#oswald cobblepot fanfic

[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.

𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 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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[ladylaviniya]

The way I just keep rereading this over and over.

The way I giggle everytime when she asks him if he's coming for her or the food.

The ways I gasp with how FILTHY THIS IS.

I'm calling the nearest rehab centre, I am addicted to this fic.

Regular ; Oz Cobb x Reader

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

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

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

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

Ah, Tuesday night. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Better now.” 

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

“The usual?” 

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

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

“What time you off tonight, doll?” 

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

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

“Yeah, but a girl’s gotta’ eat.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, look who’s back, eh?” 

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

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

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

“Sugar daddy then, eh?” 

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

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

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

“Ah, y’know… business as usual.”

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

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

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

“Only you, doll.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doll!” 

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

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

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

“Just to the station,” You defend. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, doll. Anything you want.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s for the ride, Oz.” 

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

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

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

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

“Do you come for me?” 

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

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

“Well.. what if I wanna’ know?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank god it still fits. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I ‘spose not, huh?” 

You nod, slowly, coyly. 

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

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

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

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

“You're an eager girl, aren’t ya?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. A little too enthusiastically, maybe. 

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

But… he has a point. You hum quietly. 

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

“How’s about you sit on it, huh?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hoo, baby...” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It feels so good.” 

“Yeah?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You good, doll?” 

“Y-yeah. I’m… wow.” 

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

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

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

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

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

[bugss-reid]

Bro imagine if like Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne bond over having evil grandfathers together. Maybe that’s why their so close, but like imagine one of them is like “Did your grandfather ever try to make you his successor to his evil cult of assassins” AND THE OTHER ONE GOES “you will never believe this but-“

[finniestoncrane]

💗 with penguin? from the batman

Farrell!Penguin x Fem!Reader, word count: 750 mmmmmmm yes please anon!! this old romantic??? he'd be aching to tell his partner how he felt about them, but he's a shy boy at heart!! little bit of ozzie losing his calm exterior and accidentally spilling the beans about his devotion while he's balls deep in you coming right up!! 💜🐧 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: penetrative sex, sweetheart/baby used, daddy!kink, reader has vagina, confessions of love, eeny weeny bit of dirty talk

Any and all fears that you had about what you meant to Oswald seemed pointless in that moment. The worry that you meant nothing more to him than a good, easy fuck at the end of a long day quickly dissipated when his cock was buried inside of you, his large hands holding your body as he rutted into you. You could do a lot worse. And if that was all you were to him, then you were grateful for it.

Who would turn down such a lucrative opportunity? Spoiled when he could, or when you let him. Fucked with the kind of feral attitude you might only find in someone trying to prove something. Given an insight into what life was like for the true rulers in Gotham. Importantly, though, you were also offered respect and care. A little bit of affection when he let his facade drop. The gold glinting grin would slip just a moment every so often, and his eyes would soften as he watched you put your clothes back on, or when you left his office at the lounge.

Sometimes, you let yourself believe that there were words behind the warm smile he offered you. A deeper meaning. You weren't willing to push him though, so you kept your questions to yourself. It was easy enough to do when your lips only opened to take in his cock, his fingers, his tongue, or to let out moans of pleasure and groans of sweet, delicious pain.

Oswald did most of the talking between you both, socially and sexually. As he pummelled into your hips, you watched his lips form the lust-driven rambling from your position on top of his desk. His hands skimmed down your thighs, tracing over the sides of your torso as he spoke.

"Fuck baby, that's it, that's the stuff right there... Let daddy show you... You gonna take it good?... Yeah you know what to do... Cos you're a good girl... My good girl... You're amazing baby doll... God, I-... I uh..."

The sudden pause, the way he almost stuttered, wasn't something you'd seen in him before. He was unsure of himself, of his words, of his intentions. And Oswald was always prepared. Given that the pace had slowed, you caught your breath and used the brief moment of reprieve to check on him.

"Ozzie? You ok?"

"Nah, I'm fine baby, don't worry about it."

He could tell the mood had shifted though. You had a distinct look of concern in your eyes, and he realised that if he held back from you now that he might lose a little bit of trust from you.

The brief pause was over though, and he realised he'd missed the moment. It was too late to say it now, so he tried to bring his focus back to the present, how you felt against him, around him. Maybe now was the time. Maybe he could feel vulnerable, open, honest. Your eyes, staring up at him, concern, genuine feeling behind them, only confirmed to him that this was the right thing to do.

Oswald's finger and thumb gripped at either side of your chin, holding your head in his palm as he redirected your attention to him. It felt like an eternity, his eyes gazing into yours, focused and intense, his cock buried up to the hilt, throbbing against your clenching walls.

"God... I love you, sweetheart."

He couldn't keep it too sweet though. You'd find out how soft he was soon enough, for now, he could be honest, but he felt like he had to remain sexy and confident. So he kept going, hoping that you wouldn't linger too long on his sentiments, trying to lull you back into dazed arousal before you criticised him for his confession.

"I love your skin. I love your mouth."

His pace picked back up, and you could only moan in response to each declaration of affection.

"I love your hands, your body."

You could feel your body tensing, giving way to the control of your orgasm as he continued.

"I love that warm, wet cunt of yours too. Love the way it makes me feel."

Oswald groaned as he let the last world trail out, his fingers digging into your skin where he held you, pulling you down onto his cock. His length pushed into you, bottoming out, up to the hilt, each thrust pressing against your limit as he emphasised each word with the branding of your walls with his cock.

"I. Love. You."

[sunflowerrosewood]

He Has a Nightmare HC~ Gotham Boys

Author's Note: Since my other account @cheekyredwillow got deleted. I am adding some of my favorite fanfictions to this account and revamping this one with new ones. I hope to make an actual list of fandoms I am still a fan of! NO requests for the time being.

