#oswald cobb x you

[the-marshals-wife]

No More Tears (Oz Cobb x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: First fic of the year. 🥂 Writing this was extremely cathartic, as was binging The Penguin twice over my winter break. The brainrot is severe, for which there is no cure but this. Oz is very protective of what's his, and as it turns out, that includes you.

Description: Oz Cobb/The Penguin x Fem!Reader, angst / hurt+comfort (plus a teeny bit of ending fluff) | Rating: MATURE for violent content and adult themes | Warnings: violence and blood, injuries described, mild language, name-calling (not towards Reader), alcohol, drugs mentioned (drops), suggestive themes, pet names (endearing), Reader is injured by a club guest and Oz beats the daylights out of the culprit. | Setting: before the events of The Batman | Word count: 3.1 k

Imagine Oz finding out that you've been hurt, and getting sweet revenge

The throbbing in your temple brings tears to your eyes, and your hands shake as you cradle the side of your face. You draw in a sharp breath, the cool metal of the elevator wall against your back grounding you a bit. Several excruciating seconds later, the doors open, and you resurface from the 44 Below much more battered than when you went in. As the pain starts to intensify, you look for somewhere to retreat out of view. The last thing you needed was anyone seeing you weak.

Of course, there was hardly such a place within the walls of the Iceberg Lounge. With few other options, you make a bee-line for the bathroom. No one seems to notice you in your afflicted state as you rush through the dressing area and out into the upper-level of the club. The flashing of the strobe lights normally didn't phase you, but now they feel like ice picks in your eye sockets. Only halfway to your destination and several more flights of stairs ahead, you can barely hear the thundering base of the club music over the pounding of your heartbeat. Suddenly your vision blurs, and you quickly grab onto the railing to steady yourself.

There are people on every side, but they're far too deep in their drinks, drugs, and pleasant company to notice you. For once, you're grateful for it.

"Concussed by some worthless drophead," you mutter, your head swimming. It had been a mistake to look down over the edge.

You stand up to go lean on the wall instead, but you catch sight of your hands. You look down at your fingers to see them smeared with blood. Your stomach twists with sickened realization. When the creep downstairs backhanded you, his ring must have cut you open.

Before you can speak the curses on your tongue, you hear your name being shouted. Even in your dazed state, you recognize the voice of your coworker.

"Y/N," she calls out again, her voice barely rising above the dull roar.

You sway around to face her, and her shock is immediate, as expected.

"Oh-," she exclaims, wide-eyed, "Are you good?"

"Not exactly," you answer, wincing, "Drophead got handsy."

"They always do," she says, shaking her head. Her nervous smile turns to a full grimace. "Oz wants to see you."

The boiling fury in your veins instantly transforms into frigid panic. "You gotta find someone else. I can't do it. He cannot see me like this."

"He asked for you specifically," she replies, shrugging. "You better get up there. Try to hide it with your hair."

With that piece of advice, she walked away. You couldn't blame her. She had her orders, and you had yours. If only they'd come just a few minutes earlier.

Righting yourself, you wipe your bloodied hands on your navy blue skirt, and pull the pins from your hair, letting it fall down around your face. You tousle it with your crimson stained fingers as much as you can, but even if you had a mirror, you know full well that no amount of tugging at your bangs could fully conceal the gash in your brow. Still, it would have to do. You can't keep Oz waiting.

Exhaling, you start the climb back up to his office. The pain in your head burns deep, but at least the dizziness had subsided somewhat. That was the only thing you had in your favor at the moment. Your aching mind reels over what awaited you. Surely Oz would be upset with you. It was your job to keep guests happy, and your face was damning evidence of your failure. It didn't matter if that guest was a privileged scum-sucking loser too strung-out to form an intelligent thought. He was decidedly unhappy, and now you would have to accept the consequences.

Walking back through where you'd just come from and entering the corridor of the sequestered alcove, you can only pray that Oz is somehow distracted enough with business not to look up. The rattling of the parted bead curtain announces your arrival, and as you step through, it's immediately clear that your prayer fell upon deaf ears.

"There she is," Oz greets with a wide smile, "Come on in, sweetheart."

He waits expectantly on the couch by the window, the murky glow of the club lights shining behind him.

In vain, you keep your chin lowered and your hands clasped firmly behind your back.

"You wanted to see me?" you reply, avoiding his eyes.

"Of course I do. I always want to see you, baby," he answers, waving you forward, "Come here and tell me about your night. How are things goin' downstairs? You holdin' up alright?"

Swallowing hard, you obey and sit down on your hands beside him. You feel your limbs trembling as you search for your words.

"It's good. Busy, busy night," you reply, nodding.

Before he even speaks, you can sense Oz's gaze on you, and just how skeptical it is.

"Good? Just good? So stiff all of a sudden!" he scoffs lightheartedly, "You feelin' okay, baby? You're usually my little chatterbox."

You open your dry mouth to answer, deciding to confess the truth, but he's already reaching to brush your hair behind your ear. The revealed wound speaks for itself, and you flinch as strands of your hair catch on the fresh, open skin.

"Who did this to you?"

The restrained rage in his voice sends a chill down your spine.

"Y/N. Who did this thing to you, sweetheart?" he urges.

He gently grabs your chin and turns your head towards him. Both his touch and his tone are soft, but in his dark eyes there is an unmistakable wrath.

You stare at him in total confusion, unsure if you should feel comforted or in dread. This isn't the reaction you'd expected. Not in your wildest dreams.

"It was...some drophead. Corporate type," you hesitate, composing yourself, "He wanted me to leave with him. I kept telling him no, but he wouldn't lay off. Then he got fresh and I pushed away. That's when I caught the backside of his hand with my face. He was hammered, but it was no accident. His ring's what cut me."

Oz sits back, twitching in agitation. "When was this?"

"About ten minutes ago," you reply, "I'll be alright, Oz. I just need to clean up. It's not a big deal."

"The hell it ain't!" he denies.

His outburst startles you a bit, but you could tell it was not towards you.

A heated moment passes, and his temper calms once more. He leans forward again, touching your arm soothingly.

"You ain't done nothing wrong, baby. I'm gonna take care of this," he assures, "Can you describe him to me? He and I need to have a little talk about manners."

You smirk. "Definitely."

☂︎

A few minutes later, you're standing in the corner of the room with a cold drink in one hand, and a towel pressed to your stinging temple in the other. While Oz sent the Twins downstairs to retrieve your assailant, you'd finally gotten a moment to check your reflection in the mirror and inspect the damage. The gash was deep, but luckily not too wide. You would need stitches, and there'd undoubtedly be a scar for you to remember tonight by, but the doctor could wait. With the bleeding slowing at last, you waited with quiet anticipation to see if the sleaze would get a taste of his own medicine. Meanwhile, Oz stands by the window with his hands in his pockets, looking down in silence at the dancing throngs below.

Your shared reverie is broken by the arrival of the Twins, each dragging the man by one of his arms. Somehow, he seems twice as wasted as before. Now he's barely able to hold his head up.

Oz turns around and looks to you, gesturing. "This the gentleman?" He says the last word with no small amount of disdain.

You nod, biting down hard on your lip.

With that, they unceremoniously toss the guy into the chair in front of the vanity.

"Nice work, fellas," says Oz, giving them a pointed look, "Give us a minute here. Don't go too far."

They nod in confirmation and exit as swiftly as they'd come.

You shift on your feet, uncomfortable with how close the lowlife is to you again. The familiar smell of vodka, drops, and sweat burns your nose. You half have a mind to dump the rest of your own drink out on his head, if only to douse the odor. The other half of you is afraid of what might happen if you do.

As if he'd read your uneasy mind, Oz invites you over to his side of the room. "Come over here, sweetheart. Why don't you have a seat? You should be resting in your condition."

More than happy to oblige, you set what remains of your liquid painkiller down on the crystal table and return to your place on the couch.

"What's going on," the man finally speaks, his words slurring together. Then he sets his intoxicated gaze on you, and his bloodshot eyes narrow in recognition. "You...I know you..."

You frown, folding your arms over your chest in response.

"You don't talk to her. You talk to me," Oz interjects, stepping forward.

"And...you are?" he replies hazily, furrowing his brow with indignance.

"I'm the manager of this club, pal," he answers, taking on a cool tone of superiority, "Now, I don't know you. Based on that suit you got, I'm guessin' your checkbook is bigger than the average drophead's. And maybe outside of these walls, you're some bigshot who can do whatever he likes, to whomever he likes. But in here, you're in my world."

Before Oz finishes speaking, the man's eyelids begin to flutter. It's quickly becoming clear that he's losing the battle for consciousness.

Oz glances over his shoulder at you exasperated.

"Geez, how many friggin' drops has this sack of crap had?" He snaps his fingers in the guy's face. "Hey pal, you mind joining us here back on planet Earth for a moment? I'm tryna teach you something."

The loser rapidly blinks and rouses, violently wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"There you go, that's better," Oz says, stooping to be eyelevel with the guy, "Like I was sayin'. You're in my world. And here, we got rules. They're very simple. So simple, even a miserable little roach like you can understand 'em."

Oz lightly slaps the man's cheek and stands upright once more. He proceeds to remove his suit jacket and lay it on the nearby vanity. Your pulse quickens as he continues his monologue.

"There are some rules you can bend. Hell, there's even a few you can break once or twice and I'll look the other way. But there's one rule that you never, ever break. And that, is where you messed up, pal."

You're frozen in place, your heart full on racing watching Oz roll up his crisp white shirt sleeves.

"I...wait-just, hold on," the slimeball stammers. Every trace of arrogance had vanished, along with all the color in his face. He scrambles in an attempt to right himself, but he's far too inebriated to escape. At last, he was horrifically aware of situation he was in. He raises his now shaking hands in front of him, and you can't help but grin in satisfaction.

"You never hit a lady," Oz seethes, grabbing the guy's coat collar in his fists, "It seems you need a reminder of that. So I'm gonna give you one won't forget."

A yelp escapes the man's chapped lips as Oz hurls a right hook into his jaw. His arms go limp from the impact, and they only flop about from there as Oz lands another punch. You gape at the massive cut sliced into the guy's cheek by Oz's own ring.

"How do you like it, huh? Stings, don't it?"

In his drug-induced stupor, the drophead makes no attempt to fight back. All he can muster is an agonized moan, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

This only serves to enrage your boss further. Oz grabs the guy's collar again, this time tugging him forward out of the chair. His skull hits the floor with a nauseating crack. The sound, and the convulsing that follows, doesn't deter Oz, however. He hoists the man up with a strength that surprises you and pushes him against the brick wall.

Miraculously, the pathetic soul was still conscious, if just barely. The blood dripping from his mouth deepens the pit in your stomach, but you don't turn away.

Oz shoves the man's head to turn your direction.

"You think you can come in here and do that to one of my girls? Huh? Look at her face. You piece of rat filth!" he shouts, punching him in his ribs, "How dare you touch her. I oughta cut your hand off and feed it to ya!"

He proceeds to lay into him with a ferocity you can scarily believe. Every blow is more brutal than the last, each one punctuated by infuriated curses. Each time the lucid fool slumps forward from the impact, Oz sends him back with another slug to gut or head. It feels like an eternity passes before he finally has his fill of retribution and lets the man fall at his feet.

You peer at the unmoving heap, searching for signs of life, but your focus quickly shifts back Oz. He stands with his back to you, still muttering incensed profanities between heaving breaths.

This was a side of him you'd caught glimpses of, but never fully witnessed. Perhaps not many had. The fury that flowed through him certainly stemmed from more than revenge for tonight's incident. You imagined there was probably a lifetime of buried rage behind every blow struck. The thought of where such intense anger came from, and how much more there might be deep inside him, made you shudder.

For now though, you were just grateful he tapped into it on your behalf. His violent appetite was satisfied, and you had your payback. It'd hardly been a fair fight, and you couldn't care less. As much as your mind told you that should be afraid in this moment, or at the very least unnerved, you weren't. You felt relieved. More than that, you were mesmerized.

Oz whistles for the Twins, and they promptly return. He produces a dark purple handkerchief from his pants pocket and wipes away the blood from his knuckles before acknowledging them.

"Would you fellas be so kind? Our 'guest' needs help finding his sea legs," he invites, slicking his hair back.

It was only an expression, of course. If he didn't succumb to his injuries, you doubted the guy would ever be able to stand again. He wouldn't be backhanding anyone, either. That thought brings a smile to your face.

The identical men hoist the nameless victim up in much the same manner as they'd brought him in. Only this time, with his black and blue face utterly plastered with fresh lacerations, he was nearly unrecognizable. The low gurgling noise emanating from his mouth was the only proof that they weren't propping up a corpse.

"In case I wasn't making myself clear," Oz begins, rolling his sleeves back down, "If you so much as think about coming back in here, I'll carve you up into so many friggin' pieces, only God would be able to find them all."

It sounded like the man tried to vocalize, but it was scarcely more than a whimper.

Oz sneers, "Get this scum outta my sight."

