfied and comfortable. Though it did make you wonder how long he had gone without eating properly before he met you. Rushing meals, eating when he could, but not when he wanted to. Having to survive on whatever they fed inmates at whatever prison he found himself in at that time. 

These days, though, he seemed to delight in the act of eating with you. Like he was sharing something special with someone special, a sweet ritual of necessity but offered up to him luxuriously. And even more recently, he had become a bit more adventurous as he joined you in the kitchen to cook meals. He was keen to learn, he fed off the praise that you offered him. Of course, a lot of the prep took far longer than indicated in the recipe books, but that was only because he was forever pawing at you. Asking you to taste things off his fingers, dripping sauce on your neck to give himself an excuse to lick it off. At one point, several things had come close to burning because he had decided that playing out the pottery wheel scene from “Ghost” with the dough for tomorrow’s bread was far more important than stirring the pots on the burners. But, as much as he liked to make it fun, to find humour, and an opportunity to grope you, at every turn, he was dedicated to learning the art. There was a pleasure in it that he’d never noticed before in all his years.

And, as an added benefit, there was something else which made the experience all the more joyful. Something you hadn’t even considered but which was a happy side effect of his new attitude towards food and meals. George had gained a bit of weight since effectively moving into your apartment with you. Nothing too extreme, not in this short time. The muscles on his arms were still visible, his legs still powerful and thick, and his core was still strong, torso lined with vaguely defined muscles when he tensed and posed. But when his body was relaxed, and particularly after you had filled him up with a nice, hot meal, his distractingly attractive stomach, what he affectionately referred to as his beer belly, was always more pronounced. 

You looked over to it, placing your hand against it as he sipped from the cool can you had gotten for him after dinner, happy to see him nourished and comfortable. He wasn;t afraid of showing off his body before, a fact you were grateful for, very much so, but you had worried a change in looks might make him more demure, more reserved. Thankfully, however, it only seemed to boost his confidence. He had made a comment once about finally looking like “a man”, or like “his old man”, after which he swiftly changed the conversation. You hadn;t pried, you had only held him close and told him you liked the way he looked too. 

Noticing your gaze, the way your fingers traced over the skin on his stomach that showed under the hem of his shirt, running over the hair and the small, silvery stretch marks that had begun to form, he let out a snorting laugh as he looked to you. 

“You know, I can’t zip my hoodie up properly anymore cos of you. You gotta get worse at cooking, I reckon! If only for the sake of me keeping this hot bod exactly how it is, babe.”

George leaned to the side, setting down his beer and sticking his tongue out mischievously as he teased you. You smiled back, relishing the thought that he found himself perfect as he was, and wishing you were able to view yourself with the same confidence and kindness. And, familiar with the spiral, you were quick to push away any of those kinds of thoughts. You’d been there before. Self-deprecating jokes only led to the thoughts becoming permanent, and you refused to let George feel any less than perfect, even if he did get bigger, or smaller, than how he was right now. 

“Absolutely not! I like you this way, I liked you before, and I’ll like you however you look. You’re happier, healthier, and far more sexy, and you only get better every day. Besides, we can always just get you some new clothes.”

A sudden wave of familiar paranoia came over you as you looked down at your own stomach. Those thoughts came a lot less often now, but sometimes they struck you at the most inopportune moments. That little bit of worry that came with being a big person. The kind of worry that might have started to settle in dribs and drabs in George’s mind. If he saw himself as capable of not being perfect at a certain size… then could he see you in the same light?

As you tried to shake the notion from your head, you felt George’s hands on you, soothing over your stomach, curling around to your side with a lustful sigh, skipping over the lumps and curves that, only moments ago, had made you feel inadequate, but now felt like gifts you got to share with him. 

“I know, I know. We can get me whatever clothes we want. And believe me, I know I’m rockin’ that dad bod thing that makes chicks wetter than…”

He stopped, blushing as he realised he might be speaking slightly out of turn in your presence, offering an awkward smile at your own lopsided grin. 

“... Uh… what I mean is… I might look a bit healthier and softer now, cuddlier even, ALTHOUGH only you get to cuddle me…”

Emphasising that point, trying to dig himself out of the hole you were happy to get a ladder for, he pulled you in to a tighter embrace.

“... I just wish it suited me like it suits you. Yeah, yeah, I’m a good lookin’ guy. But you? You’re just downright fuckin stunning.”

Giggling, you wriggled under his tough as he dug his fingers into your stomach and love handles, pulling at you to position your body closer to his. Once you were resting against him, he patted his own stomach with his free hand.

“I mean, obviously more of me is never a bad thing! But fuck me, babe, there’s never enough of you.”

His palm struck your hip, fingers digging in once more as he jiggled your body with a guttural groan, and as you looked to him, a blush forming on your cheeks, you could see he was biting his lips, eyes focused on your front, gaze gliding over your stomach, your hips, and settling on your breasts. 

George moved so quickly towards you that you choked on the surprised laugh that came out as his soft hair tickled at your neck, head buried between it and your shoulder, his lips and teeth dragging over your skin, sucking and biting sloppily as he moaned. Pulling back, drool spilling onto his chin, he narrowed his eyebrows. Between deep, slow breaths, he almost whispered to you.

“Looks like I’m still hungry after all… do you mind?” 

You shook your head, pursing your lips to try and hide the wide grin that immediately pressed into your cheeks. Your mouth parted in a fit of giggles as he rolled himself on to you, arms slinking behind your back to hold you tight, but he quickly leaned back to look into your eyes with a slight grimace. 

“Sorry, love. I hate to be a lazy cunt, but you’ve filled me up and I can barely move…”

He rubbed at his stomach and you watched the way his hand moved so gently over the soft skin. 

“... Would you mind? You can take the reins if you want, ride me instead?”