Warnings: cursing, mentions of killing, nothing too graphic.

~~~

Jim Gordon 

~Jim has dealt with so much shit

~Between going after villains to dealing with the PD

~So when you two fell asleep one night

~He had a nightmare you were killed by multiple Gotham villains

~You don't notice he has a nightmare until you feel cold

~When Jim is sitting in the kitchen nursing something to drink

~But not facing the bedroom

~You have to come up from behind

~And hug him tight

~He will probably jump 

~But he melts in your embrace 

~He wont tell you want happened

~But he will allow to be vulnerable 

~And allow you to just mumble in a sleepy voice all the reasons you love him

Edward Nygma

~Edward didn't have nightmares often

~But seemed to have them after being in Arkham

~Then escaping to home

~You would only know when you heard him arguing with himself

~That he shouldn't wake you up

~That this makes him useless

~As you could hear him mutter these things

~Pull him down to the bed

~So you can cuddle into him

~And promise that you'll always be there

~Both sides will melt

~And he'll tell you about the nightmare 

~So you'll understand his pain

Oswald Cobblepot 

~Oswald had nightmares often

~And you usually knew

~The reason is that he talked in his sleep and would hold onto you tight

~You would feel his hands tighten

~And whimpers fall out of his lips

~You’ll probably have to wake him up

~Just to let him know that he is not alone

~He will be sweaty and his heart racing

~But as long as you kiss his lips

~And squeeze his hand

~Oswald will calm down

~Go get a washcloth to help him cool off

~And intertwine your hands before you fall back asleep

Jonathan Crane

~Nightmares plague his head all the time

~And it isn’t because it is his fault

~It usually has to do with his father

~And another person that you will know when he wakes up

~Because he gets as far away from you

~He is shaking in fear 

~It’s usually when he does not consume himself in fear

~But appears in his nightmare

~Allow him to slowly calm down on his own

~He’ll immediately climb back into bed 

~Because he needs to feel you by his side

~Usually he falls asleep slowly after

Jervis Tech

~Jervis usually has nightmares that his Alice runs away

~You ran away because he harms you

~Jervis is one of the ones who will wake you up

~Just to make sure you are real

~And still loves him

~Before you get tired again, you’ll notice the fear in his eyes

~Whisper to him how much you love him

~And kiss his cheek 

~Before cuddling into his chest which calms him down

Victor Zsasz

~Victor wont show he has nightmares 

~You usually know when you wake up

~And he’s sitting in the shared bathroom just staring

~No emotions are shown

~But you know what is going on

~So you’ll have to go in

~And kneel where you look up at him

~He won't say anything

~He’ll just pull you into his lap

~And holds you tight 

~Just the silent of the night is going to be heard

~Victor will pick you up and bring you back to bed

~Usually it takes just that before the two of you fall asleep

~Victor will probably mention his nightmare later on in the week

~When he is ready

Jeremiah Valeska

~Even after the spray, Jeremiah still gets nightmares

~It happens to be about him almost killing you

~And he’ll wake up to you being sound asleep

~He’ll touch your arm

~And sigh 

~Usually you know something happened because he’ll be in the lab

~Bent over

~And probably throwing things in anger

~When you ask him what’s wrong

~You’ll see the anger turn to worry

~An emotion you do not see often

~And Jeremiah will walk over to you to hold you tight

~Demanding you wont leave him

~Even though you never thought that way

~It’s feeling you near him that causes him to want to go back to bed with you

Jerome Valeska

~Jerome did not have nightmares too often

~He was awake in the middle of the night usually

~But when he did fall asleep and had nightmares

~He was similar to Oswald by holding you tighter against him

~But you would still be asleep 

~Until you feel him kissing your face and neck while rubbing your hip

~When you slowly wake up, Jerome will kiss you lips and grin

~Usually you wouldn’t ask much

~Until you watch his grin falter

~That’s when you touch his face

~And kiss him softly till Jerome makes you fall back into his chest

~Once the two of you hit the bed, he’ll still be rubbing your arms or hips

~But you’ll hear him yawn

~He falls asleep pretty quick

[spacedace]

Got another DP x DC prompt for yall:

Things in Amity are going bad, the GIW are getting more aggressive and Jack and Maddie are starting to suspect there is something ghostly going on with Danny and Jazz is scared out of her mind and desperate to get them the hell out or dodge before she comes home one day to find her baby brother strapped to a table in the basement or worse.

She knows there's no way she's going to be able to get custody of Danny though (maybe she's still a minor herself, maybe she is over eighteen but it takes more than being a legal adult to get custody of a kid, and Jazz just doesn't have what the government is looking for and she can't risk Danny getting lost in the system) and even if she could, where could they possibly go? Even if they ran away, they don't have any way to survive.

Half out of her mind with stress and exhaustion late one night she ends up digging through their family tree looking for someone, anyone, that looks like they might be able to help, that could at least get them away from Amity Park if nothing else. She and Danny had each other, and literally anything was better then the nightmare creeping ever closer.

And somehow it doesn't even take that long, maybe luck finally shifting their way for once, maybe Clockwork nudging things along just right, but she finds someone.

As far as family relations go, they're on branches as far away from each other as possible while still being on the same tree. And of course the person in question has a pretty massive criminal background and is still super obviously involved in some shady stuff, but Jazz does her research and can see that - criminal mastermind or no - there's no history of vivisecting children or ghost hunting and honestly the Goonion review is pretty glowing.

Besides, Gotham's ambiant ectoplasm is about the same as Amity Park's, it'll help keep Danny (and her, really, as liminal as she is) healthy.

It's a long shot, but short of fleeing to the Ghost Zone and praying their parents don't chase after them, it's all she’s got. So, using one of Tucker's programs, she gets ahold of a phone number and makes the call.

To say that Oswald Cobblepot is surprised by her reaching out and suspicious of her desperate request would be an under statement.