You watch as what's left of your harasser is carried away from view. Just like that, you and Oz are alone once again. As much as you could be anyway, since several of the girls in the dressing area had become aware of the beatdown and were peeping from the other side of the shared window. Surely the whole club would know about what'd just taken place before sunrise. After all, Oz wouldn't do that for just any of the girls here. He didn't even know half of their names; but he knew yours, and he almost beat a man to death to defend it. You shake your head and resolve to ignore the onlookers, trying to come back into your body after the sobering surreal experience.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, baby. But it had to be done," he sighs, putting his jacket back on, "He won't be bothering you no more."

You stand up and walk over to him, "I'm just sorry I couldn't get a punch in."

"Listen to you, little killer over here," he chuckles, "Tell you what. Next time we got a jerk that goes sideways, I'll hold his arms back and you can go nuts on 'em. Deal?"

"Deal," you agree, your playful words turning sincere, "Thank you, Oz. You didn't have to do that for me."

"Yes, I did. Someone disrespects you, they disrespect me too. You bleed, I bleed. I had to make it right," he argues, slightly stern. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of cash. "Here. For the doctor. If you need more, you call me."

You softly gasp at the six hundred-dollar bills he holds out.

"This is too much," you begin.

"No, it ain't. I never shoulda let you go down there in the first place. They're friggin' animals," he says, regret in his voice, "You take all the time you need before you come back, alright? Don't worry about it."

You let him place the money in your hand. Tears start to well up in your eyes as you look to him with gratitude.

"Thank you," you repeat.

He reaches to brush your hair away from your eyes, his bruised knuckles grazing your cheek. "Don't you go startin' with the waterworks now," he smiles, "Scars ain't nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart. You'll always be beautiful to me."

Anyone who'd spent just one minute with Oswald Cobb knew that he had a way with words, but something about the glint in his eye made you believe that he truly meant these ones.

You chuckle thoughtfully and straighten his tie. Then, leaning in, you press a kiss to his cheek. For a second time that night, you'd taken him by surprise.

Turning to leave, you smirk over your shoulder. "Don't miss me too much."

He grins. "No promises, doll. No promises."

[taintandviolent]

Baby, it's cold outside ; Oz Cobb x Reader

summary: It's Christmas Eve in Gotham City, and it's bitterly cold, but you're warm up in Oz's penthouse. When he comes home from an event, you're waiting, wrapped up like a little present.

word count & w a r n i n g s: K | older man/younger woman, established relationship, making out, shameless smut, unprotected sex, foreplay in a Santa outfit, santa kink????, christmas themes, very inappropriate use of christmas puns/phrases/themes, fingering (female receiving), festive dirty talk, praise kink, very brief and light bondage, .

a/n: requested by a few anons! I hope it satisfies your festive whore needs for this man!!! not beta read and kinda rushed, but such is life. I wanted to get this out before Christmas Eve. Also speaking of Eve's.... Eve is... MIA I don't know, it's a plot hole, it didn't work out between them, yada yada, but she's not apart of this. all in the name of spice / reader's benefit! banners 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!

Gotham had been hit by a massive blizzard, but you weren’t complaining. It was Christmas Eve, and the snow was welcomed. At least by you, who didn’t have to be out in it. Big, fluffy flakes drifted down from the clouds, and you had a perfect view of the snow-covered city from the large windows. With the music that you’d put on, it felt altogether very Christmas-y.

You were enjoying the snow by yourself for the time being. Oz had left late that afternoon in a Santa suit. Some favor he had to do – couldn’t get out of it. The way he bristled every time you brought it up told you not to ask for too much information.

Christmas was really important to Oz – you assumed it was a favored holiday of his mother’s or something. Which was unsurprising. Everything, in some way, rooted back to his mother. You had come to terms with that, and accepted it. Played into it, even. 

He was insistent on a tree. A big one.

By the first of December, he had a massive one picked out for the living room, and a smaller (but still substantial) one for his mother’s room and had them delivered to the penthouse. You two decorated the big one that night, with cocktails and music. As with everything in his life, Oz was particular about decorating. After a few drinks, you could admit, your tree decorating skills were lacking. You’d lazily hang them in clusters, and Oz would fuss after you, rearranging it until it looked like it had fallen out of a magazine. 

But tonight, the tree was perfect. You crouched down in front of it, flicking a particularly ample bow atop a package. It wobbled and glittered, catching the twinkling lights above it. Most of the presents were yours – you knew this. Every time you turned around, it seemed there were another two tucked under the tree. 

“Doll?” 

Oz’s gruff voice comes from the hallway, echoing against the walls. Your head snaps up, and you straighten, pushing yourself off of your knees – you hadn’t heard him come in. You wrap the fluffy white robe tighter around your body, making sure that it isn’t revealing anything of your surprise. You’d been in the lingerie for a few hours, not knowing when he’d get home.

He rounds the corner, lumbering in with the signature gait that you’ve come to love. Though he’s ditched the hat and beard, he’s still in the classic red and white suit. It suits his stature and you screw your lips up in an amused smile, trying not to laugh at how miserable he looks. Like an excited child, you gallop over, pressing your hands against the plush suit. You trace circles in the fabric and look up at him with your doe eyes and pouting lips. 

“Ohohoh, Santa,” you coo, playfully. “You’re early.” 

Seeming embarrassed, Oz pulls your hand off his chest, holding it for a moment before bringing it to his lips. A small kiss is placed upon your knuckles before he finally speaks. “Ah, cut it out. Lemme’ get outta’ this fuckin’ thing and I’ll –” 

“Ozzy…” You back up, your hands falling to the tie of your robe. “You know, it’s customary to open a present on Christmas Eve.” 

He stops, mid-turn, and squints at you. He knows you well enough to know that mischievous glimmer in your eyes ain’t going away.

“So, open this one.” 

In a fluid motion, you untie the sash and shrug the robe off your shoulders. It falls to the floor, revealing your festive lingerie that you’d picked out weeks ago. You watch Oz’s eyes light up as he takes in the visual in front of him, starting at your feet, which are covered in a pair of red nylons, thigh highs. His gaze travels upwards, pausing to savor the look of the garters stretching over your lush thighs. Your bare stomach tenses at his gaze, before finally, he gets to the bra; a giant red bow that conceals the majority of your ample breasts. He can’t see it, but your nipples harden under the fabric, a reaction to the chill of the room and the heavy weight of his gaze. 

“Fuck…” He shifts, turning back around to face you fully. 

“But I dunno’.... Only good boys get their presents.” 

The words hit him like a ton of bricks. Oz swallows hard and licks his lips. He jerks his head to the side and lets out a breathy laugh, before holding his hands out.  

“Baby, who is dressed like fuckin’ Santa here? I think I’m the one that gets to decide who is naughty or nice, huh?” 

Your fingers toy with the edge of the bra’s bow, teasingly. “Hmm. Well, we all know that I’ve been a good girl this year.” 

“Yeah,” he says, limping over to you. His hands ghost over your nearly bare hips. “Yeah, you fuckin’ have.” 

You look down at his hands, then shoot your gaze back up to his brown eyes. Languidly, you grab his hand, bringing it to your lips to graze your teeth over the pads. Oz shifts his shoulder, trying to fend off the oncoming erection, no doubt. Something about pitching a tent in a Santa suit feels immoral, but you clearly ain’t on his side on this one. 

 “Don’t I get to sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what I want? Huh?” 

You drop your hands, pulling his with them and tugging him towards the velvet sofa. It faces the windows and the tree, which is an incredibly picturesque and romantic background to fuck to, you think. You yank a little harder, though he’s standing stiff, watching you with hesitant eyes. 

“C’mon Ozzy….. C’mooooon.”

Finally, he concedes to your pulling and follows you to the couch, allowing you to guide him to the middle cushion. With a sharp shove, you push him backwards. He hits the couch with a grunt and looks up at you with those big cow eyes of his  – the ones that you can’t resist, no matter what you do. 

He licks his lips again. “What is this, huh?” 

You tap his nose and bend at the waist to stroke his plush-covered thighs. He’s being good; his red trousers aren’t straining yet. You frown playfully, making sure he sees your pitiful little pout. “Where’s your Christmas spirit, hmm?” 

Your hands continue their trailing up to his groin, and one hand palms his cock outside of his pants. Oz shifts his hips backwards at the sudden contact, and he hisses through his teeth.

“Movin’ your way down the list, sweetheart.” 

“Me?” You gasp. It’s a gentle, girlish sound and you feign shock. Your hand grips his cock a little tighter. “I’m the best girl in the world. I’d never be on the naughty list.” 

He chuckles low and looks down at himself. He feels the telltale heat rushing down between his legs, and it won’t be long before the fabric fights against his hardening length. “I dunno’...”

Your hand abandons its post and moves up to his wide stomach, where you quickly unbuckle the large black belt, sliding it through the loops. You throw it around his neck and pull him forward until his nose bumps into your cheek, and his lips meet yours. You kiss him long and hard, tasting him and whatever alcohol was leftover from the event. 

All at once, Oz lets out a deep groan, and reaches up to pull you into his lap. “C’mon, sweetheart. Sit on Santa’s lap, then.” 

You titter happily, and replace the belt with your arms. One knee at a time, you straddle him and lower yourself down. He doesn’t bother putting on a Santa-esque accent when he asks you what you want for Christmas this year, but does throw in a teasing ‘little girl’. 

You hum and raise your eyes to the tall ceilings, thinking. “Well let’s see… should I play Santa Baby for you? Been an awful good girl…” 

“Why don’t you tell me what you really want?” 

Your gaze falls heavy to his, and you smirk, leaning forward. You position your lips next to his ear and whisper a string of festively phrased, lewd desires that make his lips quirk up in a pleased smirk. 

“Stuff your stocking, huh?” he repeats. 

You nod and as if to punctuate your sentence, you grind your hips against his lap and take note of the stiffness that’s there now. A pleased smirk contorts your lips as you look below your bodies. Amidst all the red fabric, there’s a distinct outline, the fabric tenting as his cock swells from all of your teasing. 

You push yourself up on your knees. As you grip the sides of your panties, you lean forward to tug them over the curve of your ass. The position puts your bow-clad cleavage in Oz’s face and he snags the opportunity to kiss the tops of your breasts. “Mm-mm…” 

You pull them down your thighs, until they rest in the crook of your knees. Oz wastes no time in bringing one of his hands up to her. His fingers stroke her delicately, admiring every inch of her, watching as your hips buck and jerk when he nears the already slick slit. 

“This all for me?” 

“Baby, it’s always all for you. ‘Cause you’re always so good, aren’t you, Ozzy?”  

Between your legs, you feel his hips rise instinctively. He’s hard now, and the tip of his middle finger glides between your folds. You whimper and grip his broad shoulder tight, digging your perfectly manicured nails into the fabric. 

As an afterthought, you bring both hands down to his chest. Fluidly, you slip both hands underneath the jacket, and push it over his shoulders, revealing the white shirt underneath. He’s got his suspenders on, which you immediately tug on. You find them incredibly sexy, something that while he never understood, he appreciates. 

His finger plunges into your warm, wet cunt and sets there a moment, just feeling her.You clench around him, and he pulls out, replacing it with two. The girth of his two fingers is always so satisfying, filling you as he pumps in and out. 

His tongue juts out, mere centimeters from your center. He’s not close enough to taste her, but god he wants to. You can tell; the way he licks his lips repeatedly, his eyes locked on his fingers as they slip repeatedly from your slick cunt. She clenches around his thick digits while you moan above him, resting your cheek on the side of his head.

Finally, after a few more pumps, he withdraws his fingers and you immediately reel back, disappointed. He brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs around them. 

The visual has you leaking and clenching around nothing. You long for the filled feeling again, and wiggle your hips to remind him. You reach behind your back, and unclip the bra, letting your tits fall free. “Ozzy, don’t stop…” 

Without another word, Oz lifts you up with both hands, and sets you down on the sofa next to him. Using the arm of the chair, he pushes himself up and turns to face you. Slipping your hands over the silky velvet, you flip over and push your ass up into the air. He makes a fist around your panties and tugs them down over your ankles. He flings them towards the tree, and you can’t help but let out a little chuckle when they catch on a branch, hanging there as one of the most lewd decorations you’ve ever seen. 

Oz pulls your attention back, taking a fistful of your exposed ass. “This pussy is the best fuckin’ present, sweetheart. There ain’t nothin’ I want more than this….” 

You let out a humiliating whine as he toys with her from behind, his fingers sweeping over your entrance. His thumb catches the side of her, and he pulls her apart, exposing the slick, glistening flesh. 

“Shit, baby… fuckin’ soakin’ wet.” 

He pulls the suspenders off his shoulders, and kicks the trousers down. It’s a bit of struggle to get his briefs down, but he finally does it, and grunts, shuffling closer to you and hoisting his good leg up onto the sofa behind you. 

Taking himself in one hand while still holding you open with the other, Oz slips his fat tip inside. It’s enough to make you whimper, desperately, but you know the moans will come as soon as he plunges himself inside. Though Oz loves every position, he particularly likes taking you from behind. He loves watching as he disappears into you, your dripping cunt swallowing him whole with every thrust. 

“Fuck me, Ozzy… fuck me, please, baby…” 

“Heh, don’t gotta’ ask me twice.” he replies, before pushing himself a little further in. His thick cock stretches you wide and you arch your back up, unable to contain the moans that tumble from your mouth. 