There was no way he had to ask twice, you were more than happy to take the opportunity. So you nodded, enthusiastically, and he rolled back, arms still around you, taking you with him as he lifted you onto his body. Feeling your weight pressing down on him gave him a sense of comfort he had only ever found in you before. Securing him, grounding him, your soft stomachs pushed together as he held you closer, tighter. 

With his neck outstretched, George’s lips found your neck, heavy kisses being placed on the side of it, teeth grazing the skin before sinking in. The pressure was light at first, delicate, but as you moaned in response, he clasped onto a section of flesh, his tongue swirling over it as he sucked. The blood was brought to just under the surface, a deep red bruise beginning to form, visible as he pulled back with more drool spilling over your skin and over his lips, which were curled into a proud smile as he admired the mark he had left on you.

“Hm… nah, not quite satisfied yet!”

Another lunge, this time to your shoulder, his lips and teeth circling a part of you, teasing it with his tongue, heat prickling on it as the delightful pain surged over you. As he worked on his mark, artful reminders of his possessive nature on your skin, he reached his fingers between you both, pushing between your thighs to rub at the front of your underwear. 

You cringed for a moment, suddenly aware of how wet you were already. But the delighted groan that George let out, tossing his head back with a toothy grin, warmed you, resetting your confidence. Kissing along the side of his face, nose tickling against his sideburns, you could feel his fingers splaying your lips, spreading your slick around. 

Sitting up for a moment, you let your own fingers slide over the bulge at the front of his sweatpants, twitching and pulsing under your delicate, featherlike touch, yearning for more contact. Digger tried to buck his hips up, to increase the contact, but your weight kept him down, restrained until you felt like giving him what he wanted. 

Teasing down the band, you freed his cock, unable to help yourself from looking at it with wide eyes. Your body convulsed as you remembered how it felt inside of you, impressive length and girth, stretching you, making you clench around him. 

“You don’t have to wait around, sweetheart…”

George was watching you, the way your lips had parted, wet with saliva as you drooled over his thick cock bobbing in front of you.

“... you can fuck yourself on me whenever you want, in fact, I welcome it, babe.”

With his permission granted, you lowered yourself onto him, pulling your panties to the side to give his cock full access to your now sopping wet cunt. Your wetness, the warmth inside of you, elicited an immediate reaction from George, as he bucked his hips and groaned with surprise at just how good you felt every single time without fail. He gripped your hips tight, finger digging into the overspill of fat on your sides, using it as handles to guide your pace and movements. A mutually beneficial act of fucking, you using him, him using you. Both of you moaning into one another as your lips met in a passionate flurry, muffling some of the more lewd and desperate noises you both made. 

But even so, between gasps and groans, George managed to mutter words of praise and affection to you, keeping your body in his mind, since it was the only thing he could think of at that moment.

“Fuck me… I could tear you apart babe, you’re so soft and precious… I’ve got… what is it? Cute aggression?... Just wanna… wanna squeeze you… wanna feel you… all of you… Yeah… fuck… you’re just… everything… everything…”

With a sputtering yelp, you felt George’s grip tighten, felt the way his muscles tensed before quickly relaxing, his body almost melting as his release spilled inside of you, your cunt painted in his thick, warm cum. You stayed still, keeping his cock inside of you as you sat on his lap, only beginning to move yourself when you saw him close his eyes and lean his head back, catching his breath slowly as he pushed his hair back out of his face. 

Once you were back down next to him, bodies and sofa covered in sweat and slick, you placed a hand on his stomach, worried that maybe it was a little bit too much exertion after a large meal. But he turned to you with a satisfied smirk.

“Always room for a little bit of dessert, eh, babe?”

[cccresseywrites]

[theresegilardi]

#onthebus #party @redlinedtla because where else would the #losangeleswritersandpoetscollective launch #newwork #bukowski would be proud. Actually he was part of this journal #lawriters #lapoets #writersofinstagram https://www.instagram.com/p/Bo7sYYDhlEY/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1gdsscaksiapn

[mikethepoetla]

Big Thx to Dr. Scott Cody, an award winning LAUSD ELA teacher. I always love guest speaking in his classes. Obed Silva & I did a few collaborations at East LA Renaissance HS along with Jonathan Pacheco Bell. #Letterstomycity Repost from @scottmcody • If you were in my class at ELARA, you know these incredibly powerful local LA authors. (Class of 2018, #EastLA's @captain1862 was your commencement speaker!) Mike and Obed, thanks for adding your voices to our conversations. Can I get an autograph? Also, support independent bookstores like @vromansbookstore! #mydayinla #lawriters (at East Los Angeles, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/CaD7vVvlD1D/?utm_medium=tumblr

[shereewrites]

#littlebird #poetry #I70Review #missouri #publish #LAwriters #shereelapuma #shereewrites #formydaughter #poet (at California Institute of the Arts)

[buffalogirlsdesign]

“So an evening comes, and want to do with it, my soul so cool from the bath of words, my fee to solid upon the earth, and what are the others doing, the rest of the people of the world?” Ask The Dust. John Fante. . . . . #askthedust #johnfante #lawriters #literature #charkesbukowski #bibliophile #booksaremylife #bookstagram #booklover #losangeles #california https://www.instagram.com/p/CBo2hxBJVtK/?igshid=gtlghspfhnrw

[lawrites]

2022!Oswald Cobblepot x Female Plus Size Reader

(NSFW) Oswald Cobblepot asks you to drive with him, bringing you to the local makeout point. You both discuss insecurities, past high school experiences, and your love for each other (while getting into the mood of the area, of course).

CW: body insecurity, some talks of high school, and semi-public sex (not really because Oz bought out the place 😭), dry humping, praise

Thank you for exchanging fics with me @finniestoncrane!!! I was so honored to write this for you. Hope you enjoy. 💙💙

Oswald had a specific request for you, tonight.