But he knows a con, and this doesn't sound like one. The girl on the other end of the line sounds close to tears, begging him to hear her out, pleading for his help. When he has his people investigate he finds that Jasmine Fenton isn't lying. They are distant cousins - very distant - and the kids' parents are honestly Arkham levels of insane and the kids' teachers have been getting progressively more frantic in their reporting on their concerns. The notes on Daniel Fenton and the number of visible injuries he's been going to school with are particularly concerning. As is the fact that the Drs. Fenton are apparently scientists on top of being entirely mad.

Call Oswald a soft touch, but there's an old childhood wound deep in his heart that has him feeling for the kids, and from what he’s seen of Jasmine - Jazz, she said to call her, and her little brother is Danny, not Daniel - she's got the kind of drive he admires.

And hell it's not as if he can't afford to put them up in an apartment somewhere out of the way if they turn out to be too much trouble. Besides adopting a couple of sad kids from a shitty home can only be good for his reputation, look how well it worked for Bruce Wayne.

Maybe if he plays his cards right, he can set up a play date with the Wayne kids or something, really get some good networking in.

[glocheed]

Just some weird married monster dudes

[paarassha]

"Come home

I've lost the will to go on alone

Come home

I don't know what you want, but I know that you need to be loved"

IAMX - Come Home

Chapter 4: Aves - is available on Ao3!

ver without title 🌼🌼🌼

[ladylaviniya]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧 — 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 || 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐈𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭. 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

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, 𝐆𝐮𝐧 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐂𝐨𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐃𝐮𝐛𝐂𝐨𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐣𝐨𝐛.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟔𝐤+

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭. 𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭, 𝐜𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭. 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐜𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦. 𝐈'𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐈'𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐜𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝. 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 �� 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭. 𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝. 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫..*𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠*

𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: “𝐒.𝐋.𝐔.𝐓” 𝐛𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐚 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐲 @dollywons

The thick fabric of the bag that enveloped your head was rough and uncomfortable, the threads scratched against your skin. Despite the bag, you were lucky enough to have a glimpse of your feet below.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as someone seized both of your wrists and roughly forced them behind your back unexpectedly. Then came the nasty bite of plastic digging into your skin with the hiss of a ziptie being looped over your wrists, binding them together.

Your eyes burned with tears, and you shivered in terror as your father’s sobbing rippled around you. The men around you were laughing cruelly, and their mocking chuckles supplied an unsettling contrast to your father’s suffering. You felt a knot in your throat as you tried to swallow the lump of fear that had developed there, and tears ran down your cheeks as you tried to contain an overwhelming wave of emotion. You could barely breathe.

A yelp left your lips when a hand wrapped around your bicep unexpectedly, seized it firmly, and yanked you forcibly from the apartment. You struggled to stay upright as you were led down the hallway, your feet stumbling as you were jerked forward. You sensed the familiar route to the backdoor of the building and knew where you were headed.

Your feet scuttled across the pavement and bitumen road. You heard the unlocking sliding of a heavy door, a truck? No, van. Your shins pressed into the bumper as you were pushed forward before someone grabbed the back of your knee, and carefully lifted your leg up.

“Careful dollface,” Oswald murmured, “there’s a step.”

Your foot moved forward you felt the floor of the van and felt his callous hands on your waist, lifting you up forward into the ominous vehicle.

“Atta girl,” he praised....would you believe your insides fluttered a little? How fucked up were you? How’s it feels to know despite all the terror you were experiencing you still had warmth for the bastard who was taking you away from your home.

You felt the van shake as he and the other men climb in behind you. You wobbled, unable to stable yourself, his callous hands cups your shoulder, guiding you down to a hard plank seat, you were certain you were sitting beside him.

The van slammed shut and when the engine kicked in, you were jerked into Oswald’s side. He grunted. You didn’t know where you were headed but now the Van was moving.

You felt your mouth grow dry. There were a few chuckles, few whispering snickers from the others calling your father an idiot.

You wanted to go home. It was unkind what they were doing to you. It wasn’t right. The zipties hurt, your fingertips touched the wooden bench you shared.

“M-mister Cobb?” you whimpered, “Where are you taking me?”

You could hear the long sigh of the mob boss, he sucked his teeth before answering you dismissively, “Do you think you’d be wearing a bag on your head right now if I wanted you to know?”

You silently chided yourself for speaking up, your fear making you feel foolish. A soft whine escaped your lips, and you whispered, “I’m scared.”

“I know, sweetheart,” His response was oddly warm and condescending, a patronizing tone creeping into his voice as he responded, “You just do as you’re told and nothin’ bad will happen.”

“Promise?” a tear rolled down your cheek, you were certain you were sounding chocked up. There was another best of silence. His eyes were practically burning through the black bed on your head, you were certain.

Oswald’s hand slowly moved to rest on your thigh, his fingers gently massaging the flesh there. He cleared his throat before responding, his tone firm yet somewhat gentle.

“Yeah, I promise,” he repeated.

And what did you do? You trusted him.