“That’s it… mhm…. Just like that - fuck!” 

Your hips meet him halfway, and Oz sinks himself all the way in, fucking into you hard with an immediate rhythm. Your stomach tightens with the waves of pleasure, your hands gripping the side of the sofa hard. 

“Oh my god, oh my g— You’re… you’re so fuckin’ good, Oz. You’re so fuckin’ good, oh my god. N-nobody’s better than you, baby…” 

Though Oz usually fucks you speechless, you’ve gotten in the habit of verbally praising him. If you don’t, he’ll ask for it anyway. It’s something that deeply arouses him, and makes him fuck you all the harder. Which he does. He groans and ruts his hips against your ass, filling the room with the slapping of your bodies as they collide. Silently, you’re glad for the music, which disguises some of the erotic sounds. 

“How’s that dick feel, huh? Tell me it’s good.”

You nod, your mouth dry from breathing so hard. “It’s so good. Big, thick cock feels s-so….” Your sentence is shattered by a string of high-pitched moans, but you quickly regain composure and finish it off. “...good!”

He continues humping your ass, driving himself as far in as he can. The head of his cock repeatedly hits the deepest part of your core, and your eyes roll back in your head. You only need a few more moments of his relentless bullying before your cunt flutters around him, glazing him in warm slick. The dizzying high of the orgasm wraps its hands around your head, forcing it to fall heavy onto the sofa.

The sensation sends Oz over the edge – and he’s genuinely surprised he’s lasted this long. He tenses, his hips lose their rhythm as he shudders over you, bucking and stammering words of pleasure. His release coats his cock as he pulls out of you. 

“God damn,” he pants.

You nod, smushing your face against the cushion. “Yeah. You really…” you swallow. “ Decked my halls.” 

Oz wants to tell you to knock it off, but all he can do is laugh. As he pulls himself from you, his gaze falls to an oblong present under the tree. It’s a necklace; diamonds, with a purple garnet and an amethyst dangling in the middle. Once he showers, he decides he’s gonna give it to you. 

“I’ll be back, doll. Don’t get dressed. I wanna see this present on ya’. Stay just like that.”

 So, you do. 

His cock was enough of a present, but you aren’t about to complain to a man like him. 

[ladylaviniya]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧 — 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐡é 𝐛𝐮𝐭- 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐛𝐛 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐭, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬?

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤!𝐎𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐛𝐛 𝐗 𝐅!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭, 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐄𝐚𝐭, 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭-𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝟏 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧, 𝐎𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭, 𝐀𝐠𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐩 (𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐞!!), 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐃𝐮𝐛𝐂𝐨𝐧, 𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐆𝐮𝐧 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐂𝐨𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐂𝐨𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 *𝐍𝐨 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫*

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟔𝐤+

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: 𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥.

𝐈𝐧𝐬����𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: “𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝” 𝐛𝐲 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎

𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐲 @dollywons

𝐆𝐢𝐟 𝐛𝐲 @nat111love

Mr Oswald Cobblepot wasn’t such a bad guy, at least that’s what you were told. He was the man who put the lights back on and supported the community with money and shelter because let me tell you, insurance ain’t no cheap fee in Gotham. 

He was often called The Penguin, which if somebody asked you, you’d find both cute but perhaps demeaning- yet Oswald wore the title like a badge of honour. Every waddling step he took with his solid black cane was made with pride, his chin held high and his chest puffed up.

He wasn’t a white trash bum, no, he was a boss, he was a businessman, he was a King with keys to the city of Gotham. 

He took down the Maronis, he took down the Falcones and sure enough he took down every greasy, greedy, lowlife slime ball who came around his turf trying to take what was his- what the people had given him. Respect. 

You see, what made this man so beloved wasn’t for the rumours of his ruthlessly cruel behaviour, it wasn’t for his money he graciously loaned to those in need- no, it was actually his kind and generous behaviour. He was a community man. He cared.

If you had a bill to pay, he paid it. If you’re out of cash and your kids are hungry, he’d bring you a box of food to last a month. If you were scared of some punks trying to vandalised your shop, boy-o did The Penguin handle it. He was even a little chummy with the police, often seen sharing a doughnut and coffee outside a cafe. And there weren’t no one filling the tithes basket like Oswald Cobblepot every Sunday Mass. 

He made sure the priest was happy, cops were happy and people were happy.

Everyone knew about the Iceberg Lounge, his most popular club, but since renovations, it got to be a little classier. It was the place to be of you wanted to listen to the finest swing and jazz. And you had heard strangers on the street gossip about how it sold the best rump steak. Steak? In this economy? 

He even knew your name. Your dad was a handyman, a plumber, locksmith, electrical guy, whatever really. Your dad was a hard worker and often was paid to do jobs for The Penguin. 

So yea, he knew your dad and came to know your name. It wasn’t a surprise when he would wink at you passing down the street with your book bag, sometimes you’d be seen running to catch the last bus of the day.

❆❆❆

The club felt quieter than usual, that’s how the Penguin knew it was daytime without checking his rolex; the usual staff were busy cleaning up shakers and glasses from the previous night’s shenanigans. As the bartenders busied themselves cleaning and tidying up in his wake, Oswald received a call from his trusted right-hand man, Iggy. It seemed that someone had racked up a hefty debt to him, a debt large enough to warrant Oswald’s immediate attention.

Oswald waddled out of the exclusive Iceberg Club with an air of confidence, his doors were lined by his awaiting men admiring his gleaming plum Maserati Quattroporte. He told them where to go. Who to shake down. 

The thugs headed off to do Oswald’s bidding, but before he followed, he took a moment to reflect on the task at hand. 

$100,000 he had loaned...and only $20,000 had come back to him. Normally he didn’t cover gambling debts too high risk in business, but hey he thought he could trust this man. He thought he could trust this working father, just trying to raise his kid, get her a good life. 

Oswald should’ve killed him and he would’ve done too if it weren’t for you. Sweet little princess that you were made him unbelievably charitable. Sadly a debts and debt and he couldn’t let the loss never be paid off. 

It was time to go chop some fingers, ears, mouths and noses. Deliver some punches and encourage a bit of violence.

He slid into the plush leather seat of his Maserati, his callous fingers wrapped around the steering wheel. He pulled out into the street, the purr of the car’s engine giving him a moment of peace to contemplate the road ahead. 

He came to a halt at the end of the road where his club was tucked away. On impulse, he turned his head to take a look at the young woman sitting at the bus stop. 

The sun hung high above the surrounding buildings, casting an orange glow across the cityscape. The evening air held the promise of a hot, sultry night.

The bus stop was a small, metal shelter, its exterior painted a faded red, and the paint chipping in several places. The roof was pitted and rusted, the windows were grime-covered, and the floor was littered with cigarette butts. There was a small bench inside the shelter. 

As his gaze took in the smooth curves of the womans legs, a rare moment of appreciation flickered on his face. Some black kitten heels were on those feet. White stockings. Oswald couldn’t believe it, what type of broad wore stockings on a stifling hot day like this?

His eyes widened in surprise as he recognized it was in fact you sitting there at the bus stop. He quickly rolled down the window and rested his elbow on the sill. A sly smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he regarded you.

“’That you, sweetheart?” he questioned, leaning further out of his car window.

You looked up with a totally surprised look on your face, your eyes meeting his. Your eyes widened as you recognized the car before the voice inside of it. The sight of you all alone at the bus stop made his blood heat up, and he bit his lip hard. There you were, looking so sweet with your book bag and a novel in your hands. Anyone could do anything to you, including him.

 “Hi Mister Cobb!” you chirped in greeting. 

He smiled.

He couldn’t help but consider how wicked he was to even entertain the idea of hurting someone as innocent and guileless as you. He was ashamed to be so perverted. What were you? Seventeen? Eighteen? Barely legal. Jail bait material.

He took a quick glance in his rear-view mirror, taking in the surroundings. It was daytime, and most people were likely hunkered down at their office jobs. But come the evening, the streets would be crawling with people eagerly queuing to gain entry to his club. For now, the coast was clear – no one was coming up behind him anytime soon.

He adjusted his dark ray bans and looked at you again, his hidden gaze lingered on your legs once more.

He asked, “Watcha doing out here, sweetheart?” he couldn’t believe he was seeing you of all people near his club, after all, didn’t you know this wasn’t a nice area? All types of bad people crawled these parts of town, he was included that crowd. The lenses of his shades masked the hunger and dark desire in his eyes looking over your legs and wide eyes.

You rotated your body towards him, but remained in your seated position. You pursed your lips, wasn’t it obvious? You glanced at the yellow station sign.

“I’m waiting for the bus, Mister Cobb,” you replied, crossing a knee over your thigh. Fuck he swore he saw your underwear under that shapeless skirt of yours. Your knees, Jesus, they deserved a good carpet burn.

He chuckled as he looked down at his rolex. 

“School finished an hour ago, didn’t it?” he questioned, curiosity and maybe being a little condescending. 

You smiled timidly at him, “I’m in college now, Mister Cobb,” you held up the large book bag at your feet. “And there are only two buses since the floods,” you added. 

Oswald’s gaze dropped to the book you were holding, then travelled back to your face. He wondered if you had been sitting there all day, waiting for the bus home. He took a few moments to study you further, admiring your youthful lips, imagining them around the tip of his cock for a moment.

‘C’mon baby doll, another load for daddy.’

Oswald couldn’t help but let out a small smirk as he heard those words. “College girl, huh?” He jerked a thumb towards the passenger side of his Maserati. “Well, c’mon, get in,” he ordered, “I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Oh, no, you really don’t have to do that,” you protested politely, but you began rising slowly, your fingers toying with the strap of your book bag. It would be wildly inappropriate to accept a ride from him. He was the Penguin.

He let out a sharp snicker, shaking his head in disbelief at her sweet rejection, “C’mon, sweetheart,” he coaxed, “Tell me, when does the next bus arrive?”  his rings flashed in the sweltering sunlight.

He watched you pull out a phone and check the time. If your dad was thousands in debt to him, he would’ve bought you a nice watch for Christmas. The cogs behind your eyes worked before you shared the time.

“About an hour,” you confessed.

The Penguin let out an exasperated sigh, “Yeah, you don’t wanna be sittin’ out in this heat for another hour, do ya?” he said, waving at the baking bus stop.  “It’s hotter than hell out there. Come on, hop on in hun, I’ve got the AC cranked up. You can sit up front with me. I’ll drop you off at home.”

You chewed on your lower lip nervously, clearly you were weiging your options. He grinned when you finally rose from the bench, sliding your book into your bag. You made your way around the car and opened the passenger door. 

He cranked the AC as high as it would go.

Once you slid into the leather seat, his gaze dropped down to the supple flesh of your thighs, his throat going dry in response. His throat bobbed, his hand clenched the stirring wheel. God help him if he got an erection. Not that it would bother him too much, but he needed to focus on the road and not on the vision of you fingering yourself on the passenger driver seat.

“Seatbelt kiddo, safety first.”

You smiled at him as you clicked the seatbelt buckle into place and surveyed the dashboard of his car with a sense of awe. The sun made it sparkle. 

 “Wow,” you murmured, your hand slowly moving forward to gently touch the smooth, supple leather. 

The Penguin let out a small chuckle at your fascination, enjoying the way your eyes lit up as you explored the plush interior of his Maserati. You were just another underprivileged girl, unexposed to the luxury of finer things. He knew your father kept you well away from The Penguins world— or else you would be already dancing in heels and a thong in the 44 below lounge beneath the club.

Maybe you could dance for daddy still. Maybe some private dances. Oh how cute you’d be in a white babydoll and some high heels that you would wobble in every step.

The Penguin’s voice broke your admiring reverie, and you looked up at him. “Now let’s get you home, yea?” he said.

Your hands folded on your lap delicately. You were a little lady, a real sweetheart, a princess. Nah, he wouldn’t make you dance.

He knew that the drive to your place would take only about twenty minutes, but he also knew that once you got home, things would go haywire. Taking one final glance at your exposed knees, he pulled back onto the road.

Your wide eyes fluttered slightly as you leaned back into the plush seats. He didn’t miss the chance of watching your knees part lightly. 

“Thank you Mister Cobb for driving me home,” you said with weariness in your soft voice, “It’s been a long day.”

Oswald hummed, “Oh, yea? Why so long?”

You looked down at your hands and fidgeted, nervously picking at your nails as you spoke. “Just anxious about the future, about the exams I’ll might be taking in the future,” you admitted, averting your gaze towards the passing landscape out the window. “I ain’t really in college but it was an orientation day today.”

Your neck and wrists caught his attention, and he couldn’t help but envision how easily he could wrap a hand around your throat. Imagining how easily he could hold both your hands above your head with just one of his own. 

“Nah,” he clicked his tongue, a smirk forming on his lips. “You ain’t got nothing to worry about, sweetheart,” He paused, “You’re a smart girl. You’ll make it.”

Your cheerful smile was greeted with a sly smirk from him. He noticed how well you responded to the praise. God he wish he could pull over down an alley street and turn you into his slut. 

“I’m starting college, If not in the spring, then I’ll start in the fall after summer break. In September.”