“Sweetheart, wanna take you somewhere nice. Can you put on that pretty, short skirt for me? You know the one.”

You do know the one. You had found it online, somewhere, at one of his favorite high end sites. A flared tennis skirt that boasted it was for bigger bodies like yours, longer in the back and accommodating for wider hips. You had tried it on when it first arrived, in front of Ozzie as usual, and his eyes darkened instantly when he saw the way it highlighted your wider hips, the waistband digging into your plush middle and making a bit of flesh round out over the top. He had gotten up, reaching for your waist instantly and tracing the softness there.

“Angel…that one's a keeper. Want me to get you more? In different colors?”

“Thank you, Ozzie.” He looked elated, as he always did when you thanked him, “But I don't think that's necessar-”

He had put one hand in his pocket to reach for his phone while you were talking, and was now holding up a hand to interrupt you. “I'm already buying you more. You deserve only the best.”

Giving you a winning smile after a minute of tapping around on his phone, his attention returned to you, he continued, “And believe me, honey, this is absolutely more of a present for me.”

So now you find yourself rushing around, trying to pull together a cohesive outfit from your admittedly massive closet. The man spoiled you, but after spending most of your life without access to anything pretty at your size…you are secretly ecstatic to have such a selection at your fingertips. The only issue is that, after years of not having access to the best clothes, trying to put together an outfit that isn't just jeans and a tee is difficult.

Eventually, you land on the skirt in a pale blue color, a simple white tank top, a soft blue cropped cardigan, and some sneakers and thigh highs. Deciding to be a little bit extra, you put your hair up into some cute space buns, wrap them in a white ribbon, and grab a minimal amount of makeup.

Making a peace sign at yourself in the mirror, you take in your smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. It's not necessarily that you are unexcited for this date…you're just nervous. Even now, after more than a year of being with Oz…living with him, even, you worry that you just aren't what he truly wants.

He's proven time and time again that you are, but unfortunately years of insecurity over being fat don't just go away thanks to sweet compliments and proof of attraction…but they do help. You hold your hands at your sides as you walk to the grand staircase, but can't keep them from fiddling with the edge of your skirt when you see him.

He's dressed admittedly casually for him. Dark, high quality jeans that are imported from Italy, a nice, designer cotton shirt, and a vintage leather jacket. You haven't seen him like this before, and he looks good. His chest hair peeks out from the v of the shirt, his patent leather shoes are shined, and everything is tailored perfectly.

Your hands run along and edge of your skirt and you clear your throat, gaining his attention. His eyes instantly turn your way, with a charming smile. The smile drops into an open-mouthed gaze of wonder as he takes you in. “Oh, Angel…” he starts, then stops, then starts walking towards you.

You begin to hurriedly flounce down the stairs, trying to match his own impatient pace. In your haste, you manage to trip on the last step, only to be caught, handily, by Oz. His hands grip yours, and his charming smile is back. “Woah! Where's the rush, beautiful?”

He carefully winds a hand around to the small of your back, gently nudging you towards him until you are pressed right against his front. His other hand moves to cup your chin. “Got someone special you're trying to meet?”

You blush and try to disguise how flustered you are (how flustered he makes you). “I am! Have you seen anyone special around?”

He knits his eyebrows together in an exaggerated expression of contemplation, smirking at your tease and releasing your chin to rub his own. “Hmmm, can't think of one. ‘Cept me, of course.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, “Well, you're certainly handsome enough to be someone important.”

Oz, almost like he can't help himself, surges forward and kisses you. It wasn't fast enough to disguise the way his cheeks turned red at your admission, however. His tongue lightly traces your lips, demanding entry, and you open up. He groans and his hands move to your hips, trying to somehow get you even closer than you already are.

Eventually you both need air, and separate from each other as you catch your breath. Your face shows the astonishment you feel, “Well, that was…unexpected. Good unexpected, though.” You grin at him and he almost sheepishly runs a hand through the hair on the back of his head.

“What can I say, Angel? You drive me crazy. I can't help myself.”

He holds out his hand, and you gladly take it. By the gentle guidance of Oz, you eventually find yourself at the entrance of his garage. The sheepishness is gone, and he looks you up and down with a dark glint in his eyes, “Whaddya say, sweetheart? Up for a late night drive?”

—-------------------------

Oz made you feel cared for, in almost every aspect of your relationship. He was a secret romantic at heart, which was part of the explanation for his behavior…but the other part was his need to show off what he has earned. What is his, and his by hard work and smarts.

And, while saying that you're his may be archaic, you certainly feel like you're his as you're driving through Gotham, his big hand on your bare thigh, tracing the bit of flesh that spills out of your thigh highs. He's casually chatting, of course, telling you about this place or that in Gotham, the history behind it, occasionally making you giggle with his stories. He looks over to you when you do, briefly, his eyes shining.

“Never going to get used to the feeling that I get when I make a pretty girl like you laugh. It's a privilege.”

You are floating, happy, maybe slightly aroused at the feel of his hands on you, when he suddenly releases your thigh as the car stops, moving to put it in park. Trying to take in your surroundings, paying attention to them properly, now, you are instead confused to see just greenery, trees, and darkness surrounding you. You turn to Oz to ask him a question, but he is already getting out of the car and moving to your side, ready to open your door.

You thank him, accepting the hand he offers and trying to see if anything around you was worth the drive. And then, you see the drop off ahead in the ground, rocky, sharp, and guarded by a crumbling fence. Still holding his hand, you look from the drop to Oz. He brings your hand up, kisses it, and then releases it, gesturing for you to investigate.

You rush forward, hearing him yell out, “Be careful, though, Dove! You don't have wings even if you are an Angel.” Pausing well within a safe distance from the edge, you peer down and see the entirety of Gotham spread out before you. The twinkling of the lights, the giant buildings, but without the noise. It's quiet, even if you can just barely see a police car with sirens on, the shrill tone doesn't reach you, here.