Of course, yes, that’s right, in the midst of that intense silence, you found yourself clinging tightly to that tiniest thread of trust, desperate for the lifeline he offered.

The van drove over a bump. His hand was a warm comfort.

The passage of time felt like an eternity, every second hanging heavily in the air. And then, with a final guttural sound, the van’s engine shuddered to a halt. Every muscle in your body tensed taut, your senses reeling as you braced yourself for the uncertainty of what awaited you next.

The sound of the sliding door roared open, the metal creaking as it moved. You could feel Oswald's strong grip guiding you to stand. He then cleared his throat, a slightly harsh sound in the stillness of the moment.

"There's a big step down," he said, his voice firm but patient, "Take it slow."

And you did. Your foot reached out into the open air unsure how far down the ground was. The scariest part was bending down, wobbling and almost losing your balance. It would’ve been easier if they’d just taken the bag off your head.

His strong hands steadied you down from the edge of the Van. You had no idea how long you’d rode along but your legs felt truly like jelly.

The silence was broken by the sound of a huge bang coming from the side of the van, possibly from a hand. It was quickly followed by Oswald’s rough voice.

The harsh order contrasted sharply with his earlier composure. “Thanks, boys; go get your feed from Iggy,” he laughed heartily.

In a quick and surprising motion, you felt his powerful hand firmly grasp your arm and draw you forward and to his side. Moving forward even with your stumbling feet you tried to figure out where you were.

As you were tugged forward, the creaky sound of a door opening echoed through the air, a sense of coldness creeping in around you. The shift in the flooring was undeniable as you felt the weighty concrete beneath your feet give way to the smooth, echoing surface of marble tile, and then to the plush softness of carpet. It was clear to you that you’d perhaps entered the confines of a building.

“Mister Cob-”

“Just a minute sweetheart,” he cut you off.

Your lips primed together tightly. Why couldn’t he just take the bag off your head at least?

Oswald paused for a brief moment, his firm hand resting on the small of your back as he indicated you should remain stationary. Then, a delicate chiming sound filled the air, and his hand gently guided you forward. The floor beneath your feet felt as if it was moving, and the air was filled with a soft, soothing classical melody. The sensation was unmistakable—you were stepping into the confined space of an elevator.

How pathetic did you look? You wondered how frightened and how obvious you appeared, you wish you could’ve shown a brave face but what was the point when you had a bag over your head, scratching over your cheeks.

You could smell sandalwood as you were directed to a spot and made to sit down on a low but comfortable furniture...a couch.

The elevator ride eventually came to an end, the soft chime announcing the arrival at the desired floor. Your steps carried you from the springy floor of the elevator to the solid, steady surface of whatever room you had been ushered into.

The fragrance of sandalwood filled your nostrils, the scent rich and earthy.

As you were led to a specific place, Oswald gave you a curt, “Here, sit down.” The furniture beneath your body was low and comfy, and the soft feel of the material under your thighs told you it was a couch.

You were acutely aware as Oswald's footsteps approached, the sound of his shoes tapping against the flooring filling the air. The closer he drew, the stronger the scent of his aftershave and cologne became, the warm, masculine aroma wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. In those moments, the small luxuries—like the smell of him—served as a lifeline, helping to hold your emotions together and keep you from completely shattering.

The instant the sack was lifted off your head, the onslaught of harsh, bright light assaulted your eyes, causing you to blink rapidly as you attempted to refocus. Blinking away the initial pain, your surroundings slowly took shape and solidified. You realized now that you were in an expansive room filled with personal belongings. This was no club, but rather a home—a luxurious penthouse, to be specific.

The spaciousness of the penthouse was truly colossal. The room you were in felt like it was the size of the entire apartment building you lived in! The sheer scale of the place left you feeling tiny and insignificant, the term “puny” couldn’t adequately describe how drastically different you felt in his home.

Once your gaze wandered beyond the sheer size of the penthouse, you couldn’t help but notice the distinct essence of the 1920s that infused the space like a time capsule. The art deco and traditional design elements were showcased in every corner, exuding a sense of grandeur and decadence. The walls were adorned with wallpaper featuring geometric shapes in glittering gold, bold black, and vibrant scarlet hues, paying homage to the era’s iconic aesthetics. It was as if you had stepped back in time to the roaring twenties.

The flooring beneath your feet was crafted from the finest polished marble, its cool, smooth surface gleaming beneath the ambient light. Extravagant crystal chandeliers and elegant brass light fixtures hung suspended from the high, extravagant ceiling, casting a warm and soothing glow throughout the room. Oswald’s furniture—composed of rich, dark woods—featured sharp, clean lines and minimalist detailing, the result being a seamless blend of refinement and modern aesthetics. Occasionally, luxurious fur throws and plush rugs added an opulent touch to the surroundings, completing the lavish setting.

The soft red rug on the floor resembled the type of carpet from a hundred years ago, and every piece of furniture seemed like a priceless antique. The mansion as a whole had the aura of an historical monument, as if it was a portal into the past.

Oswald was seated in front of you, perching on the edge of his coffee table. His elbows rested on his thighs, and his dark eyes fixated on you with an intense and unblinking stare. The gaze was almost scrutinizing, his beady eyes moving and darting around you with a calculating intent. The occasional flicker of his tongue licking over the jagged scar on his upper lip, a remnant of some past injury.

It was impossible to know what he was thinking.

“Mister Cobb?” you breathed, “Wha—"

“Your phone,” he asked, “Where is it? Your pocket?”

You blinked, you tried to reach for it only to remember your hands were still bound by plastic zip ties.

“Yes sir,” You nodded.