He responded with a simple, “Hey, that sounds alright, I didn’t go to college but I bet you’ll knock ‘em right outta the park.” before flicking on the blinker and merging onto the highway. His grip tightened around the gear stick as he skillfully switched gears, causing the car to accelerate at a rapid pace. “Why ugh, why the fall?” 

You cleared your throat, “Oh um-”

Oswald’s gaze shifted briefly in your direction as you spoke. 

You fidgeted nervously, gnawing gently on your lower lip, and explained, “I’ve almost gathered all the money I need. For a full-time enrolment, I still need a consigner, dad’s not willing— but I’m close to having enough saved up to cover a part-time year’s tuition. I can start work at The Corner Diner to make up the difference.”

Oswald’s eyes softened, warmth crept into his smile. He took in your fierce ambition, your unwavering determination to study and better yourself. He noted the spark in your eye, the fierce hunger to rise above and lift yourself out of this hell hole in downtown Gotham and create a new life for yourself.

“I believe you’re gonna go far sweetheart,” he said strongly, “You just gotta put your mind to it, know what you want and know what you’re willing to do and sacrifice to get there.”

In response, a shy smile curled on the corners of your lips as you gazed down at your hands, embarrassment tinged with pride.

Oswald’s gaze flickered over in your direction, memories flooding his mind unbidden. He envisioned the wide-eyed young girl who had once perched on a tall bar stool, sipping a milkshake through a straw, your chubby cheeks puffed up with curiosity and naivety while you asked where your dad had gone. Your dad had business with Carmine Falcone and had no choice but to take you to the Iceberg Lounge with him. You were what? Fourteen back then? He couldn’t remember if you had braces or not. But you’d complimented Oswald for the rosary he wore around his neck.

You still had that innocent look about you, except...a full figure, maybe a little taller, less acne. 

Oswald’s attention lingered on your legs for a brief moment before he returned his gaze to the road, downshifting and swiftly maneuvered the car behind a slower vehicle in the middle lane. He shifted two lanes to the left and gunned the engine, abruptly switching back into the fast lane. Glancing at the dashboard, he kept a watchful eye on the speed gauge, ensuring the speed remained below the legal limit of 90mph.

As the car barrelled down the road, he ventured a conversational question, his tone casual but with a hint of genuine interest. “Whatcha want to study, doll?”

Your cheeks felt unbelievably warm with embarrassment as you hesitantly shared your aspirations with the Penguin. “I’ll be starting with some general education classes, I think, like history, art, maybe writing,” you began, your voice trailing off somewhat. “I hope I do well enough to qualify for a scholarship. It’s my dream to join the journalist program,” you admitted sheepishly.

The Penguin’s lips twitched into a sly smile as he replied, his tone tinged with friendly encouragement. “You’d make a fantastic reporter,” he said. “But you’d best write only good things ‘bout me, ya?”

A soft, nervous giggle escaped your lips, and your hand instinctively travelled to the back of your neck. Your nose wrinkled in a cute, almost bashful fashion as you responded. “Of course,” you said, the words coming out a little more eagerly than you’d meant.

The Penguin took an exit off the highway, signalling with his blinker before turning. He turned to you, his tone both curious and engaging. “What made you choose writin’, doll?”

Your soft lips parted gently as you answered with full sincerely, “I want to write real news, say it how it really is,” you paused. “Sort of like what you do, Mister Cobb.” 

In that moment, you turned your gaze in his direction, and his eyes flicked over to meet yours through the dark tint of his glasses.

The Penguin’s knuckles turned bone-white against the leather of the steering wheel, his mind wandering into dangerous territory again. He mused on how easy it might be to seduce you, how much fun it could be to have you beneath him, moaning his name. You seemed to adore him, and he wondered how you’d react if he placed his hand upon your thigh and told you that you had grown into a bright, gorgeous young lady...how easy it would be to shove you into the backseat and hold you down.

He tried to push those images from his mind. He tried not to dwell. You were out of the question. Not because he had any actual ethical problem with engaging in a sexual relationship with inappropriately young women… but your dad was working for him and most importantly, you truly were an innocent. He reckoned you’d grow up and live a boring life— Marry a highschool sweetheart, raise some kids, join a Parents and Teachers Association group, grow old, bunch of grandkids.

If he tried anything with you, it wouldn’t surprise him if you started squealing bloody murder. 

“I’m impressed, you choose writin’ when you could be a news anchor if you wanted, sweetheart, the prettiest little weather girl of Gotham.” he commented. He turned down a narrow side street, the last vestiges of the setting sun bathing the world around him in twilight. The Penguin kept his sunglasses on, wanting to take one final, lingering look at your legs before you left out of his Maserati totally unmarred. 

“I doubt it,” you replied with a bit of sudden insecurity and self-deprecation. “I’ll be lucky if I’ll be able to even afford the tuition as a journalist let alone a news anchor.”

Oswald wondered if you were trying to ask for money...he would give it to you, but he’d fuck your tight little asshole first before giving out something like tuition money.

The Penguin pulled up in front of the apartment building where you resided with your father. As he parked the car, he was all too aware of the reason why you were pushing yourself so hard, studying until your eyes burned. He knew that you were striving to escape the cycle of struggling to make ends meet month after month. He knew this because, in a twisted twist of fate, he was your landlord, discreetly observing your life from the shadows, silently bearing witness to your efforts.

The Penguin pinned you down with a sly, knowing smile, his hand boldly ventures out and touched your cheek, his thumb rolled over the skin, skating just across your lip before digging into your chin, “You’ll get it, sweetheart,” he hummed, the words rolling off his tongue with blind confidence. 

You felt so small in his palm. The smell of his cologne must’ve been overpowering with how your nostrils flared a little. 

Your gaze rose to meet his, your big eyes fixed upon his face, searching for something, anything, to hold onto. As your lips parted in anticipation, the Penguin revelled in the way your eyes widened, taking in every expression that flickered across your face. It was almost tragic, how easily teenage hormones could control your heart...

The Penguin pushed up his raybans, observing you intently as you stumbled over your words. “Uh... thank you for the ride,” you managed to say, attempting to break away from the intensity of the moment. In your haste, you accidentally fumbled and dropped your book bag. 

The Penguin continued watching, a hint of amusement in his eyes as you knelt down to retrieve your belongings.

The books spilled out onto the floor, creating a small pile amidst the plush carpet of the car. The Penguin’s eyes tracked your movements with a growing smile, watching with a lazy, almost sadistic pleasure as you knelt down, gathering your books, pens, and crumpled receipts. Is this how you’d look on your knees, head bowed, ready to suck his cock? His sweet, innocent, little college girl? 

His smile suddenly froze on his lips as he caught sight of one of the books that had fallen over the cup holder, its cover facing up – the cover of a book on- no, surely not, surely not you. You couldn’t read that, could you? You wouldn’t read that type of thing, fuckin—

Oswald seized the book from your frantic grasp. You tried to reach out for it, but he swiftly jerked his hand away, a cruel smirk cemented on his lips. He relished the brief moment of control, holding the book just out of your reach. But eventually, you managed to grab it from him and shove it into your bookbag, your cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment.

Your voice trembled with anxiety, words tripping over each other in your attempt to explain, “It’s just... it’s...”

But the Penguin cut you off, his voice low and purring as he replied, “I know what it is.”

You looked up at him, your eyes wide and full of trust, just as they had been when you had first visited the Iceberg Lounge club, your lips parted ever so slightly.

It was the adult novel, ‘The Negatives of Shooting People.’ A cheesy pornography book about some journalist girl getting used like a ragdoll by a mafia leader.

Oswald could’ve laughed. Was this the real reason why you wanted to be a Journalist so bad?

“Please...it’s not mine,” you whispered, your voice trembling. Sweat trickled down your neck. “I’m just holding it for a friend...I promise.” Your eyes pleaded, hoping he’d believe your lie. “I don’t usually read that type of thing...” your voice choked, eyes welling up with tears. Shame truly flooded over you. “Please, Mister Cobb,” you implored, “You must believe me... I’m not...I’m not a...”

“A slut?” Oswald said as he let out a low chuckle, finishing your sentence. “Of course not, sweetheart,” his body shifted. 

He locked eyes with you, studying your face. Those big, innocent eyes. Those beautiful, trusting eyes. He pictured you, your sweet lips, just like your eyes, puffy. He imagined the tears flooding down your cheeks staining them with mascara, while his cock was pressing down the back of your throat and your backside marked with angry welts from a thorough belting.

The Penguin’s eyes flickered up to the apartment building, a pang of guilt gnawing at the back of his mind. A part of him wanted to tell you to wait in the car, to keep you away from the horror that potentially awaited you. But he knew it was too late. This was it. You were about to see the real side of him. 

The car drive home would be the last kind thing he’d ever do for you.

"Let me escort you upstairs," he grunted, turning off the ignition. "I’ve got business with your ol’ pops."

❆❆❆

As the Penguin got out of the car, you scrambled to follow, walking a few steps behind him as he waddled towards the buildings steps. You didn’t want to walk in his way, didn’t want to show that disrespect. You moved your book bag to your other arm.

“Please,” you begged him, “Please, Mister Cobb, don’t tell my dad about the book.”

The Penguin cast a sidelong glance at you, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, kid,” he chuckled, “Don’t you worry ‘bout it. You got a key?”

The short walk up to your apartment seemed to take forever. Every step into the building, into the foyer, and towards your apartment door was filled with a prickling tension and an underlying sense of dread. 

As you fumbled with the keys, you could feel the Penguin’s gaze boring into the back of your head, his presence looming over you like a shadow. He was much taller, larger, and more imposing than you in every way, his scarred face making him look deadly, dangerous. But beneath the rough exterior, you knew he had been kind to you, warm and almost comforting. And yet, right now, he seemed like a shark, waiting to pounce and strike.

What surprised you was that your dad had never invited The Penguin over for dinner which you found had been customary in the neighbourhood. It was a bragging rights to invite The Penguin over and have that invitation accepted. 

Hell, even Mrs Occhipinti next door; old lady, cat addict— served The Penguin her famous linguine recipe she brought from the Old Country. 

But your dad? Not a fucking word. Not a damn desire to have his Boss and landlord over for a cup of wine, not a loaf of bread to break, not a cigarette to spare— nothing. 

Which you found incredibly odd. And he never wanted to talk about it either. Everytime you brought up the idea of making gnocchi for the notable man, your dad would tell you to not worry about it and to just keep your nose clean and your head down. 

Your dad made it clear from the day one, he didn’t want you to forever live here in Gotham, not in the Downtown at least. He wanted the best for you. Which is why he made damn well sure your grades were good and you studied hard. 

“You can make friends when you’re an adult, focus on your education.” Was his favourite quote. 

And boy, did you live by it. And it paid off. You were going to get a scholarship, a program that went towards kids that had been traumatised by the terrorist flash flooding incident. You were so excited! You would have the opportunity to go to Gotham University! 

You opened the apartment door and heard a loud humming moan come from inside.

“Dad?” You called out, “Mister Cobb is here for you.”

You jumped as a loud crash echoed from outside, followed by the sharp sound of shattering glass. A shiver coursed through you as the low chuckles of nearby men filled the air, a malevolent sound that sent a chill down your spine. A sense of dread coiled in your stomach, and your skin erupted in a sea of goosebumps. Every instinct within you screamed that something was wrong.

As the Penguin moved up behind you, you felt his stomach brush against your back, his large body pushing you deeper into the apartment. You reasoned with yourself that it was just the television, that maybe your father had dozed off watching a comedy show and tripped, causing something to break. You tried to shake off the unease that clutched at your stomach.

You didn’t have to walk long until you saw the chaos of your home. 

The kitchen cabinets were open, the contents of broken glasses and dishes strewn across the countertops. Curtains had been totally torn from their rods. The living room furniture was all askew, the chairs and sofas overturned, and bookshelf empty of all the contents smashed and scattered across the floor. Picture frames were broken, glass spread out like sharp glitter thrown across the rugs. The whole apartment looked like it had been thoroughly ransacked and violated.

And in the center of it all? Your father on a chair, red stained rag in mouth, tied up with rope. His face was a bruised and bloody mess, his right eye swollen shut from whatever besting he’d endured. Over six different men, all dressed in black, stood around the chaos that was your home. 

“Oh god,” You cried out, “Dad!”

Before you could rush forward to help, two arms snaked around your body, their grip tight and cruel. Oswald jerked you backwards into his chest, the sharp movement forced you to flail and gasp in surprise.

“Woah there, sweetheart!” cackled Oswald. 

Fresh tears stung your eyes, as a lump began to build in your throat. You didn’t understand why Oswald was holding you back from going to your father’s aid. You tried to twist and struggle against his firm grip, your feet thrashing behind you in a desperate attempt to break free.

“Let me go!” you yelled, your voice breaking into a sob. “He’s hurt!”

He ignore how you flailed and scratched at his arms. He lifted you back and off the ground for a moment before throwing you into the arms of three men.

“Let go of me! Let go of m—” a hand clamped hard down over your mouth. 

You fought like a wild animal, kicking and scratching at everyone within reach, unable to tear your eyes away from the horrifying sight of Oswald, who was panting now, a sly smile playing on his lips as he looked from you to your father.

