#man i havent written penguin in like 6+ years

[gilverrwrites]

As Above

Pairing: Oswald Cobblepot/Reader

All you'd wanted were directions to the nearest bathroom, yet somehow you ended up here, on your knees, for one of Gotham's most infamous crime bosses.

Notice: You're currently reading the Fem/AFAB Version.

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Rating: 18+

Words: 2.1K

Content: Dub-con, swearing, alcohol consumption/drunk reader, Hybristophilia, dom Ozzie/sub reader, finger sucking, blowjob, dirty talking, (allusions to) slut shaming, cum shot, cum eating.

Please remember: You do not need to prove yourself to anyone.

The sound of your heels clacking against the metal grate stairs is drowned out by the constant and loud thump of music. You’ve been pacing around the upper levels of the club for minutes now, alone amongst a sea of strangers and no closer to finding relief. You should have been more assertive with your friends, should have made one of them come with you, but they were having so much fun, and you didn’t want to be a bother. So now you were lost and still bursting for a piss.

Distressed and eager to find a way out of your predicament, you decide to ask the next person you see for directions, no excuses. Close your eyes, deep breaths, steady, confident. You’re stricken by the sight of the first person you glimpse. He’s older than you would have thought, stout, with thinning hair and a distinct face. Not at all the clientele you’d come to expect from The Iceberg. But still, something about him was captivating. In fact, you’d been so enraptured that he’d almost entirely passed you by.

“Um, wait! Excuse me.” You shout, trying to be heard over the drum and bass as you take long strides to catch up with him. He walks slowly, and with a limp, so you’re by his side in seconds. “Hello?”

He turns his head to face you as he continues walking. His eyes slowly drape across your body, seemingly appraising everything you have to offer. When his eyes finally land on yours, he stops. Deeming you worthy of his time. “Yes dear, can I help you.”

Despite his posture and unbefitting appearance, he bleeds an air of confidence and importance that simultaneously makes you nervous and aroused. “I am so sorry to bother you, but do you know where the bathrooms are? Please?”

“I do, I do.” His checks you out again, nodding to himself as he does. Eyes wander up and down your body; every inch of skin he examines feels hot and tingly, on top of your already intense need to go. Apparently happy with his second examination, like you’ve passed his test, he continues, “Follow me, I’ll take you to them.”

“Thank you! Thank you so much.” You’re practically buzzing now, calmed by knowing you’ve found a resolution; you follow, purposefully remaining a pace behind him so as not to lose sight of him or appear rude by overtaking him. “I’ve been searching for ages. You have no idea how grateful I am for your help.”

“That so?” He responds. You’re sure it’s rhetorical, but you nod anyway. He seems amused, making no effort to hide the pull of his lips as he leads you up another flight of stairs and along yet another industrial-style balcony. “Other than your current predicament, are you enjoying the club?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. The atmosphere here is great, and the music is always amazing. Drinks are a fucking fortune, though, honestly! It’s a good thing my friends and I always pre-game cause I’d have to get a second job to be able to afford more than 3 drinks here.” You’re not sure why you’re rambling so much, but your saviour in purple pinstriped armour seems to enjoy it, letting out a loud belly laugh as you complain.

“A pretty thing like you, surely they’re lining up round the block to buy you a drink.” There was nothing smooth about his voice, but the words flattered you nonetheless.

Unsure how to respond, you resolve to try and change the subject. “What about you? Do you like it here?”

“You could say that.” The answer is cryptic, and you watch him curiously, waiting for him to proceed until you reach the end of the walkway.

You’re standing together outside a red wooden door, a sign read ‘staff only’. All your drunken mind could puzzle together at that moment was: not toilet.

“Ummm.” You look to him for clarification, and he silences you with a raised hand; wait. Then he pulls out a key, unlocks the door and makes his way inside, holding the door for you to follow.

“Bathroom is behind that door.” He points, and you waste no time scurrying over to it, giving him a brief and likely comedic bow as you go.

In true night-out fashion, you’d failed to realise just how drunk you were until you were isolated with nothing but the dim bathroom light and the cold feel of your ass on the toilet seat. At that moment, you promise yourself that you’ll graciously thank your host, find your friends, and head home. You hold onto the thought as you wash your hands and attempt to clean up your smudged makeup with damp fingertips.

You hadn’t taken the time to look at the main room as you beelined for the toilet earlier. As you exit the bathroom, you’re suddenly taken by the luxury of it. Everything appears furnished in either solid oak or soft velvets and leathers. The music from downstairs is barely audible, just the low thrum of the bass seeping through. Your mystery man is seated on the furthest side of the room, looking out at the crowd below through a floor-to-ceiling window that spans the entire wall.

“Oh, wow!” You cross the room until you’re close enough to press your fingers to the cold glass, enamoured by the view. “This is incredible. How have I never noticed this before?”

“You won’t have.” He taps the back of a ringed finger against the window. “It’s one-way.”

“Ooooh.” The crowd below is illuminated by the ever-changing lights, arms and legs move and entwine as they dance to the beat, but when you look over to your host, you can’t find it in yourself to look away from him again. “So… you like, work here?”

He laughs again, exposing a smattering of gold teeth and making his belly jiggle. Any thoughts of leaving have long since passed. “You could say that. I’m Oz.”