He reached forward, his hand cupped around your outer thigh, you kept your legs closed, in a skirt even like the one you wore, he might’ve seen anything.

He fished out the little black brick that you called a phone. A handy down of a handy down with a cracked screen in the top corner.

“Passcode?” he murmured.

You swallowed thickly and told him. You then added weakly, “It’s my birthdate.”

Of course it was.

“That would ugh, make you eighteen?” he mused dryly.

“Nine—” you swallowed as you corrected him, “Nineteen. I was older than most of my graduation class.”

His thumb rolled across the screen.

He looked up, a bit amused, thick dark eyebrow arched. “Right, nineteen.”

Silence hung heavily in the air as he scrolled through the contents of your phone. It hadn’t really occurred to you that this would be a part of the deal you’d agreed to, but your nerves kept you from voicing any protest. All you could do was hope that he wouldn’t stumble across anything too inappropriate. You knew about the danger of nudes so that you didn’t worry about— but your search history on the other hand was a whole other kettle of fish. Each passing moment felt like an eternity as you waited anxiously, unsure of what he might discover in your personal device.

“Who is Richard?” he finally asked, his eyes squinting back at you.

Richard? You swallowed hard as you realized who he was referring to—Dick Grayson, circus boy.

“Dicky’s just a um friend from school,” you managed to say, your mouth feeling dry as sandpaper.

Oswald scrolled through your phone's contents, his thumb gliding effortlessly across the screen. When he came across a message from Richard, a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Hm nah dollface...He wants to fuck you," he sounded concerned?

In response to Oswald's statement, you couldn't help the little laugh that escaped your lips—mostly born of surprise at the fact he even considered such a notion.

"N-no, he’s just a friend."

Richard wasn’t like other boys, he was kind and sweet, he was nice to talk to. But Oswald knew better.

"Don't you think for a second that a kid like him values your friendship more than he values the cunt between your legs," Oswald's response was harsh and cold, his dark eyes locking onto yours, "He's definitely thought about a whole manner of ways he’d like to ugh... have his way with you, that's for sure, make no mistake ‘bout it."

The lump in your throat nearly choked you as you nodded, watching intently as Oswald continued to scroll through your phone. He was going through the messages where Dicky had talked about Circus camp and his parents encouraging him to perform with them.

Oswalds tone was tight and almost possessive as he asked, “You text him quite a lot sweetheart, you ain’t lying to me now? You haven’t been bumping uglies with this kid?”

A shiver ran down your spine as you wondered if his taut voice was born of jealousy.

“He’s just a lonely boy,” you said, “I still haven’t...done that...stuff.” He looked up at that, one dark eyebrow quirked. A filthy little virgin who got off on dark erotica books, how cliché...how wonderful for Oswald Cobb.

“Hmm,” he finally acknowledged and stood, “He’s lonely with four hundred Instagram friends?” He placed your phone into his pocket, “That circus monkey ain’t lonely sweetheart, he just wants to see your tits to jerk off too.”

He moved around you, and for the second time, you caught a whiff of him. Your entire body trembled involuntarily as he slowly, thoroughly examined you. It was an experience unlike any you’d had before. He halted behind you, a long pause filling the air. You felt his presence just inches behind you, his nose hovering above your head as his warm breath fanned your hair while he drank in your scent.

You heard the clicking and felt his fingers loop into your zipties before cutting them away with a box cutter blade. You pulled your wrists to your chest and rubbed them, hissing as blood rushed back into the strangled flesh.

You breathed out a soft, “Thankyou,” your chest rose and fell.

His thumb swiped over your cheek, and he winked before pocketing the box cutter right beside your phone. Maybe if you could get to your phone and call the police, you would be saved. He walked over to a small bar cabinet and began making himself a drink.

You hated the silence, you needed to know what was about to happen to you. You didn’t dare stand up from the couch. Was he going to make your work in his club? Maybe he needs a new housekeeper, that’s why you were here in this penthouse.

“Mister Cobb?” you shivered, “What will you do to me?”

The Penguin chuckled and turned back around with not one but two glasses in hand. There was a dark brown in each. Whiskey? Bourbon? Port? Who card, it’s not like you would’ve known the difference, a sweet thing like you.

“Lotta things sweetheart,” he purred, returning to the couch, “A lot of things, and you’ll be doing some things back.”

You felt warm in the face, your chest tight. Surely he didn’t mean that? Not sex? No. Mister Cobb wasn’t that type of man...was he? You didn’t think he’d kidnap someone either but here you were.

He handed you a cup, you carefully cradled it. You weren’t allowed to drink. He probably just wanted you to hold it safe for him. But why hand it to you when there was a whole coffee table beside your legs?

Your fingers clenched the cup, “I...I haven’t um...Mister Cobb, I haven’t had a boyfriend.”

The Penguin smirked and shook his head, he took a swig of his drink and exhaled.

“I ain’t gonna be no boyfriend hun,” he chuckled, “You’re just going to do as your told, which means if I say ‘suck my cock’, you do it, I tell you to spread your legs, you do it, I tell you to cook or clean, you do it, hell if I tell you to kiss my feet, you do it. Capiche?”

His gun holster was peaking out from his coat. You nodded nervously. You were scared again. And now with his dark eyes on you, he could see your fear too. You swore his expression softened.

“Drink, that glass is for you,” he pushed the bottom of the cup up a little more, your arms lifting with it.

Your knees tightened together when he hand lowered down to sit on top of your lap, squeezing your thigh outside your skirt.

Despite him just telling you to obey, you hesitated, your moral values too constricting, “I’ve never— I’m not allowed to Mister Cobb, I’m not twenty one— I’m nineteen.” You reminded.

The mob boss’ eyebrows lifted, he glanced to the tall windows, to the glass and back to your face, “Well ugh, I ain’t gonna tell on you... Have a sip, be a good girl for me and do as you’ve been told.”

You felt embarrassed— a virgin who had never had a drink, how could Oswald ever see you as anything but just as some stupid dolt. He probably still thought of you as a kid... You couldn’t breathe.