“Fuck me, she’s got some fight in her, boys,” he chuckled, his voice was filled with a purely cold and sinister glee. “Who would’ve thought she could pack such a punch?”

The men around you erupted in a chorus of mocking laughter, their voices made your heart sink. The sound of your father’s tears filled the air, a pitiful sound that echoed the despair you felt. 

You were led to an empty chair, forced to sit down as one of the men’s large hands clamped down on your shoulders, holding you in place. The Penguin paced back and forth across the room, his footsteps heavy and measured, his presence imposing. They didn’t tie you up, but the weight of their hands on your shoulders was enough to keep you from making any sudden moves. Someone behind you grabbed at your hair and pulled your head back. 

“Schools in session kids,” Oswald hummed, glancing your way before glaring at your father, “If the Penguin loans Pops one hundred thousand dollars and Pops only pays twenty thousand dollars back, how much does Pop owe the Penguin?”

Your eyes darted between your father and the Penguin, desperate to make sense of the situation. The amount he mentioned was staggering, and you couldn’t imagine your father ever borrowing that much money. But he remained silent, his moans and whimpers the only sounds that escaped his gagged mouth.

Your stomach lurched, and a whimper escaped your lips as fresh tears streamed down your cheeks. Frantically, you shook your head in denial.

“Pl-” you gulped, your wobbling lip tried again, “Please,” you whispered in a trembling voice, “p-please, Mister Cobb.”

Oswald pulled a gun from a holster inside his jacket, the black metal gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. He checked the bullets with an expert hand before turning back to you, turning the safety off.

“C’mon sweetheart, use that noggin of yours,” Oswald grunted, “How much does he owe me?” 

Your whole body trembled uncontrollably, and you feared you might even soil yourself from sheer terror. With a trembling voice and a sharp intake of breath, you choked out your answer.

“E-eight—” you stuttered, your voice breaking as a hiccup escaped your lips, “Eighty thousand?”

A harsh laugh burst from his lips as he confirmed your answer. “That’s right baby doll, eighty fucking thousand,” Oswald repeated, his voice rising with anger. He rounded on your father, his voice becoming a sharp, booming bark.

“Where the fuck is it!?” he thundered, spitting with rage, “Where’s my goddamn money, huh!?”

Your father's face jerked to the side as Oswald struck him, the force of the blow sending his head jolting to one side. The Penguin turned back to you, his hand on his chest as he continued speaking.

“I'm guessing pops didn't tell you he was borrowing big bucks from the big man, to cover his Gambling debts, huh?” his scared lip curled back showing off his gold tooth, “Here you were tellin’ me 'bout you wantin' to start college and here I was thinkin’ gee what a nice pop, bankrollin' tuition fees. but then you said you couldn't afford it. What a piece of shit father you got here kid.”

There was a sharp and loud click as the safety was pulled back, before the cold tip of the gun barrel pressed against your father’s blood covered temple. Your father began to sob and the front of his trousers grew a large wet patch, the scent of urine filled your nostrils. You felt sick watching the whole thing.

“Where. Is. My. Money!!?” he roared, his eyes were wide and wild.

“Please no! No! God!” You squealed and scratched the hands that were holding you back in your chair. You twisted and wailed, “Mercy! Please!” You coughed, snot dripping down your lips and chin, “Oh fuck! Please god!”

With a burst of energy and adrenaline, you managed to wriggle out of the hands of the gang members, but as you fell to your knees, you grabbed at Oswald’s trousers and shoes, your fingers desperately clawing at the fabric. 

“Don’t kill him!” you pleaded, your voice choked with tears, “Please! I’ll do anything! Please, I’m begging you! Please!” You buried your face into his knee, your wet face soaking into his expensive trousers. 

A heavy hand came to rest on top of your head, patting you gently as you leaned, trembling against his leg and wept. You heard the softest shushing sounds, from the man with the deadly firearm held in his other hand.

"Anything?" he whispered softly with a curious and considerate edge, though the threat in his hand remained ever-present.

Your hands trembled uncontrollably as you looked back up at Oswald, your fingers gripping the fabric of his trousers tightly. Your father’s eyes widened in terror as he desperately shook his head from side to side, his weak struggles against the bindings doing little to loosen them. He protested loudly against the gag in his mouth, whimpering and grunting in fear.

The penguin rolled his eyes, “She’s doing you a solid,’ Oswald barked at your father, “should be grateful.” His gaze snapped back down at your wet blinking orbs, “How are you gonna pay what he owes me?” he looked honestly interested in what you were offering, he smiled even.

Your tongue flicked out to wet your dry bottom lip. “I’ll—I’ll work at the lounge,” you stammered, “I’ll pick up babysitting.” The words came stumbling out of your mouth, your mind racing as you desperately tried to find some way to satisfy the demands of the mobster. “I won’t go to college, just give me time!”  You prayed he would offer some leniency.

The Penguin’s scoff was cold and dismissive. “Your pops has had a year, honey,” he retorted, “You wouldn’t be able to make that much bussing tables and waitressing let alone playing nurse maid.”

His words stung, and you felt a sharp pang of helplessness. He was right. There was no way you could make that much money to pay off your father’s debt.

Your hands clasped together, your shoulders drooped, you felt just how you looked, pathetic and small, “Please, please Mister Cobb.”

As he twirled his gun idly in his hand, the mobster hummed, “You wanna help your pops? You wanna pay off his debt?” he tilted your chin up with the tip of his gun. The safety was still off.

“Yes, hm,” you whimpered, “yes, Mister Cobb.”

He withdrew his pistol, setting it aside, and now cradled your face in his large, warm hand. His voice was gentle as he inquired, “Be honest with me Doll, did you read that book?” 

Your breath hitched in your chest as you realized he was referring to that smutty book, the one that had caused so much upheaval and embarrassment before you’d come inside to this horror.

Your face crumbled as you choked out your answer, a single syllable word. “Yes.” You wouldn’t dare lie to the Penguin. Not now.

The sinister smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth made your stomach churn. His reaction seemed almost gleeful as if he was secretly pleased by your admission. Extending his hand towards you, he quietly encouraged you to take it.

Your legs trembled weakly as you slowly stood He pulled you into his side, and your body was pressed close against his, intimate and too close for comfort.  He groaned happily, “Alright then, give me a kiss.”

You gulped hard as you tried to steel yourself, desperately holding back the well of tears that threatened to spill over again. He wanted a kiss from you, just a simple little kiss, it wasn’t that hard. You pressed your lips to his cheek. You shuddered and then pressed your mouth to the corner of his. He groaned and squeezed at your waist. Your fingers trembled violently as they gripped his lapels, your breath coming in short, shaking gasps.

“Good enough,” he groaned, “Now say goodbye to your Pops. You’re gonna come with me and you can see him once the debts been paid.”

Your father went back to fighting his binds, hollering behind the gag. He pleaded that the penguin would not take you. 

Your mind raced, filled with a library of questions about your impending fate: If you accompanied the Penguin, would you ever get to see your father again? What exactly would you be expected to do to pay off his debt? What could the Penguin possibly want from you? Where would you even stay, how would you survive?

The panic rose in your chest, and your voice trembled as you asked, “How long will that be?”

Oswald pinched your chin and pressed his nose against yours, “Depends on you, doll face,” he drawled, “I reckon a good six months to a year should be enough.”

Your chest felt tight, your heart clenching in sadness, as you whispered, “Oh.” Oswald allowed you to pull away and step over to your father. You gently cradled his bruised and bleeding face in your hands, tears streaming down your own cheeks.

“I lo-love you, dad.” Your voice cracked as you spoke, “Please, I’m sorry.” Your father cried into your palms, his sobs choking out through the gag.

Squeezing your eyes shut, your mind struggled to take in the gravity of what was happening as fear bubbled inside of your stomach. You felt a thick, black bag being dragged over your head, the rough cloth pressing against your face and blocking out what little light had been left in the room.

To be continued...

  𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒:

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬. 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬.

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[strawberryloft]

You've been dating the penguin for a year, and hanging off his arm has been a dream come true. He's the whole package kind, doting, and handsome to boot. Up until recently that is. As the Iceberg Lounge has become more popular you've been left at home more often as Oz works later into the night. Your relationship is starting to strain, but you love that man more than a few lonely nights.

[ladylaviniya]

No but wait cause-

I'm eating this the fuck up because you somehow read my mind!!! All of this is him. ✨Thankyou for writing this omg

⸻ being oz cobb’s sugar baby would include:

The first time he sees you, he’s taken with you.

Hell, he’s a man from the East Side. of course he likes pretty lil’ things. 

That’s not saying he likes only ‘lil’. Curvy women? Sign him the fuck up. Curves & softness & love-handles to hold onto? Goddamn, a man can only get so erect, sweetheart.

He’s watching you from an upper floor while you sit at the bar, sipping at your drink, shyly tucking hair behind your ears, laughing quietly at the way your friend flirts with the men around her.

You don’t know your beauty—your feminine power. But he fuckin’ does.

You sure as hell deserve some male attention of your own. 

So he pulls aside one of his girls.

❝You see that sweetheart right there? The one in the purple sequin dress? Yeah, you get her another of whatever she’s drinkin’. She asks? You tell ‘er it’s from me.❞

You glance around once you’ve been given your drink, searching for your mysterious suitor—sure the young woman must be wrong about it being the Penguin himself.

You’re not sure whether to be flattered or afraid. The powerful man he is…will he expect something in return?

And then your eyes meet his—he stands balconies above where you sit, watching you with a small smile upon his scarred lips.

And he merely gives you a small nod while you shyly raise your glass in a silent thanks.

And then the young woman asks if you’d like to meet him.

You’re sure she’s part of some ploy to get you into his bed, but with a heady amount of alcohol running through your veins, you go against your better judgement…& tell her yes out of simple curiosity.

A few girls are mingling around when you’re taken up, so you stand aside awkwardly until you see movement from the corner of your eye & watch as he steps out of his office, with an unexpected limp to his gait.

You flush, watching him take step after step toward you.

A limp, heavy-set, scarred, well-dressed, older…he’s so handsome.

But you can’t let on that you think that, because you don’t do one-night stands. Don’t do casual flings of any sort.

You’re very much the committed, romantic relationship type. And, well, look at the women he surrounds himself with. He most certainly is not, you’re sure.

❝Would you like to sit, sweetheart?❞ He asks, gesturing to the dark, plush couch situated before a row of polished glass windows that overlook the Iceberg Lounge below.  You nod nervously, smoothing your skirt beneath you before seating yourself—hyper-aware of your every move as you cross your legs at the ankles and delicately rest your hands in your lap.

God, you’re a real sweet young fuckin’ lady is what he thinks of you. What—with those innocent, wide eyes, soft smile, & flushed cheeks, how can he not?

❝You mind?❞ He asks, pointing to the seat next to you.  You shake your head, smiling invitingly. He seats himself heavily next to you and you bite back a grin at the way the cushion dips under his weight. You have no control over the way your cheeks have remained warm since the moment you set eyes on him, however. He rests an arm behind you, and with your head lightly swimming, you have half-a-mind to cuddle into his side—sure that he feels soft, yet firm. Steady. Safe. And then you get a whiff of his cologne. You don’t know the scent by-heart, or anything, but it’s intoxicating.  You want to bury your face in his chest, you think, admiring the dark hairs that peek out from the top of his shirt where it’s slightly unbuttoned, wanting to run your fingers through them. ❝So,❞ he says, leaning back. ❝You been here before?❞ God, his accent… It causes a pleasant feeling of warmth to bloom between your thighs. You want him to shove his large hand between them and ease his fingers inside of you—rings and all. Your eyes flit to his and you shake your head.  ❝First time,❞ he says, nodding. ❝You come with a date?❞ You giggle from the alcohol, shaking your head, and he grins at the beautiful fuckin’ sound. ❝You like it, then, doll?❞ He asks, glancing to the glittering, thumping club below, then back to you.  You shrug slightly, leaning back. ❝It’s very…noisy. Busy.❞ He smirks. ❝Yeah, you’ll have that at the biggest nightclub in town, huh?❞ ❝It’s the first one I’ve been to. My friend wanted me to come. She said I have to come out of my shell.❞ You lean your head against the soft cushion, pulling your legs onto the sofa while you turn toward him, tossing your heels onto the floor. Makin’ yourself comfortable? He likes that. ❝You shy, baby?❞ He asks, wanting to desperately to reach out and fuckin’ touch you—to run his fingers through your soft, curled hair, or along your young, supple body.  But he knows the minute he makes a move, you’ll do like all the rest and scram—disgusted and scared. He can look—but even then, only in measured glances—but never touch. Not unless he’s payin’ for it. And you ain’t no prostitute. You nod quietly, smiling slightly, as if you’re sharing a private joke with yourself. Maybe he’s the punchline, he thinks. Wouldn’t be the first time. ❝Somethin’ funny, sweetheart?❞ You grin, glancing down and you giggle quietly. ❝You’re very handsome.❞ He’s immediately dumbstruck. Did you just call him fuckin’ handsome? Ain’t no broad ever called him that ‘cept his ma. Never. He raises a brow. ❝Had a bit much to drink, then.❞ You shrug slightly. ❝Not so much to have beer goggles, if that’s what you mean. I just get giggly is all. And it makes conversation easier.❞