“Oh Oz! This is gorgeous! I've never seen Gotham like this! How did you find this place?”

You feel his hands on your shoulders, his soft front pressed against you, “This place isn't a secret. Been aware of it since high school. Would come up here and look at the city and just…think sometimes.” He turns you around so you are facing him, placing a hand under your chin. “Wanted to see your gorgeous face light up like the city when you see it from here.”

Blushing, again, you swat his hand away. “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Cobblepot.” He snorts at your teasing tone, and you cross your arms and raise an eyebrow in suspicion. “I bet you said that to all the girls when you brought them up here back then.”

His grin falters, and he seems to almost deflate in stature. “W-well I-” he cuts himself off, struggling to form a sentence. “Actually, you're the first.”

You roll your eyes, “Sure, Oz.” He holds out his hands, “No! I'm serious…I…Doll, I wasn't much of a looker in high school.” His arms drop to his sides at his admission.

His face falls, and you see a familiar expression, one that you have on your own face when you talk about high school bullies and your insecurities over your weight. Softening, you move towards him, gently bringing him in for a hug. “Oh. I didn't mean to tease you, Ozzie. I know how that feels.”

He grumbles above you, “Yeah, I know, because I have trouble believing an Angel like you had any trouble in high school, myself.” Maneuvering you so he can look at you at arms length, he whistles, “I mean, with your plump, soft body and those rosy, plush cheeks? I have a hard time believing you even want to be with me now.”

You move forward, out of his grasp, and cross your arms, hugging yourself. “Oh, I don't know about that Ozzie. I was such a nerd in high school, and I still am!” He chuckles, and looks like he's about to argue, but you continue, anyway. “I know if you went to high school with me, though, I would have had the biggest crush on you.”

He looks confused. “Really? No joke?” You shake your head, “Absolutely no joke, cross my heart. You're charming.” You bite your lip purposefully, drawing his eyes which start to darken, “You're so romantic, it makes me swoon sometimes.” Moving closer, you wind your arms around him, one at a time, looking up with big, shining eyes, “And you are exactly my type. I love your strong nose,” you kiss it, “I love your dark, gorgeous eyes,” you get on your tiptoes to flutter your eyelashes against him in a cute move that makes Oz actually giggle.

“I love your body, even if you don't,” you press yourself right against his front, making him let out a grunt, “And I guarantee that if we were in high school together, I would have let you take me up here and show me-”

His arms pull you closer, desperately, and he slams his lips into yours, effectively cutting you off. You let out a surprised sound, but then soften and let him lead. Feeling the effect you have on him, you grind against him, making him release your lips with a groan.

“God, Angel.” He's out of breath, his hands crumpling the fabric of your skirt from where he had dug them into your hips. Releasing them, he smooths it down with his hands slowly, almost worshipfully. “The idea of you, in this outfit, showing little old, ugly me in high school a good time…”

You cut him off, “We probably would have both been considered ugly in high school, then, Oz. Two weirdos together. But look at where we are now, huh?”

You reach down to hold his hand, using it to lead him to the back of the car, where you hop up onto the trunk, slightly ungracefully. Arms spread, you invite him into your embrace and he accepts, sucking in a breath as you spread your plush thighs so they surround him.

Using your arm to bring his head down, he dutifully follows and sniffs at the juncture between your shoulder and neck, moaning and beginning to nibble marks into your skin. With a breathier tone, you whisper into his ear, “King of Gotham, my King of Gotham. So powerful and smart and those idiots in high school didn't know what they were missing.”

With that, he whimpers, and his hands dig into your thighs once more, moving your skirt up and pressing, grasping, digging into the plump flesh available to him there. His hips begin to piston, slowly at first, rubbing against your center and making you choke on air.

Then he releases the spot where he had been worrying your flesh with his teeth, nuzzling his nose up the column of your throat and whispering in your ear, now. “And you're the King of Gotham’s Sweet Dove. You're my gorgeous girl.” You whine, and he starts to move even faster against you, the both of you panting.

“Ozzie! Please!” You stifle your cry as much as you can, unsure what exactly it is that you want, but the heat in your belly is removing your ability to think. You feel your wetness soaking into Oz’s front, and he just groans, “Oh, good girl. So wet for me, yeah? So pretty and plump and all mine.”

You bite your lip, self conscious, still, especially being out in the open like this. “M-messy,” you whimper, unable to voice your worry more fully. He almost coos at you, trying to calm you down and comfort you as his hips continue pressing against you in a steady rhythm, sending sparks through your body. “You think I care about a little mess, sweetheart?”

You're the one who nuzzles your head into his neck, now, unable to hold back the small pleas and whimpers and whines that are all coming from somewhere deep inside of you. Somewhere in the mess of words, you say, “K-king!”

It makes Oz stutter in his rhythm, letting out a sound like he's been punched. “T-that's right, Angel. And a King doesn't let those peasants decide who he is or what he does.” With that, he snakes a hand around between you, maneuvering until he is under your panties, circling around your bundle of nerves and making you throw your head back, moaning out more pleas.

He chuckles. “Always wanted to hear a pretty girl scream out my name up here. Can you do that for me, Sweetheart?” The next word comes out desperately, like he needs to hear it, “Please.”

You start to chant his name, which makes him finally press his finger against your clit. “Oz! Ozzie! Oh! Oswald!” Your legs spasm and your mouth easily forms his name, your thighs hugging hard around his sides and forcing him to press right against you. He groans out, “God, my Angel,” and you feel him still as he grunts and growls against your neck.

Catching your breath together, you eventually separate a bit, the heaviness of the summer air and the stickiness combining to make you both feel a bit…gross. Chuckling, Oz removes his leather jacket. What little light exists around you highlights the sweat on his soft, strong arms, making your legs press together again.