You wanted him to be happy with you, you wanted him to like you and most importantly not cause any harm to you. You wanted to impress him. So you lifted the cup to your mouth.

The glass was cold on your lips, the smell of the alcohol was enough to want to make you gag. It touched your peaking tongue and tasted revolting like some burning poison. Your nose wrinkled, your lip curled back in disgust.

You pulled back and shook your head. You couldn’t drink anymore. You were scared you’d vomit or gag loudly.

The penguin gave a hearty laugh, “Not your speed? Ah well, it’s an acquired taste. Good girls like you don’t drink stuff like this anyhow, should’ve started you on something like a long island ice tea or a Tia Maria.” He set your glass aside, “Just thought the whiskey would warm you up,” he purred and slid his fingers down your thigh to touch your trembling knee.

He sighed and looked you up and down again. He bit the corner of his lip and leaned right back against the back of the couch, sinking into the cushioned seat.

“God I hope you’re worth eighty thousand dollars, your pops current state of breathin’ is ah dependin’ on it but I’d be more disappointed sweetheart, afterall, it’s a lot of money. Tell me...do you think you’re worth that much?” he asked, watching the nervousness in you spike.

How could you answer a question like that!?

Deep down you wanted to be considered priceless, but in the grand scheme of things you looked down at yourself and knew you were worth nothing in the eyes of the big power dogs like the penguin Oswald Cobb.

You felt your heart drop into the pit of your stomach as you watched his hands fiddle with the buckle on his belt, your mind racing with a mix of fear and excitement.

“How much do you think a blowjob from you would cost?” His question hung heavy in the air, and you could do nothing but look up at him, speechless.

 He wanted a taste of what he’d just bought- you, he wanted to see what you were capable of, your worth to him to allow your own father to live. Your heart began to pound violently in your chest, every fibre of your being quaking with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.

“I- Mister Cobb...I—” you cleared your throat and lifted your hand up to your lips, you looked away from his lap.

The thought of failing to live up to his expectations was making you nauseous. Your eyes darted around, refusing to meet his gaze, settling instead on the sight of your own reflection, distorted and warped, on the golden tooth. “You alright babydoll?” his question broke through your fearful trance.

“Y-yeah,” you answered, swallowing your anxiety and doing your best to present a facade of obedience, “I— it’s just, um—”

“Jesus, you really are a virgin, aren’t you?” he laughed, removing his belt from his trousers loops entirely. It was a mean laugh. You frowned, your eyes cast to the floor. You felt so humiliated. It wasn’t right, you worked so hard to stay away from boys and girls who had shown you interest, people at church praised you for it even, you were often called “Mature for your age.” And you wore it like a badge of honour. You didn’t party or drink or do drugs. You were the real deal. A good girl.

You just did a lot of masturbating in private.

“What? Those girly porno books teach you nothin’ eh?” he started shaking his head, chuckling and wiped his hair back, “Man I didn’t think I’d be starting from scratch, ain’t no more good than a one dollar cockslut.”

Your eyes teared up, “I’m not a— I’m...I’m not a—” you stuttered.

He smirked, “Maybe not now dollface but we’ll see.”

You stood up from the couch, towering above him and his spread legs. You were frustrated. Angry tears splitting from the slit of your eyes.

“I’m worth more than a dollar!” you snapped unexpectedly, your hand cupped your mouth. You didn’t meant to sound so angry. You wanted to apologise until you remembered exactly why you were here and what he wanted to do with you.

His brows rose, his smirk not disappearing but he definitely picked up on the attitude in your tone, “That so? Well ugh, go on then, how much are you worth?��

“A lot Mister Cobb,” you lightly huffed and crossed your arms, before boldly stating believing yourself to be smart, “More than you can afford.”

Oh, how that made him pause. His eyes narrowed. You felt sweat roll down the back of your neck. He looked intrigued, not impressed but not angry.

He pursed his lips and glanced down your legs, back up to your face, “Pretty ambitious there kiddo. How about this? If you suck my cock and make me cum in,” he looked at his rolex, “Ten minutes, I’ll call everything off. Your pops debt, everything. I’ll drop you home once my boys bring back my car.”

You blinked, the wetness had gone away, your arms fell to your side, “What? Wait? I can go home today?” your breath caught in your chest, “You mean it?”

The penguins chest rumbled as he chuckled, he touched his chest and drew an invisible cross, “Cross my heart and hope to die, Sweetheart.”

It sounded too good to be true, but who were you to turn down such an offer? Your nostrils flared. The penguin had never broken a promise to you. You didn’t believe he’d lie about this. You bit your bottom lip. Your fathers livelihood was at stake.

It was a small memory, you could hear Oswald's voice from when he told you in the car after you shared your dream— '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.'

“Atta girl,” he sighed, his tone gentle and almost kind. “Just try your best, eh?” You felt a strange familiarity in that, realizing how many times you’d heard those exact words growing up—when you were scared waiting for your dad finish work at the lounge, or nervous about an upcoming test, or just running late to the school bus, he had always been around to say that to you... A surge of warmth spread through you now, as his hand moved to the back of your head. His hands had never touched your hair except to pat your head... never like this.

You wanted to leave, you wanted to help your father.

“Ten minutes,” you muttered, “Just ten minutes,” you slowly lowered down onto the couch beside him onto your knees, cushioned on the seats. You didn’t see the harm in saving your knees from his rough carpet rug. Your hands experimentally laid into his thighs.

He quickly guided your head downward, bringing your face in line with his rising hips and freeing his cock from the confines of his trousers. There was no time for inspection, no time to study or admire it. Your mouth felt like a desert as the tip of his dick pressed against your lips, and you could do nothing but open your mouth. You didn’t even have time to process whether he was cut or not.

He sucked in a breath above you and removed his palm away from your head and his cock.

“Alright, sweetheart. Get to work, now. Make Daddy happy.”