He stays silent for a moment, watching as your eyes trail along his body, and he fights against shifting nervously under your…it ain’t a lustful gaze, is it? Maybe ya ain’t all there. Done some time in Arkham, for all he knows. God, he’s fuckin’ pathetic. To think the only way a woman could ever want him is if she’s batshit. ❝I like heavy-set men,❞ you state quietly. ❝And I don’t mind older. They…they know what they want, at least. How to treat women, I think. Well, some of them. A lot of men are the same…❞ He rests his head against his fist. ❝Sounds like y’know from experience.❞ You shake your head. ❝I just know young men aren’t what I want. Things aren’t like they used to be.❞ Your eyes meet his.   ❝I’m a romantic,❞ you say with a soft smile. ❝And men my age only want—❞ He chuckles, cutting you short. ❝If you’re gonna say sex, doll, ‘fraid to tell ya they’re all after that.❞ You waver for a moment. ❝Are you?❞ He immediately clocks the tinge of doubt to your voice; knows you’re probably worried that that’s why he bought you a drink and invited you up here. ❝Nah,❞ he says with a shake of his head. ❝Just wanted to have a conversation with a pretty girl.❞ You smile broadly at that and his heart fuckin’ skips a beat when you do. Already you’re doin’ a goddamn number on ‘im. ❝You think I’m pretty?❞ You whisper, glancing around to the tall, slender women around—who look like they just walked off the pages of a magazine—then back to him. ❝Got eyes, don’t I?❞ He asks, gesturing with his hand. You tug nervously at the hem of your dress, trying to conceal as much of your legs as you can, lest he look too close and see you’re not nearly as attractive as what this dim lighting must make you instead seem.  ❝Don’t do that,❞ he says, reaching out, taking your hand in his, and you quickly look at him.  ❝You’re fuckin’ perfect, baby. Every inch. Caught my attention from all the way up here. And my eyes ain’t what they used to be, but I couldn’t take ‘em off of ya.❞ He leans in slightly toward you, sliding a hand up your thigh. ❝Any man who doesn’t treat you like the goddess you are ain’t worth a second of your time. Ya understand?❞ You nod, nervously biting your lower lip, and he nearly groans at the sight. And then he lets you go and you fill with disappointment.  ❝So, you ain’t got a man is what I’m hearin’. Find that hard to believe. They must chase you down the street, I’d say, if I didn’t know any better.❞ You shake your head, running your fingertips through the sequins on your dress. ❝I stopped trying a long time ago.❞ His scarred mouth tugs into a frown. 

Somethin’ young & sweet & beautiful like you given’ up on love already? You’re breakin’ his fuckin’ heart.

❝Can’t tell me you don’t ever get lonely,❞ he states. You pull at a loose sequin. ❝I always am. But I don’t see anyone coming along to change that anytime soon.❞ You shrug, fighting back the tears that sting your eyes, not wanting to sour the evening.  That makes two of you, then, he thinks.  He glances around—only a couple girls still left upstairs then, talking amongst themselves—then back to you. He can’t believe he’s about to fuckin’ say this—offer it—and he can’t even blame it on bein’ drunk. He’s only had one martini tonight. But you all on your own—just your voice and the look of you and the brief touches he’s already been granted have already intoxicated him in another way. ❝What if you was wrong?❞ He asks, his voice quiet and evenly leveled. You glance to him with furrowed brows. ❝Hm?❞ He shrugs slightly, reaching up and smoothing the hair at the back of his head. ❝You ain’t the only one who’s lonely, doll. Maybe we, uh, come to an arrangement?❞ Your stomach drops and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on-end. You should’ve never come up here. Should’ve never accepted that drink. ❝I… I appreciate the offer, but—❞ He raises both of his hands, palms facing toward you. ❝Just let me finish, hon.❞ You grow silent again. ❝I’m not askin’ you to go down on me, or nothin’. I ain’t that kinda gent. Just…❞ He sighs. ❝I know we only just met. And I’m just suggestin’ a trial run for the time bein’ ‘til we’re both sure we know what the hell we want and what we’re doin’.❞ He takes your hand in his once more. ❝I got more dough than I know what to do with most days. And livin’ in Gotham ain’t always cheap. Who knows, maybe you come from money. Either way, we keep each other company. Just…spend time together. Let me take you to dinner a couple of times, and we talk—keep gettin’ to know one another. That sort of thing.❞ You glance down to where your hand rests in his and he continues.  ❝If you decide you’re not interested—that it ain't what you’re lookin’ for—we part ways on good terms. No hard feelings. But maybe you like what you see—like what I got to offer—and we see where things go.❞ He rests his hand back in his lap then, in disbelief at himself. Is he that fuckin’ desperate for female companionship that he’s willing to offer himself up to some girl he’s only just met to be her personal piggy bank? But he knows that’ll only ever be his real value to a woman. What else does he have to give one? ❝Are…you suggesting you be my…❞ You waver for a moment before saying it, your eyes staring to his own of warm brown. ❝Sugar daddy?❞ He grins slightly, chuckling. ❝I guess so.❞ You chew your lip nervously for a moment, unsure how to respond. You're supposed to say no. That's what decent good girls do when propositioned like this. But like he said, the two of you can start things out with a trial run. And you're feeling more bold than usual with being somewhat under the influence. And he seems nice. Well, nice enough so far, that is. ❝Okay,❞ you say with a smile. He returns it. ❝Might want to start out by tellin' me your name, doll.❞ ❝Y/N,❞ you say shyly, scooting the least bit more toward him in interest. He chuckles, pulling out his cellphone. ❝Thinkin' maybe we should exchange numbers.❞

Oz sends you home in a cab that he paid for.

And come the morning, you’ve got a slight hangover, along with a text from your new benefactor.

It doesn’t take long for you & Oz to begin getting along with utter ease, simply via text alone. 

He’s very easy to talk to; kind, easygoing, sweet.  

And then the day finally comes where he invites you to dinner. 

And, while nervous, you agree to go.

He of course, the gentleman he is, asks if he can be the one to pick you up, & you consent.

When he pulls up outside your apartment, he shoots you a text & you come right down.

And god, if you ain’t fuckin’ beautiful.

Oz stands at the passenger side of the car, holding the door open for you, utterly fuckin’ speechless at the sight of you. From your curls, to your glossy smile, to that sweet little dress you got on. How lucky a man is he that you’re the woman he gets to have on his arm tonight? You shyly step over to him and smile, then laugh quietly—nervously. You can’t believe you’re going on a dinner date with one of the most notorious mobsters in Gotham. Even in your most ridiculous daydreams you never could’ve plotted such a story. Oz rests a hand on your hip and presses a soft kiss to your cheek and you flush at the gesture.  ❝You look beautiful, doll. Absolutely breathtakin’,❞ he says, tucking a curl behind your ear. You slip your fingers down his black satin tie. ❝Thank you.❞ Your eyes flit to his. ❝You look very handsome. But we don’t… You didn’t have to make reservations at some fancy restaurant. Burgers and fries are perfectly fine with me.❞ He grins at that. ❝Gotta make a good impression on our first date, don’t I?❞ You climb into his car then.

Dinner goes really well.

The two of you laugh & eat & you quickly come to learn that Oz's drink of choice are martinis.

He orders a ridiculously expensive bottle of red wine & you down a glass, but pace yourself after, not wanting to seem a lush.

And you let him order for you, in regards to your dinner, & he gets you an extravagant lobster & pasta.

He orders for himself a steak.

You like how he cleans his plate.

And by the end of the evening, you decide that you’re his. 

You like spending time with him.

He’s not as intimidating as you’d imagined he’d be. 

Or maybe it’s just because it’s you that he’s complimentary & kind & gentle.

Either way, you really like the way he treats you, & touches you, & looks at & speaks to you...

And it honestly kind of turns you on the way some people look at him in fear, or avert their eyes when they speak to him in timid tones.

It makes him seem so…powerful.

❝You really mean that, sweetheart?❞ You smile widely, nodding. ❝Even if all we do is talk, I’m happy. It’s nice…having your attentions.❞ You take his hand in yours, sliding your thumb along the cool metal of his ring. He cups your cheek in his hand then. ❝You don’t know what the fuck you’re doin’ to me, baby.❞

You quickly manage to wrap Oz tightly around your finger without so much as trying.

You go to visit him at the loft on days off from work, simply so you don’t have to sit around lonely all day.

He tells you to make yourself at home—that what’s his is yours.

He likes to ‘joke’ about movin’ you in with him, lettin’ him take care of you—makin’ you a kept woman.

In truth, you don’t mind the sound of that, but you can’t just up & change your life that drastically.

What if things go sideways & you’re out of a job & left hurting for money.

And then Oz starts giving you an allowance—begins to regularly wire money to you every week.

More than you’d have ever expected.

More than you make at your job in a month.

❝Just want to make sure you’re taken care of ‘s all.❞ ❝I don’t… Oz, I don’t care about the money. I’m just happy not to be lonely anymore.❞ He presses his lips to yours. ❝I know. It’s what makes you all the more deservin’ of it.❞

You begin to occasionally spend the night. 

Your long days together sometimes tend to run over into the evening, because you’re reluctant to leave you’re having such a good time.

And then the later it gets, the more tired you are. And, well, he has no issue with sharin’ his bed with you.

Likes it when you use his shower.

Likes it even more on the nights when you use his soaps instead of the expensive designer ones he purchased for you. Likes it when you smell like him.

And then, when you pad into his bedroom & drop your towel & slip on one of his shirts to sleep in... Fuck, do you want to give this old man a heart attack?

The two of you haven’t been intimate yet, & he’s not holdin’ his breath on that, but just havin’ you sleepin’ next to him? It’s enough to give him a hard-on.

Especially when you cuddle into his side & rest your hand atop his broad chest & the two of you talk quietly in the dark about everything & nothing.

Like you’ve been doin’ it for years.

And when he wakes up in the morning to you cookin’ him breakfast? Swayin’ your hips in his kitchen to music while you fix him pancakes, or bacon & eggs?

He can imagine havin’ his days start like this every day.

So he gives you a key to the place & tells you to come & go as you please. 

Hell, you’re already there more than you are at your own place now. Might as well start callin’ it your second home.

And while you can be a homebody, he still likes to take you out shopping when he gets a break from business.

❝Ozzy, I don’t… This necklace is five hundred dollars. It’s just a piece of jewelry. Do you know what I could get for this same amount at a thrift shop, or—❞ ❝It’s chump change for me, sweetheart. You know how I love spoilin’ you. So let me. C’mon, let’s take it up. Unless you wanna keep browsin’?❞ You shake your head, not even wanting to have him buy this. And while it’s done with his money, he always likes watching you be the one to pay with his black card.

You quickly come to learn why when the two of you get back in his car & you glance between his legs & see his erection.

Your eyes flit to his & instead of shying away from it, he shrugs.

❝You see what you do to me?❞ He turns the Maserati over. ❝Guess you finally get why I like blowin' money on you now, doll.❞ You flush, biting your lower lip while you slip your necklace on, leaning your head back against the seat while you give him a sultry look. ❝Can I show you how grateful I am back at the loft?❞ He raises a brow in utter fuckin’ shock. ❝Baby, you don’t gotta—❞ You run your hand over his erection, feeling a pleasant pulse settling firmly between your slick thighs. ❝I want to,❞ you whisper. And then you do something most unexpected. You reach under your dress and slip off your soaked panties, and reach over, stuffing them in his pocket. ❝Now you see what you do to me, too,❞ you say, brushing a kiss over his lips.

He stands there silently as you unbutton his shirt with slightly shaking hands.

He tries to talk you out of it more than once, until you finally tell him something to calm him.

❝I’m insecure, too. I…I can find something wrong with myself literally from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. Why do you think I like to wear such…conservative clothing? Why I don’t like to show much skin? I hate…my body.❞ Tears sting your eyes and you drop your hands, slowly changing your mind. But for his sake. To not have to see what lies under your clothes. Not the stretch marks or cellulite or your pudgy thighs or stomach, or— He takes your face between his hands, brushing his thumb over your lips. ❝There ain’t nothin’ you could show me that could drive me away, angel. I want what I want, doll. And what I want is you.❞ He slides his hands down your waist. ❝All of you.❞

You blush madly once he’d undressed.

But he insists on keeping on the sock on his right foot. That it’s not something he’s ready for yet. He needs you to be patient with that.

So you are. Thankful he’s willing to even try.

You climb into his lap, & run your hands down his large chest before wrapping your arms around his neck, sinking down the length of him, rocking your hips against his own. 

And Oz fucking worships your body.

Your calves, & your thighs that you think are too big—have too many stretch marks.

He tells you he’ll get to it once he looks over every inch of you, but he fully intends to shove his face between ‘em to taste you.

He kisses your stomach & grips your round, squishy hips in his hands, squeezing tightly. 

He tells you they’re fuckin’ perfect for holdin’ onto.

He grabs your ass, smacking it gently, liking how it spills out of his palms.