He sees you, and lets out a moan. “Sweetheart, I love yah, but you’ve worn me out.” He throws his jacket casually in the back of the car and you collapse onto your back on the trunk, the exhaustion finally reaching your body. You let out a squeak as you feel Oz press against your thighs, removing your panties and cleaning you up with a wet wipe.

Sitting up, press a sweet kiss to his nose and thank him. He smiles serenely at you and you both contentedly sit, for a moment, before you remember where you are. Your heart seizes with anxiety and you push him away getting off the trunk and gesturing wildly with your hands, “Oz! We did that in public! Where anyone could see! What were we thinking! I-”

He laughs, a full belly laugh, and you turn to him with your hands at your hips. “What's so funny, Oz?”

He wipes a tear away, “Sorry, doll, didn't mean to mock you.” He looks fairly proud as he admits, “I own this place, and most of the place around it. I usually open it up to others but tonight…I made sure no one else would be up here.”

Your demeanor shifts to one of relief. “Oh, thank God.” He brings you to him, pressing your back against his front and hugging you from behind. “Oh, I'm not God, Sweetheart, but I'll take the thanks all the same.”

You swat at him, and he chuckles. Then, he groans and presses his head against your shoulder. His voice comes out hesitantly, “Besides, I didn't need anyone seeing me coming in my pants like a fucking teenager over a pretty girl.”

You join him when he laughs, and his wandering hands go to your sensitive spots, seeking out ticklish areas to make you giggle with glee even more. Two weirdos, indeed.

---------------------

....anyway hope you enjoyed! 💙💙

[finniestoncrane]

Curious who your fav writers are on here? Cause you’re the one I think about when I think of dc villains since you’re so talented

i don't think i have favourites as much as i have writers who i admire and enjoy sharing a space with!! even if i don't like/read everything they have, i appreciate the love and care they put into their craft and how generous they are with their talents!! and there's plenty of writers i really like who don't even post their stuff too!!

my fic rec tag is always where i reblog at least one thing of every writer i enjoy (whether i speak to them personally or not) but i'll put a little read more of some people who are actively putting things out and who you should definitely go check out because they write for similar characters/themes as me and they're also just nice people!!

@thatnsfwnerdio

@vveirdvvitch

@iepurasdepraf

@ilovetheriddler

@gilverrwrites

@lawrites

@acapelladitty

@sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee

@riddle-me-ri

@starlightsearches

[aja-thepoet]

. . . . . #poetsofinstagram #poetry #sacramento #losangeles #writersofinstagram #lawriters #blackpoets #blackwoman #blackwriters #selflove #facts #healing #findingyourself (at Los Angeles, California)

[allehsu]

In last years #writingthroughthechange workshop with Joan Scheckel, I investigated beauty // #queens Posted @withregram • @filmmakinglabs #JoanScheckel #TheLabSeries #TheTechnique #womeninfilm #Sundance #Slamdance #americanfilminstitute #filmindependent #ImageAwards2020 #SXSW #lafilmmakers #lafilmmaker #lawriters #ladirectors #actorsla #laproducers https://www.instagram.com/p/CULg4mNP5A9/?utm_medium=tumblr

[shereewrites]

Been up since 2:30 am brainstorming story ideas. Finally had a hell yes moment. Oh wait, that's exhaustion. Lol Happy Saturday. #exhausted #brainstorm #writinglife #shereelapuma #write #inspire #empath #shereewrites #shortstories #thisismylife #california #realplaces #LAwriters #poetsofinstagram (at Santa Clarita, California)

[willbtorres]

MY FRIENDS, LOVERS, TEACHERS, and FAMILY

By Will B. Torres

For years I've been surrounded by my friends. I stood next to them as equal. My best friend, my lovers, my ex-lover, my first girlfriend (yes, I had one back in the days), my rivals, my colleagues, my co-workers, my mentors, my students.  I never saw black as "Them," it was always "Us."  I've always stood side by side and never knew what hate against black lives was until 1992.

Even though my 7-year-old self didn't understand what social injustice was, I felt what the four cops did to Rodney King wasn't right. I also wished all the riots happening around my neighborhood would stop. "Violence does not solve any problems," thought my 7-year naïve Mayan self. Unfortunately, America opened my eyes to all the injustice the cops have committed to black lives:

Trayvon Martin (Age 17, D. 2012)

Jordan Davis (Age 17, D. 2012)

Renisha McBride (Age 19, D. 2013)

Erick Garner (Age 27, D. 2014)

Michael Brown (Age 18, D. 2014)

Jamar Clark (Age 24, D. 2015)

Philando Castile (Age 32, D. 2016)

Anton Sterling (Age 37, D. 2016)

Ahmaud Arbery (Age 25, D. 2020)

Breonna Taylor ( Age 26, D. 2020)

George Floyd (Age 46, D. 2020)

AND MANY MORE…

I always thought that my silence and my prayers would make injustice go away… it's still the same. Each year I would say to myself, "This is the last police brutality"… It never was the last.

What I've seen throughout the year has made me angry, has made me upset, has made cry, and yes, has even made me want to burn down buildings because that's the only way society will listen. You know what! we are listening! the whole world is listening!

I feel to the pain that goes through each person marching the street asking for justice for George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, and Breonna Taylor and all the black souls who lost their lives from a dirty, racist cop.

This Mayan man stands up for the right of black lives, so the next generations of brown kids, white kids, black kids, or any kid growing up in America doesn’t witness all the injustice done by cops throughout the years…

I take it back; I want the future generation of kids to know all the injustice black people had to live through. I want the future generations to know that I, nor my friends, lovers, family, and teachers, did not stay quiet and fought for equality for every black human in America. I want our future generations K-12 to learn about all the injustice black people had to endure from dirty, racist cops through a Social Justice Class taught by our black teachers, professors, and doctors.