You should have bitten him. Should have bit his cock right off. It was not only disgusting that he coined the term daddy but that you typically liked reading those daddy kink mafia stories. Your insides jumped. You whined around his thick pole covered in skin.

The flesh against your tongue was hard and hot. You could feel everytime he took in a shuddering breath. His hand travelled down came to rest on your waist. His fingers slowly pushed below the edge of your blouse, making contact with your bare cold skin and caressing the sensitive flesh of your hips. His touch was surprisingly gentle and incredibly warm, the feel of his skin against yours sent a tingling wave through your veins down between your legs.

You ran your lips along the length of his rigid cock, lowering yourself further until your tongue met the base where his soft curls carpeted treat. You ran your tongue upwards, attempting to wet the flesh and bring some much-needed lubrication. This was not an easy task with a dry mouth.

Despite having some hair, he was remarkably well-groomed and had a powerful cologne scent. He was a man with significant endowment, and based on what you could see and feel, you suspected that he was uncircumcised. Although you couldn’t help but feel that he was somewhat above the norm, his length was at least average. However, he was thick, and you were positive that when the time came, he would tear your insides apart.

You ran your tongue along his skin again and again, feeling the veins pulse and throb under your touch. A salty taste filled your mouth as you noticed your own saliva mixing with his sweat. Suddenly, he slipped his hand under your skirt, his fingers trailing along the edge of your panties, pausing there for a few seconds before moving to your hip.

Other than understanding that males enjoyed the sensation of a woman’s mouth on their dicks, what you’d seen in porn, you had no idea what you were doing. It couldn’t be that difficult! Simple, right? They always cummed in porn and your guy friends like Dicky had always talked about how guys typically cum in minutes, even seconds!

You moved the palm of your hand upward and downward over the pulsing flesh while licking the tip of his cock in a circular motion. After a few moments, you placed him back inside your mouth and endured on. The tip was the first thing you focussed on. Gently sucking, you placed it upon your tongue and then pulled the tip of it with your soft lips until it popped out from your mouth all together.

He was letting out a few quiet sighs here and there, but not much else. A few minutes later, you released his cock pausing to catch your breath and loosen your jaw. His head was a dark pink almost a purpling colour. Your eyes glanced up at him worryingly.

Why hadn’t he cum yet!?

Your heart race began to pick up, how long had it been?

The tiniest tick in his lips made a smirk, he leaned down and cupped your cheek. You continued to stroke him gently as he tenderly stated, “That’s cute and all what you’re doing baby but ugh, when you lack experience you’re gonna hurt your jaw doing that so you should show a bit of passion, enthusiasm.”

“I’m sorry,” you automatically said without thinking. You weren’t sorry. You just felt like it was the only thing you could say to him. You only prayed he wasn’t reconsidering and that the ten minutes were not yet up.

He pat the couch seat where you were just sitting before you’d gotten onto your knees, you obediently rose up and took your place beside him. Was that it? Was it over? Could you go home? He didn’t cum, you werent sure if he hadn’t, weren’t you meant to feel it?

He gave a small smile and placed his hand back on your head.

“You got five minutes; keep going.” He guided your mouth back to his aching cock. A strange relief claimed you, you still had a chance. You began to move with a bit more purpose. Your tongue sucking him in whole your cheeks worked hard.

He praised, placing a hand on the back of your head, “That’s it, good girl, that’s what I expect from my girls.”

The soft patting of his heavy hand was surprisingly soothing, while you tried to focus on moving your head up and down quickly. He applied a little extra pressure, and you took in more of his cock in response.

He hummed, “Take it all, c’mon.”

You shifted further downwards, struggling to fully take him in your mouth. You gagged slightly as he pressed deeper into your throat. He praised, “There it is. Good girl.”

You felt a warm little thrill at his words. The feeling of him pressed against the back of your throat was intense, and for a moment, you felt like you were struggling to breathe. But then he pulled back a bit, giving you a chance to breathe.

You drew away immediately and inhaled deeply. You returned your puffy lips to his puffy cock tip. You tried to take as much of home as you could. Again, you withdrew. You whined. Pornstars made deep throating look so easy, it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t like Oswald Cobb had a mammoth dick but he still made you gag when he was barely half way passed your lips.

You took a moment to collect yourself but made sure to keep your fist moving up and down around the length of him.

After a moment, he reached for his cock and put it back onto your lips, running across them like a man made lipgloss. You whined, flicking your tongue out and licking at his tip like some divine dessert.

“Fuck me,” he groaned. “You must really want Daddy’s cum.”

You pushed your thighs closer together. All of a sudden, your pussy pulsed between your legs. A surge of blood rushed through your body. Daddy. Minutes ago you wanted to bite his dick off and now? It was really filthy. So taboo and foul. It was naughty. And it turned you on.

He gently dragged your skirt up over your back and let his fingers sit over the softness of your crotch. You jerked forward gasping in surprise. The tips of his fingers began to rub into your cloth covered clit and lips. Could he feel it...was there a chance your panties were growing damp. You had totally forgotten about the time limit, the deal.

He seized your jaw and raised your head.

He grunted, “Look at me.”

With his cock still between your lips, he jerked himself vigorously before unleashing an animalistic moan. The gushing of his liquid salt made you balk and gag. You pulled away only for his hand to grab your face and press his palm to your mouth.

“Swallow. Swallow daddy’s cum sweetheart c’mon now.” He breathed hotly into your ear and cheek. A tear left your eye, you obeyed and felt horrifyingly disgusted in yourself, with how aroused you were getting, witch how you swallowed his cum down.

“Yeah,” he cackled, “Atta girl, my good girl drinking her daddy’s spunk like the secret cockslut she is.”