And your breasts? 

Christ have mercy.

They’re fuckin’ perfect no matter what size—what your nipples look like. Whether they’re perky, or they sag. They’re breasts. That’s all he needs to know.

What any man does, really.

He just incessantly praises you. He tells you how beautiful you are. How unbelievably fuckin' perfect.

More than he deserves. Thought he'd ever have.

Your heart is near to bursting when you repay the sentiments.

Relay to him how his heavy weight makes you feel so safe & secure.

How sexy you think his limp is.

And his scars—good lord you just want to run your tongue over them.

His voice, though? It's all that's needed to make you wet.

When you come on his cock & in his arms, he holds you close while you cry softly from happiness.

He follows along right after.

He already knew you were a keeper before, but now that he gets to have you in bed? I mean really have you?

Forget about it.

He buys you a fucking car.

When you come over, it's always to gifts waiting for you—clothes, jewelry, shoes, purses.

He doesn't listen a bit when you insist it's all too much.

He feels like it's not near enough.

Not for the gift you're given 'im.

❝I wanna make sure you're looked after, baby. Have everythin' you want. I wanna spoil you fuckin' rotten. Gets me so hard seein' you wearin' the things I picked out for you.❞ You crawl into his lap, pressing your body and lips to his own. ❝I love you.❞ His heart actually skips. ❝Hon—❞ ❝I do, Ozzy.❞ You run your fingers through his thinning hair. ❝I really do.❞ His eyes flit between your own before a satisfied grin spreads across his lips while he slides a hand up your thigh and beneath his button-up that you have on which dwarfs you. ❝I love you too, baby. Every part of me.❞

Oz takes you to meet his mother one day.

And while you're shy & very nervous about making a good impression, you give her your best.

You can't lie. She's a tough & intimidating woman.

But Oz clearly loves her & it warms your heart to see that he still looks after her.

How many others would do the same for their parents at his age?

So the three of you have dinner together & you remain fairly shy & quiet throughout the evening.

You worry it will make her think less of you. Or give her the impression that you don't like her, you're stuck-up, etc.

After dinner, Oz tells you to go make yourself comfortable in the living room.

So you do, until you get thirsty & go to retrieve yourself a glass of water & overhear what is supposed to clearly be a private conversation.

Once the two of you are back to the loft, it's when you let him know you heard every word.

❝She seems real quiet, Oswald.❞ ❝She's always like that, Ma. She still gets shy around me sometimes. Just her nature. I don't mind.❞ ❝Well, she loves ya, I can tell. And you love her?❞ A beat of silence. ❝With my whole fuckin' heart.❞ You fight back a teary smile. You hear dishes clanging. ❝You going to give her a ring, then, or—❞ ❝Ma—❞ ❝I'm not gonna be around forever, Oswald. I want to see you settled. Married. Maybe with a kid runnin' around. She's a good girl. Sweet. She'll do you good. Already has from the looks of things. You ain't gonna find another one like her.❞

He sighs in exasperation. ❝She deserves better than spendin' her life next to a broken down old man. I'll die before her, leavin' her all alone. I ain't gonna subject her to that.❞

And that maybe instead of just deciding for you, he should ask you what you want so you can give him your own answer.

❝Doll, I'm not—❞ You climb into his lap—your favorite position when it comes to not only getting your way, but forcing him to listen to you. ❝You're the man that I love. I'm not... Forcing you to ask me that if you truly don't want to. I'm just saying that... If you do, to do so: ask. When you're ready.❞

And the time comes when he does.

His Ma had given him her old wedding ring the same night she met you.

He seems the picture of composure the night he asks.

He does it over dinner in the loft which he had made—salad and bread and one of your favorite pasta dishes.

You stand, put yourself in his lap and tell him, with tears running down your cheeks, yes, yes, yes.

You have a small wedding at a Catholic church he & his Ma used to attend services at in his younger years.

You wear a designer dress that he had flown in all the way from Paris.

He finds himself in constant disbelief that you're all his & want to be. Much more since you know the things he does.

You've washed the damn blood out of his clothes before, for Christ's sake.

He knows you're too good for him. That you'll have always deserved better.

Even if you tell him... That he's the best there is.

[acapelladitty]

`♡° kinktober 2024! ---

☆ kink: lapdance

☆ pairing: Oswald Cobblepot/Reader

☆ summary: Oz has something you want and you know exactly how to get it.

kinktober '24 ☆ main masterlist ☆ ao3

Unveiling your outfit with a dramatic flourish, you allow the long trench coat to drop to the floor as you arch your back and stand in what you hope is a sexy pose. The thin, barely there material which makes up the bra and panties set that only just covers your most intimate parts is paired with fishnet thigh-highs which cling to your lotion-soaked skin.

Giving a low appreciate whistle as he taps his fingers against the wide leather chair which houses him, Oz is clearly impressed with the look if the predatory leer which jumps into his thick features is anything to go by.

“Hmm, looking good, doll. Haven’t seen an outfit like that in a while,” he praises, his right hand falling from the arm of the chair as he adjusts the groin of his slacks. “So, what’s this going to cost me?”

Immediately found out, you bite back the laugh which threatens to break free of your lips as you instead give a quick twirl – showcasing every inch of you in the vague hopes of distracting him from his suspicions.

“You really think I would use an opportunity like this just to get something? Oz…really? Maybe I just wanted to show you a real good time.”

“I’m still not hearing the ask, sweetheart.”

“Well,” you pause to unlatch the hooks of your bra, allowing the thin material to drop to the ground as you stand tall and allow your tits to hang free in the warm air, “if I was looking for something, there’s a pretty little dress in the window of that Italian boutique that Silver St Cloud owns.”

“Cheap as hell, I’m sure,” Oz mutters and his eyes narrow at you with a definite playful edge that let you know he was still somewhat amenable to your wiles. “My wallet isn’t as thick as my gut, doll.”

“Mmm,” you shift forward to place your hands on his knees and gently spread his legs apart, “I’m sure your wallet is big and thick enough to give me what I need.”

“You sure?”

“Oh, yeah. I’d love to touch it and feel it in my hand.”

“How’s your mouth feeling about it?” Flashing his teeth, Oz groans as you turn in place and sit pretty in his lap – making sure to press your ass against his cock as it remained trapped in his slacks.

You tilt your head back at him and sigh as his hands swiftly shift to wrap around your torso and grope at your exposed tits, the feel of his thick fingers grasping at your skin instantly making your cunt ache as you slowly rotate your ass in his lap. While a lapdance wasn’t your area of expertise, Oz was never one to complain about getting a free show and if the bulge of his cock was anything to go by, he certainly was enjoying himself.

Rubbing yourself on his wide frame like a cat in heat, the thrum of the club music which rattles the almost-soundproofed windows helps to guide your movements as you match its beat; swaying, grinding, and running your hands across his body as you work him into a subtle frenzy.

“I’m gonna fuck you silly tonight, doll. You won’t be able to walk straight.”

“Is that right Mr. Cobblepot?” Answering him with a husky tone, you drop into his lap and face him directly – wrapping your hands around his neck and pressing your tits into his chest. His thick thighs provide a solid base for you to grind on and you roll your hips against his groin, the slightly slickened panties sliding across his tented bulge in a wicked tease, “We’ll see.”

You focus on your dancing, loving how solid he feels beneath you with every slow movement that you tease across his body. His suit is a very deep purple, almost black in the limited light, and the texture of it is soft against your skin as you slip off his lap and drop to the floor – turning so that you can kneel between his spread legs.

Catching his zipper between your teeth, you pull it down slowly and enjoy the way that his chest visibly hitches as your mouth dives further to mouth at his cock through the thick material of his boxers.

“You’re a menace, doll,” Oz groans, slipping his back down a notch lower to give you all the access you need.

Smiling up at him, you drop his cock from your mouth and instead slip your hand past the waistband of his boxers – pulling his cock free with a pleased sigh as you run your fingers across the fat length. He was thick, the thickest you’d ever known, and you hum excitedly as you take in the small, pearlescent bead of pre-cum which sits prettily at his slit of his cock. You swipe your thumb across it and admire how it makes his breath stutter.

Openly groaning as you work his painfully-hard cock over with your talented hand, it’s not much of a surprise when you feel his length twitch after only a few strokes and he spills his release across your fingers with a low growl – his hand dropping past your hand to grip your tit roughly as he rides out his orgasm on your willing chest.

His cum is warm against your hand and you don’t stop stroking him until he shifts with the beginnings of overstimulated discomfort and grips your upper arm firmly to pull you back up onto his lap.

“What colour?” Oz pants, his breathing not quite yet caught back up to him.

You settle into his lap, wiping the mess of his release on the upper part of your panties, “Hmm?”

“The dress. What colour was it?”

“Red.”

“Get it, and order another in purple,” lip curling at the corner, Oz spares you a soft wink, “Deep purple. The kind that I like.”

Laying against his chest, you give him a throaty giggle as you link your fingers within his own, admiring how heavily his rings sat against your smaller fingers, “Thanks, Oz. When I get them delivered, you’ll be first in line to get another private showing.”

“Damn right I will.”

[yanderemystic]

⋆˚࿔ৎ⪩ Yandere Oswald Cobb Headcanons

— Oswalds traits: Manipulative, clingy, impulsive.

Oswald is pretty clear with his intentions. If he wants it, regardless of the so-called value, he’s going to get it somehow and someway. That comes with the same price as you.

Impression is always his go-to. With that and his high interest, these two combined can become quite a mess. He tries greatly to reel you in with his wooing—using every romantic strategy he knows from his heart to get your attention. He goes all the way to town, like gifting you very expensive items to hint that he can care for you. Giving you a few thousand when dropping you off at your apartment, or even offering to pay for it.

His favorite thing is taking you out to nice restaurants in Gotham, showing you off with your gleaming outfits that he’s gifted you himself. He’s a known gentleman, always putting your necklaces or rings on–even earrings if you want him to. Everything you could want is gifted from him.

Apologetically pushy. From the moment he’s met you, he's always wanted to be in your personal space. Calling you constantly. Always finding excuses to visit your apartment, even at late nights, showing up with takeout and shoving himself through the door before you can fully open it; that glimmering smirk of his, as he rambles and calls you his sweet doll.

Oz doesn’t mean too, truly, but he’s gotta know every detail in your life—admiring those picture frames you have, to the specific color you use, maybe makeup or even your own bedroom which you have decorated to express what you like. Maybe, if he finds a diary, if he is lucky enough, he knows damn well it’s coming with him. He can always say he found it. Pretended to never read it, right?

Your parents will most definitely approve of him. It’s a dream come true, a gentleman in this century? What a lucky dream. Though, if your relationship isn’t as strong as between him and his ma, he’s always willing to share her with you. Share sweet memories, even.

With each piece of newfound information with you, he really begins to get nosy with you. He doesn’t mean to press his nose into where it doesn’t belong, but he has to know what you are doing. To know what restaurant you are at with some friends, what times you get home, who you were hanging out with, and when you left. If you hide something from him, he will know about it.

A worry freak. If you don’t message him back within a few hours, he begins to panic. Watches your conversations like a hawk, waiting for the bubble to rise. If he doesn’t see it, he rushes to your apartment like a mad man. When all is good, and you are fine, he gets irritated—why can’t you just message him back with ‘i love you too’?

He makes it clear that he is obsessed with you—his hands keep near you like second skin. If you decide to go with him to the club, or to a nice place where there are a lot of people, he’d love for you to sit on his lap. A hand on your waist, squeezing every once a while. His pinky accidentally swiping over your thigh. His lips chasing down your shoulders, kissing your revealed skin.

I had such fun writing this. Please enjoy it as much as I did! Requests are open so please come and send em in •‿• !!

[finniestoncrane]

Farrell!Penguin x GN!Reader, word count: 500 hi i went a little bit insane about the thought of oswald using my face as a cushion so you're welcome for this short little glimpse into my mind lmao 💜🐧 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: rimming, masturbation, ball fondling, kind of milking, angel and beautiful used for reader

Your tongue was outstretched, firm and pointed as you neared him. His flesh trembled as your wam breath got closer, tickling his ample body hair the closer you got. Bent over his own desk, submissive and ready, with his pants around his ankles. It wasn't the position he had seen himself in, if he were being honest. But it was one that intrigued him from the moment you'd suggested it.

"Wait, Ozzie... won't someone come in?"

"Door's locked, sweetheart."

"What if someone calls you? Or interrupts us?"

"What do you want me to do? Write it in my calendar? Do not disturb, I'm getting my asshole devoured by some beautiful, but filthy, angel."

You smiled at his pitched tone. He was getting impatient, and that meant he was excited about what was coming next.

"You could always write it down as a medical appointment. By the time I'm finished, I could tell your doctor everything he needs to know for your next prostate exam."

His grainy laugh was cut short, choked into a gasping moan and a soft, whistling exhale as you buried your face between his cheeks. Your nose nuzzled against him, hands gripping at his hips, fingers sinking into the deep, soft skin. Wriggling your tongue out past your lips, you made sure to take it slow, long laps dragging upwards and flicking back down over the puckered, sensitive hole before making their way back up again.