While I am just a small voice among other great people making a change, today and until my last breath (which is hope is at age 101), I STAND NEXT TO MY BLACK FRIENDS, LOVERS, TEACHERS, & FAMILY.  

[tramenapresents-blog]

[lawrites]

Sweet Thing (NSFW)

Gotham Victor Zsasz x Plus Size! Female Chef Reader

(Honestly is this kinda pwp that resulted from the once scene where Zsasz doesn't get a cupcake, making me feel sad and want to give him one?? Yeah...yeah maybe. Also @finniestoncrane and @riddle-me-ri have made me obsessed with Gotham rogues again so...thanks for that and for inspiring me to write again. 💙💙)

Warnings: some weight insecurities on the readers part (listen I have them so I'm writing them, shush), descriptions of reader's body, Zsasz probably being ooc, smut!!!!

It was...strange...in a way, this relationship you may or may not have with Victor Zsasz. You both work for Oswald Cobblepot, you as his private chef/patisserie and him as...well...one of the most dangerous killers in Gotham. It started when he scared you half to death the first time he snuck into your kitchen in the Cobblepot residence.

You were carefully simmering something on the stove, stirring and scraping the edges to make sure nothing burned, and you turned around to grab some salt only to see a man all in black staring at you from across the kitchen island, obviously well-armed.

You screamed and dropped the salt, of course. It's Gotham and you work for THE Penguin. You assumed the worst. But he just raised one eyebrow and smirked at you, his expression surprisingly...goofy for someone with at least 4 guns on him in plain sight. "Oh, no need to worry. I'm Victor Zsasz, we share the same boss."

You remember nodding, being immediately comforted as you did recognize the name. "Oh! Oh, I apologize for the reaction, Mr. Zsasz." You did your best to smile back shakily, which only made him grin wider. But then he looked behind you and raised his eyebrows, which reminded you where you were and what you were doing. You let out a slightly undignified squeak as you turned back to your reduction in worry, trying to see if anything had burned when you stopped stirring.

Relief flooded you when it was still perfect, and you called over your shoulder, "So what brings you to my Kitchen, Mr. Zsasz?" Waiting a few beats, you were met with silence, so you snuck a glance behind you only to see that he had left just as quietly as he came.

And that was the first time you encountered one of Gotham's finest killers.

Since then, you interacted with him at least once a week, if not every day, in almost the exact same fashion. He would quietly show up, (possibly trying to scare you again), stay for a bit to watch you cook, and then leave just as quietly. You started talking with him to pass the time, being met with vague, cryptic responses laced with occasional names for you. "Sweetheart" seemed to be his go-to, but he also loved "Honey." It was a bit awkward in the beginning...

"So Mr. Zsasz..."

"Sweetheart, call me Victor."

"Oh! Ok...Victor...any hobbies??"

"...crochet, actually."

...but you got into a rhythm eventually. Sometimes you would ask him for a prepped ingredient, a spice, or a measuring spoon if your hands were full.

You have convinced yourself that he must be trying to scare you again, because he loves quietly sliding up behind you and brushing up against your arms as he hands it to you with a softly whispered, "Whatever you say, Chef."

It DID make you let out another squeak the first time, which was met with a deep chuckle from him, but after that it started to create a different reaction. Your cheeks would flame as you would take the item you asked for--the cute names, his slight most likely accidental touches...all of them affecting you.

You do your best to tamper it down each time, not allowing yourself to even start down the path of hope. Being obviously bigger than what lots of men find attractive due to society's standards means that you have either met mainly men who were desperate or mean. It's not your fault, you sometimes really dig your body, you just can't seem to find anyone else who does.

You have no idea why he visits, but his conversations make your day better, so you don't want him to stop. And he doesn't seem to be showing up to frighten or taunt you anymore...you just don't want to let yourself believe that he would be into you. A tiny voice that you think is your conscience pipes up and says he also kills people for fun and profit, but you just remind it that you're in Gotham and honestly you could do worse.

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts a bit, you glance down at the oven. It's later in the day for you, after dinner has been done, and you are prepping desserts for tomorrow. Oswald has requested cupcakes, for some reason, so you are watching them to make sure they don't burn. Easy as they are to make, it wouldn't do to have the Penguin himself angry at you for any reason.

Taking out the tray, you check to make sure they are fully cooked before letting them cool and prepping the frosting. Humming along to the radio and swaying a bit, your thoughts drift back to Victor. He usually would have stopped by before this time, which means you probably won't be seeing him today. It does make your heart fall a bit, but you remind yourself that it shouldn't because he is just a...friend? Coworker? "Possible cryptid??" Your tiny conscious supplies.

You giggle to yourself as you imagine Victor creeping around the woods with Mothman. Shaking your head, you finish placing the frosting in your piping bag only to turn around and feel it slip from your fingers as the form of Victor appears closer than you would have expected. He catches the bag and grins at you, his usual serious countenance turning into something softer as he says "Woah, Chef, wouldn't want your hard work to go to waste."

You place a hand on your forehead, catching your breath a bit as your heart slows down, "Yeah, it's almost like someone showed up out of nowhere and scared me." You grin back at him "But I know that's nowhere near what you meant to do, right?"

His eyes shine with mischief, "Oh, of course not Honey. You're so sweet it forces me to be on my best behavior around you."

He hands you back your frosting with an exaggerated bow and cheesy grin. You roll your eyes but can't disguise your blush as you take it from him, "Victor, you know you don't have to flatter me if you want a cupcake."

He stands up straight, his eyes showing shock. "Me? Get a cupcake?"

Confused by his excitement, you respond with a question in your voice, "Of course??"

He seems almost shy, a word you would never have used to describe him before, and rubs the back of his head. "Oh...it's just...you've never offered before..."