Oz… Oswald Cobblepot, The Penguin. You've been complaining about booze prices to The Penguin. He doesn’t work here; he owns here. You realise where you recognise him from. The news, the papers. You’ve seen his name and face associated with several stories, most of them unsavoury. In that moment, you wish the ground would open and swallow you whole.

When he extends a hand, you take it. Barely able to look him in the eye, you focus your attention on his thick, decorated fingers as you introduce yourself.

“I- um- I’m sorry about…” you trail off as he pulls you toward him, until you’re standing between his open legs. He presses the back of your hand to his lip, his kiss is warm against your skin.

“For what?” He’s watching you, closely, enjoying your sheepishness. You can tell by the glint in his eyes.

“For complaining… About the drinks.”

Strong fingers smooth over your exposed thigh, tickling your skin and igniting a heat in your veins.

“Don’t worry about it, Love. I value the honesty.” The cold of his jewellery bites at your heated skin, his hand cups high and hard around the back of your thigh and pulls you closer still. His face is now adjacent to your sternum as he glides his hand up your dress. “Will you tell me something else?”

“Anything.” Your reply is immediate and needy. It surprises you, but instead of pulling away in shame, your drunken body leans in, nestling the lower half of Oz’s face against your cleavage and gently holding him there with your free hand. His dark hair feels soft and fine between your fingertips.

“Do you often let men you’ve just met feel you up like this?” His voice is muffled by your body.

“No.” The way he says it should make you feel ashamed; instead, you feel yourself growing wetter. The shame of being so obedient, so open to being touched and played with by a known crime boss, is a primary cause for your arousal. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Your legs seem tired. Perhaps you should rest them.” A bold finger runs along your clothed slit, and your body shudders in response. “Get on your knees.”

He offers you both his hands and you take them, using him as support as you lower yourself to the ground. When your knees hit the soft carpet, you instantly feel relief, no longer having to support your full weight on your precariously high heels.

“Doesn’t that feel better?” Oz coos, and you nod bashfully back at him until he cups your face with both hands. Using his thumb, he directs your head backwards, chin up. You wonder how you must look to him, on your knees, lids heavy, limp and compliant from booze and arousal.

Florals and musk assault your senses when he presses his lips to yours. Strong fingers press against the hollows for your cheeks, and you open your mouth without resistance, expecting a tongue. Instead, you’re greeted by more fingers. You moan at the realisation, eagerly allowing him to press the pads of his fore and middle finger along your tongue in long, languid strokes, inching further back with each stroke until he stimulates your gag reflex, causing your throat to tighten around his fingers.

He hums to himself, evaluating you once again until he praises, “Impressive.”

“Thank you.” Your words come out slurred, and drool slips down your chin as you attempt to speak around his digits.

“Think you’re ready for the real thing?” Unclear if it’s a question to you or a statement to himself, you nod anyway, rocking forward on your knees to present your willingness.

He smirks as he pushes his fingers deeper into your throat once more, making the muscles contract again, and causing the ache between the legs to grow.  When he retracts his fingers, a feeble moan slips from your lips.

“Such a good plaything.” He makes quick work of his belt and zipper. His cock is fully erect, and you lick your lips in anticipation. “Go on then, get your lips around that.”

It’s fat and heavy on your tongue, filling your tastebuds with stale saltiness. You work your way up and down his length, tightly sucking the tip and hollowing your cheeks at the base. Any time he lets out a deep moan of his own you’re overcome with pride, growing high on getting him off. You want to hear it again and again.

Eventually, you pull back to take a deep breath, allowing yourself to nurse your aching jaw, but you must take too long for Oz’s liking, his fingers spread at the back of your head, locking on and leading you back onto his waiting cock. His hand remains in its place, directing you up and down, deeper and deeper. You ignore the growing tightness in your throat and the prick of tears forming in the corners of your eyes, fixating on the way your clit throbs every time he lets out a grunt or groan.

“Oh yeah. Keep sucking, just like that.” He huffs each word between hitched breaths, his hands shaking against your head. He’s close, you can tell. You latch your hands around the heels of your shoes, squeezing tight as Oz grips tighter to your head and picks up pace.

How easily he’s turned you into his willing cocksleeve, slack jawed and drooling as he used your mouth to get off.  And you’d been the one to approach him.

The tip of his cock hits hard and painfully at the back of your mouth as he jerks your face back and forth. Wetness seeps through your underwear, your pussy desperate for stimulation.  He hadn’t told you not to touch yourself. As the thought crosses your mind, Oz yanks you back into reality, literally tugging your head back.

You pant for breath, breathing in sweet, sweet air as you watch on. Oz's free hand wraps around the base of his cock, pumping once, twice, and then he’s cumming. Thick, hot, white ropes of cum splatter over your face, your lids close instinctively, preventing it from spraying into your eye. Beads drip into your mouth, assaulting your tongue with its saltiness.

“Lucky me.” Your eyes dart open again at the sound of his voice. He’s leaning forward in his seat, smiling at you as he begins to stroke a finger along your face, scooping up stray pools of his cum, and scooping them into your still-open mouth. “Found myself a sexy little birdie, an I wasn’t even looking. Swallow.”

On command you gulp it all down, grinning from ear to ear when he smiles approvingly at you, showing you those sexy gold teeth again. You remain on your knees as he leans back in his chair, reaches into the breast pocket of his blazer, and retrieves a cigar.

“Now.” He taps your nose lightly with his index finger before lighting up. “Go make yourself presentable, and then we’ll go get you an overpriced drink.”