Desperate for more, Oswald shifted himself backwards, closing in on you, hoping you would take the hint and press your tongue deeper. He wanted you frenzied, starving, taking advantage of this submissive position he had gotten himself into for you.

You took the hint, shaking your head from side to side, running your tongue quickly across his hole, moaning in echo to his groans of gratitude.

Oswald reached behind him, his fingers stroking through your hair before he gripped hard and pushed you forwards, burying you into him. Your tongue was pressed out, firm and pointed, letting him fuck himself on it. You were drooling, salivating at the taste of him, at the way he was so vulnerable and desperate. The hairs were matted on either side of his cheeks, and as you reqached forwards, you could feel the precum leaking from the tip of his cock.

In a bid to have him weak and trembling, you reached your other hand forwards, cupping his balls, gently queazing them as you jerked his cock, tongue still lapping at the sensitive skin around his asshole. He was close now, nearing orgasm as you slobbered over him. This needed to be exceptional, beyond anything he'd felt before. So you sank your tongue down to his perineum, hoping to tingle his g-spot, milking him for every bit of his cum you could.

Oswald's fingers scratched at his desk, body convulsing as you coaxed his orgasm out of him, hoping to have him spilling over your fingers, his pristine image, his dominance, all forgotten as he let himself be ruined by your hands. And your tongue.

[gilverrwrites]

Won't Stop Me Worryin'

2022!Penguin/Reader, ≈500 words

AN: This is a request for the below prompt. Its pretty much all soft fluffy Oz, but I'm thinking of doing a part 2 where Oz actually makes good on his word. A fuck around and find out fic.

Prompt: “anyone touches you, says anything to you, so much as looks at you the wrong way- you come get me, and i’ll set them straight. understand?” with 2022 Oz? (Established relationship) Rating: Mature

CWs: No real warnings I can think of. Gives of a very sugar-baby dynamic, very mild arguing, protective Ozzie. Petnames: Baby, Doll. GN!Reader.

Please remember: You are loved, today, tomorrow, and forever.

“What do you need to earn money for? I got you, anything you need. All you gotta do is ask.”

When you’d told Oz that you wanted to go back to working at 44 Below, he’d loathed the idea. It was one thing to let you mingle with his criminal business associates, they were dangerous, but he was close by, and could keep you safe. It was another thing to leave you alone with the sycophantic drabble who visited the club. But this wasn’t about him, or what he could do for you. You loved him regardless. No, this was about you, about not feeling dependant on someone. You’d never make enough to pay all your bills anyway, this was just a surface thing, something to keep you feeling like your own person. Plus, it gave you something to do besides sitting pretty on his arm.

Again, it wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy spending time with him, but oftentimes you’d get bored of lounging around, listening to Falcone and his men drone on about… well, things you didn’t care to hear. Besides; “What if I want to get you something? It’s not a gift if I’m using your money, right?”

“Oh baby, you don’t gotta get me nothin’. You’re gift enough for me already.” It had taken a while for him to come around to it, but eventually, you’d convinced him. The winning argument being that you were gonna find a job anyway, better it be somewhere he could keep a close eye on you. 

On your first night back, he’d accompanied you to the dressing room. Nobody minded him being there. He didn’t have a wandering eye, because only had eyes for you, and nobody was gonna begrudge the boss from going where he pleased. 

“Anyone touches you, says anything to you, so much as looks at you the wrong way- you come get me, and I’ll set them straight. Understand?” His thick fingers brush against the back of your neck as he clasps a gifted necklace closed. His skin is warm and sends a soothing fuzziness to your brain. You nod in response to his statement but that’s not enough. “Come on doll, use your words for me here.”

“Yes, Ozzie.” You turn to cup his frowning face in your hands. Determined to see his smile; you plant a quick chaste kiss to his lips, then another to his nose, and each cheek, over and over peppering his rough skin with light kisses until he lets out a hearty chuckle. As soon as you hear it, you lean back to get a good look at his reluctantly cheery expression. “I promise you don’t have to worry about me.” 

“I know, I know. But that won’t stop me.” Both of you silently watch a group of dancers pass by as they head out to the floor. You can’t help the apprehensive smile that spreads across your face, both nervous and excited to be joining them. Oz smiles at you, soft but sceptical as he inclines his head to the door. Tentative acceptance. “Go on then, knock ‘em dead.” 

Request Info || Prompts || DC Masterlist || Ko-Fi

[macabrebatz]

MASTERLIST/INTRO POST

Hi, my name is Batz and I occasionally write fanfiction.

When it comes to fanfiction, I’m more active on AO3 so if you want updates before anyone else, check out my account (same username).

Requests are currently [CLOSED] as I catch up on previous requests and work on some personal projects.

I write a LOT of fluff, sometimes smut but that’s very rare at the moment (because I think I’m bad at it, so I don’t write it a lot)

Anyway, here’s a masterlist of everything I’ve posted here so far + fandoms I will write for. It’s not a lot (yet) but I’ll add more soon:

HORROR:

Multi character:

What Slashers get you for Valentine’s Day

Giving the slashers flowers

How you met the Slashers pt. 1

How you met the Slashers pt. 2

Pinhead & the Cenobites:

Leather & Chains

Leather & Chains Pt. 2

Hannibal Lecter:

Blood Loss

Bubba Sawyer:

Loud Spaces

How You Met Bubba Sawyer

Thomas Hewitt:

Sweet Tea

Art the Clown:

Art the Clown Headcanons

O, Christmas Tree

Gift Exchange (O, Christmas Tree Pt. 2)

Bo Sinclair:

N S F W Alphabet

Billy Lenz:

Billy w/ a reader that wears chained jewelry

Telephone

Brahms Heelshire:

Brahms w/ a reader who collects things

Jennifer Check:

How you met Jennifer

Baby Firefly:

How you met Baby

Candyman:

How you met the Candyman

Steven Wilkins:

Bark at the Moon

The Driller Killer:

Driller Killer Relationship headcanons

Mark Hoffman:

Clueless Pt. 1

Marvel:

Logan Howlett & Wade Wilson

A Sight to Behold

Characters below haven’t had anything written SOLEY about them yet:

Michael Myers

Vincent Sinclair

Otis Driftwood

Rufus Firefly

Captain Spaulding

Jason Voorhees

Harry Warden

Freddy Krueger

Ghostface

Pyramid Head

Tiffany Valentine

Chucky (human ver.)

Will Graham

Ash Williams

Patrick Bateman

Josef

John Kramer

Pennywise

CHARACTERS/FANDOMS I ALSO WRITE FOR:

(I’ll add to this list when & if I decide to write for more fandoms)

Resident Evil:

Leon Kennedy

Chris Redfield

Albert Wesker

Karl Heisenberg

Lady Dimitrescu

TLOU:

Joel Miller

Tommy Miller

Baldur’s Gate:

Most characters but especially Astarion

Marvel:

Hank McCoy

Kurt Wagner

Scott Summers

Gambit

Rogue

(Honestly a lot of the Marvel characters, just ask and I might do it)

DC COMICS:

Bruce Wayne

Harley Quinn

The Joker

Mr. Freeze

The Penguin

The Riddler

The Mad Hatter

The Scarecrow

Poison Ivy

Catwoman

Etc……

TWD:

Rick Grimes

Daryl Dixon

PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN:

Jack Sparrow

Elizabeth Swan

Will Turner

Bootstrap Bill

James Norrington

Tia Dalma

Davy Jones

Hector Barbossa

[taintandviolent]

Can you do 👀 Oz but like the prompt is 'Don't you roll those eyes at me'

warnings: female reader! a little sexual tention, use of names (brat), a little smoochin' and some dick grabbing. that's all.

Your eyelids flutter as you roll your eyes at the man in front of you. Leave it to him to get bent out of shape at something so small. The man was fastidious, you'd give him that.

"Don't you roll those god damn eyes at me."

"What are you gonna' do about it, Oz? Huh? Bend me over your knee and spank me?" Your hand trails coyly along his chest, playing with the hair that peeks out through his open shirt. Like a viper striking, he grabs your wrist, his large fingers encircling it as he pulls it away. Tenderly, he brings it to his mouth, his lips brushing against your knuckles as he stares at you with a wanton, hot gaze.

"You're a fuckin' brat, y'know that?" he mutters into the skin of your knuckles.

"I'm a what?" you ask, incredulously. You lean back, your eyebrows lifting high on your forehead. Had he really just said what you thought? A brat? Coming from Ozzy, who liked to be mommyed and coddled, that was rich. "Did you just call me a fucking brat?"

"Yeah, I did. What are you gonna' do about it, sweetheart?"

He leans in and you close in the distance, wanting to feel his mouth against yours. As you kiss him, you slide your hand down between your bodies, past the swell of his gut, and find his hardening cock. So, he liked it. Liked feelin' in control every now and then. You smirk, and your fingers clamp down it tightly, squeezing it until he hitches up and hisses through his teeth.

"Easy, easy sweetheart."

"I'm a brat, remember? I'm not going easy on anything."

[ladylaviniya]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧 & 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧™ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐡é 𝐛𝐮𝐭- 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐛𝐛 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐭, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬?

𝐎𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐛𝐛 𝐗 𝐅!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐄𝐚𝐭, 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐦 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐃𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐑𝟒𝐩𝐞, 𝐒𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐨𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐃𝐫𝐮𝐠 𝐔𝐬𝐞, 𝐊𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐁𝐃𝐒𝐌 𝐃𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐆𝐮𝐧 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭-𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝟏 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧, 𝐎𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭, 𝐀𝐠𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐩 (𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐞!!)

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐅𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧 & 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧™ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

𝟏𝟖+ 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐕𝐄. 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

author notes 𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆.ᐟ

𖥔 If you are under the age of 18, I will politely ask you do not select any of the links and leave this blog, this is not age appropriate content nor is this safe kink.

𖥔I would like to express the knowledge that I do not approve or perform of any of the actions the characters of this fanficition demonstrate.

𖥔This story might be alarming and severely upsetting for people who have had experiences with rape, kidnapping and death themselves or of close loved ones.

𖥔This story is not fit for every viewers eyes and it will be glorifying acts of trauma and characters that shouldn't be in reality.

𖥔If you do not wish to see this content please block #TPATP (scroll and you'll find it is the first tag.)

𖥔This fic is post Season 1 of HBO’s The Penguin.

𖥔this is a dark original story on its own, with heavy topics & triggers. Happy endings do not happen here.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧 & 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧 || 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆.ᐟ

last update: December 2024 𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆.ᐟ

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟔𝐤+

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟔𝐤+

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟗 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟑 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟒 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟓 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟔 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟕 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟖 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟗 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎 – 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

design credits: 𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆.ᐟ

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ Snowflake dividers – @strangergraphics @dollywons @ladylaviniya

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ masterlist layout inspiration – @lilacevans

taglists: 𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆.ᐟ

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ The Penguin & The Puffin Taglist. (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

❆.ೃ࿔⋆˖ ݁ ➤ The Ultimate Taglist. (𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝)

[strawberryloft]

If Oswald was my boy toy, I would post a thousand and one pics but like "subtle." Like look at my boyfriend's fingers around my neck and like here is my boyfriend's midnight sundae and he's gonna have to deal because my insta makes a pretty good alibi source.

Stop that's brilliant! An alibi! After a deal gone wrong Oz is sitting in a interigation room, and not even one of the nice ones he knows about. Oz wasn't sure how he's gonna talk his way out of this one until he remembered his darlin' took some photos in a limo and posted them to social media with a time stamp. Oz knows he wasn't there, but the cops don't and his sweetheart would say anything to have his back, he just has to let them know.

[elericelery]

joint comic by me and Cidney. I drew Oswald first and then Cidney drew the Riddler completing the story. We left space for text but decided we didn’t need it for this story Enjoy

[tirnalilc]

Oz Cobb x Reader!Falcone daughter.

200 words.

I uploaded this to my tik tok account, I modified it to be an Oz cobb x reader story, but in my videos it's Oz x Oc.

English is not my first language, so sorry for the mistakes :(.

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMhQhC3BC/

There was something about Oz, something explainable and inexplicable.

It that moment, she did not understand what it was about Oz that attracted her to him. At the time, he was her sister driver. He had no important power, nor was Carmine Falcone's right-hand man.

So why did she fall so quickly deeply in love with him?

It was true that Oz always had a flirtatious or sarcastic comment that immediately made her day. She wasn't going to deny it, others could say the same words as Oz, even with the same tone, but it wasn't the same. With the other guys she had to give her best fake smile and play along, but with Oz? It was all so real, the blushes and the nerves, the shyness his presence aroused.

She had to hate him, because of him her beloved older sister, was in that damned place she hated to think, but in just three years her feelings were changing, from hate to interest, from interest to friendship and from friendship to wanting everything from him.

She wanted his love, his revenge, she wanted it all, she would kill for him and Oz would kill for her.

tirnalilc.

[horrorslvt]

𖹭 ── Batman.

Batman / Bruce Wayne. (Keaton, Bale, Pattinson)

Nothing yet.

Catwoman / Selina Kyle. (Pfeiffer, Hathaway, Kravitz)

Nothing yet.

Penguin / Oswald Cobb. (Farrell)

Nothing yet.

Scarecrow / Jonathan Crane. (Murphy)

Nothing yet.