You think back through the past few months, each and every encounter...and then you slap yourself on the forehead, "Oh Victor, I've been holding out on you haven't I? I'm sorry, I should have given you something even the first time you stopped by. I've been remiss in my duties as a Chef."

His shocked face turns softer, but some other emotion that you can't place is also present. "While I can't disagree, as I was definitely hoping something was on offer that day, I can't blame you. I remember thinking what you have was too sweet for a killer like me."

Walking up to your cooled cupcakes on the kitchen island, you scoff at him even though you are secretly preening at his words. As you start to carefully create a swirl of frosting, you respond, "Victor, I'm not THAT sweet." You turn for just a second to wink at him, returning to your previous task to avoid seeing his reaction. "And I'm not sure why you kept coming down here when I wasn't even feeding you! That's usually the only way I make my friends, killers or not."

As you finish the swirl with a flick of your wrist, you see him walk into your field of view across the counter. Feeling proud of how perfect it is, you add the final touch, a perfectly prepped red rose made of icing, and align it just so. And then...after all that work...you gladly pick it up and gently offer it to Victor.

There is a hunger in his eyes, and you wonder how you had managed to not die for the past few months if a cupcake could do this to him. He should have rightly torn you to pieces to get to the apple cider macarons you made last week.

He plucks the cupcake from your hands and examines it, turning it to and fro. "Very nice, Chef, as always." He grins and unwraps the dessert, barely hesitating before taking a big bite out of it. His eyes widen and then close in what you assume is enjoyment. Your suspicions are confirmed only a second later when he actually moans at the taste, swallowing heavily and letting out a soft, "Fuck." Your traitorous eyes trace down the length of his neck almost involuntarily.

Trying to disguise your heavier blush that is most likely down to your chest at this point, you quickly look down to the rest of the cupcakes and focus on decorating them instead of the images racing through your mind. Your pride at your work won't let you keep quiet though, so you have to comment on his reaction. "I don't know if I've had a better reaction to my food before. I'll have to remember to make even better stuff for you later."

You don't see his reaction, but you see him set the rest of the cupcake on the counter after a beat of silence and begin to move slowly towards you out of the corner of your eye. "You would make me, of all people, better stuff?" He takes another step, "Not just discards from the boss's requests?"

You smile, but continue to look down at your icing work. "Your wish is my command! I love making desserts for my..."

Just a moment of hesitation, an instance. You implied that Victor was your friend earlier, but would that be appropriate by his standards? Is he even your friend? And you know that even that would be a lie, coming from you. But as your thoughts race, you feel a firm hand lift up your hand and take the icing bag away, setting it gently on the counter. Then Victor grips into your soft arms and physically turns you towards him, all while you stay silent in shock.

He is staring at you again, but this time with a more guarded expression. "For...who? What am I to you?"

You are stunned and stumble over your words, not expecting his question, "I-I don't know, Victor, I like to think t-that you are at least my f-friend at this point, but I totally understand if you don't think we are there yet. I mean...I do enjoy your company..."

You feel his hands grip a bit harder at your arms, effectively cutting you off, "...And is that all you want from me, Sweetness? Are you sure?"

Your mind is screaming at you, and your heart as well. Both at war with each other. He can't like you that way, but maybe he's noticed your reactions. Why wouldn't he? He's trained to kill, he probably notices everything about you.

He's just trying to put a stop to this before it gets further, your mind screams.

"I-I..." you find yourself unable to form words, a panic rising inside you. You don't want to lose some of the only company you have during your shifts...some of your only company in general, in Gotham. It is near impossible to determine if anyone is trustworthy when working for the Penguin. You usually find yourself walking directly home from work, and having civil conversations with neighbors at most.

It is even more difficult to keep that panic at being alone again from continuing when his dark eyes keep constant contact with yours, never wavering. You can see now how people are terrified of him. All of that focus that he usually uses against his enemies, his...targets...all aimed at you. It makes your mind fuzzy, cloudy. You struggle to think of any words, let alone the ones you need.

But, you decide it would be easier to speak if you weren't looking at him. So you allow yourself to look at your shoes instead. He will be able to tell if you lie, with or without eye contact. There are better liars than you in Gotham that he has matched and ended.

Alternatively...leaving isn't wise, either. It would lead to the same outcome as lying. With a quick breath to steady yourself, you know your only course is to admit whatever you feel.

"I...I don't think I can lie to you, whether or not the both of us want me to. I have thought of...more...with you. But if that makes you uncomfortable, I entirely understand. I know I'm not what most..."

He again cuts off your rapid-fire words by putting a singular finger under your chin to raise your face until it is looking at him. His eyes are searching yours as your heart pounds in your chest with anguish over your confession, and you wait. Seeming to find what he was looking for, you hear him mutter "Fuck, finally," and then he slams his lips into yours.

Shocked, you don't react for a few beats...but then you start to move your lips against his. His hands have moved from your chin and arm, both going to your wide hips. He groans as they sink into the soft flesh you have there, pulling you closer until you are flush with his front. The feel of your soft belly connecting with his slight frame makes you pause and short-circuit, your lips hesitating. He notices and breaks from the kiss.

"I-I...Victor..." his hands release you, a more worried expression taking over his face.

"Sweetheart, is it too much?" He takes a gloved hand and gently sweeps your hair behind your ear, then cups your face to make sure you keep looking at him...gently, though. His hands are more gentle than you expected.

Damn him and his need for eye contact right now. And damn his gentle hands while you're at it. "No, that was wonderful, truly. I loved it." You do your best to show him honesty. "I-I just...oh God...I don't know how to phrase this."

His eyes don't leave yours, and one of his thumbs starts to sweep against your soft cheek.

Taking a deep breath, you muster up some strength of will. Either way this will be over soon. "I just...I'm big."

He nods as if it is the most obvious thing in the world, "Yeah, Honey, I know." One hand stops cupping your face and moves down to lightly trace your hip.

Sighing at his inability to see, you continue, "So-so...most people don't like that I'm bigger, or that I have a belly, and I'm just nervous that..."

"That I'm most people?" Victor stops gently cupping your face and instead forcefully uses his hand to bring you closer, "Sweetness, I'm Gotham's finest killer, I'm not most people."

And then he slams his lips into yours again, and you find that you don't care to think anymore. His hand drifts from your chin to your throat, gently gripping there for now as he starts to walk you back until your ass is pressed right against the island. He tears his lips from yours, both of you catching your breath, and his other hand moves from your hip to your ass.

His hand traces the excess flesh that spills over the counter and he groans, squeezing it and leaning forward to whisper in your ear, "I've been thinking about getting to dig my hands into this perfect ass ever since I saw you in the kitchen that first day." His thumb on your throat starts to stroke up and down, feeling you swallow and moan at his words.

His grin is back, "That's right, sweetness, let me hear you." His hand moves away from your throat so he can start to trace down your neck with his teeth, but in between bites he continues to talk. "Been wanting to hear the noises you might make for me since then too." He pulls back to give you a dangerous smile, "Do you really think I kept sneaking up on you to scare you?"

Your voice is a bit strained, but sure, as you reply plainly, "Yes." But then a smirk stretches over your lips and your eyes light up with mirth at your tease.

His dangerous smile softens just slightly, and he chuckles, "You DO know me well, then." He hides his face in your neck once more, his hands gripping your ass harder as he presses himself into your front. You feel how hard he is against you just as he bites down on the juncture at your shoulder, and it makes you let out an involuntary whimper, your smirk disappearing.

"Just like I've heard in my fucking dreams for the past few months." He pants against your skin, grinding against your center and licking at the bite he just made. Surprisingly, instead of continuing his trail like you expected, he stops, sniffing at the part he just attended to, and almost lets out a choked sound.

"So fucking sweet." He pulls back, and you see some of the desperation in his eyes. "Your scent, your fucking baking." His eyes close, "Sweetness seems to follow you around, seeping into everything you touch."

He turns you around gently and places your back to his front, settling his chin on your shoulder and speaking softly. "You know, I was planning on just sneaking down that first day, annoying the boss's baker like all the others that came before." He nuzzles his nose against your skin, "...stealing something that wasn't mine."

His hands begin to wander, the first one moves lightly across your collarbone, making you shiver, while the other weaves across your front, hugging you to him and digging into your soft side. The hand that traced your collarbone slowly starts to trail down, arriving at your breasts. His touch stays light. "Maybe I would find some of that excess that others are loath to give me." He breathes in sharply along with you as he squeezes your breast, almost unable to keep himself from doing so. "I can't even fit all you have to give me in my hand, pretty Chef."

Shaking his head, resolving himself, he continues his previous train of thought. "Imagine my surprise when I encountered what I already told you was the perfect ass, still able to be seen through these awful chef clothes you wear." A hint of disdain makes its way into his voice as he pinches your loose work shirt.

Releasing the fabric and smoothing it over, his hand joins the other around your front, almost sweetly hugging you to him with a light grip. He breathes in as he forces himself to slow down so he can speak. "The way you spoke...so unsure, but still trying to be polite even to me."

He pushes himself against you again, as if to remind yourself where you are even with his shockingly sweet words. "And your sweet voice calling me Mr. Zsasz..." His hands dig into your plush stomach, pushing you back but also making you wince again.

He doesn't allow your doubts to get to you, his blunt words stopping them in their tracks, "I had to run out of the room to fuck my own hand as it echoed in my mind."

A bolt of heat goes straight to your core and you moan, grinding your ass against him. A hitch in his breath, and then he whispers into your neck "Yes, I knew you had it in you, good girl. So desperate, hmm?"

You nod, holding back a whine at his praise and trying not to get too heated at work. At work! Suddenly you remember where you are. Slowing yourself down, you reach for his hands and gently pry at them. To his credit, they loosen instantly. Turning around to look at him again, you catch his own blush, his chest rising and falling, his eyes dark...but also saddened by the loss of you against him.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry if I went too far. You don't owe me anything..." His voice is breathy as he now desperately spits out words, "...not cupcakes or yourself or..."

You now hold up a finger to his lips, shushing him. His eyes widen, darken even more, and then look almost dangerous again. Filing his reaction away for later, you saunter over to where he left his cupcake from before, making sure to sway your hips for him. "I know I don't owe you."

You turn around with the cupcake held right in the palm of your hand. "I would be happy to give you whatever you want." He seems almost dazed as he approaches you, leaning down to your hand. With a nod from you, he leans forward and licks through the icing, holding eye contact the whole time.

Your heartbeat stutters and you almost forget where you were again. Damn him and his tongue now, too. Taking a shuddering breath, you finish your thought. "But we are both at work, unfortunately." His eyes fall and he pouts. It's almost adorable to see the serious, dangerous man so...cute??

"Luckily for you..." His eyes perk up instantly. You roll your eyes and your free hand points to the ground. "Down, boy."

He licks his lips in response.

"L-luckily for you, I was just thinking about leaving the rest of the icing for tomorrow." He relaxes his pose and plucks the cupcake from your hand, happily moving to sit at a chair and gesturing for you to do your cleanup.

You begin, only to stop when you hear his voice again. "Sweetness...how long would it take you to make another batch of icing?" Connecting what he means when you notice his eyes staring at the current bag of icing resting on the counter, you pick up the pace even more.

He giggles, actually giggles, at your haste before he bites into the cupcake. "You know I have an appetite for sweet things."

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Idk if this was great or not lol. No beta, no proof readers, barely any hint of a story line, just vibes. Also this is very "he would not say that" but let me live within my delusions. Victor Zsasz could like a sweet, plus size girl in MY French vanilla fantasy.