You whimpered. No. You weren’t a slut. No. That’s what started this. You weren’t some single dollar cockslut. You weren’t worth just a dollar and you were not a cockslut. Why did he have to say that? Why was he so mean? Why did you get so turned on?

He lightly touched your swollen lips with his thumb. Playfully he added, “That’s the thanks I should have received for giving you a ride home instead of letting you wait in the sun.”

You imagined how that would’ve gone. If you’d gotten into his car and offered a blowjob in payment...that would’ve made you a whore though. Mister Cobb didn’t mess around with Whores though, right?

Your lips parted, and he continued, “That’s how a woman should always thank a man like me,” He raised an eyebrow, adding, “Right babydoll?”

A man like him. What type of man was that. A powerful man? A rich man? An old man? A criminal?

Your insides trembled.

You were at a loss for words. All you could do was nod in agreement, even though you didn't concur. Everything now hinged on pleasing him, which meant accepting his stance.

He growled kissing your cheek, "Be a good girl now and thank me."

Thank him? Thank him!? You wanted to be furious, you wanted to claw out his eyes, give him another scar on his ugly face.

Yet your voice came out as no more than a whisper, "Thank you."

He clicked his tongue, expressing disappointment. “Nah, nah,” he chastised, “Say my name and thank me for drivin’ you home earlier and allowin’ you to suck my cock.”

Your voice meek and quivering, “Thank you, Mister Cobb, for giving me a lift— for... letting me...s-suck your— your,” Embarrassment burned within you as you spoke, “Your cock.”

“Yea it’s alright,” he hummed, he lifted his watch and smiled sadistically, “It was a lovely show, but now you’ll have all the time in the world to practice. Never had a cock sucked for twenty whole minutes before. Real shit blow job for a girl who reads porn books. You’re lucky you’re pretty baby or I’d have belted your ass for not finishing me off sooner.”

Your stomach plummeted, at his mention of the belt and how and even further when you realised you had lost the bet, the deal in his favour. His hand crawled up your thigh.

“Now, cause I’m a nice guy, a good Daddy unlike your Pops,” his fingers touched the seam of your damp underwear, tracing the lining, and pulling the fabric aside, “I’m gonna make you cum.”

With wide eyes and terror in your throat you grabbed his thick hairy wrist and squeezed you legs shut, pushing him away, “W-wait!”

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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[plush4bunny]

had a breakdown, started making “The Sex Face Meme” inspired by @chrism02’s version of Alfred Molina fancasted as Oswald Cobblepot, bon appétit 🥴

(but not all of the prompts would be filled in so you’ll get a charming BTAS!Oswald in its place and an apology 🙈)

after making “First impression of seeing XXX,” next would be “Intimate” 👀 which is heavily inspired by some scenes from @chrism02’s fanfics for the beloved rogue. these would be: ‘Under Your Wing,’ ‘Spur of the moment,’ ‘Overshoot the mark,’ 'Botch Up,’ and 'Glimmer of Hope.’

[zebrashavestripes]

Can we really be so cavalier about the destruction of Gotham?

[finniestoncrane]

If I could request Reevesverse penguin with an absolutely needy as fuck reader. Like they’ve already cum like 3 times but they are BEGGING FOR MORE 🙏🙏🙏

Please and thank you! Your writing just… goosebumps

Farrell!Penguin x Fem!Reader, word count: 700 good god i want him to dehydrate me to the point that i'm just a wee withered crisp sitting on his lap HNG 💜🐧 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: fingering, kissing, groping

Oswald lifted his hand to his mouth, inhaling as he brought his fingers into his mouth, parted lips closing around them as he savoured the taste of you. Your slick, your arousal, your satisfaction, all of it dancing on his taste buds as he sucked his fingers clean of you. Even at your third orgasm, you tasted as sweet, as strong, as you did the first time he'd made you cum that evening.

Through almost closed lips, too fatigued to even open your mouth properly, you mumbled your pleas.

"Ozzie... I could... I could go again..."

"Are you kiddin', sweetheart? You'll pass out."

He looked at your eyes, glazed over, lust-filled even after your two previous orgasms, both of them pleasurable and satisfying, but clearly not enough to completely cure your hunger.

"I'm fine, I can take it. I want it, please. Please."

It was hard for him to say no to you. A lot of his sense of pride, his affections, his dominance, his masculinity even, they all hung on his ability to spoil you. To treat you as he knew you deserved. But there was a little bit of him that delighted in teasing. And beyond even that, there was a distinct pleasure in hearing you beg him. It made his cock throb each time your lips formed the elongated vowel in the middle of your "please". Being wanted felt good, being needed felt even better.

"Whaddaya think this is, baby? Some kind of charity case? I'm a busy man, sweetheart. I gotta get back to work."

You reached out for him, catching the sleeve of his suit jacket as he moved to flatten the collar down, pulling him back to you and finding him surprisingly easy to control, almost like he was expecting you to keep begging, or that he wanted you to. One he was seated again, you shifted yourself onto his lap, ample space for you on his thick, wide thighs to get comfortable.

"No, please... come on, Ozzie. Once more, just a little more. It won't take much, I swear. Just your fingers again... I'm so close already."

You were writhing in the seat, jerking your hips a little as you tried to find the friction you were desperate for him to give you. Oswald watched your body moving, how it seemed so desperate, so needy, and the familiar stir at the front of his pants threatened to give him away.

Reaching down the front of your already soaked underwear, his fingers trailed over your swollen, tingling lips, the cool of his ring making your whole body twitch, head thrown back with a gasp as he spread your folds open. One finger tickled up the length of your entrance, teasing over your clit.

He cooed, a warm rumble from his chest that sent a shiver over you. As you digested it, let it warm you, surround you, he leaned in, a soft kiss pressed to the front of your throat, Oswald's strong nose against you, nuzzling into you.

"Please... please, Ozzie... please..."

Begging him always worked. He liked to be needed, to be wanted. To have you so desperate that you were willing to debase yourself just to get what you were pleading for.

You were close already, riding on the high of your previous climaxes, rocking yourself back and forth on Oswald's fingers as he kissed your throat, tongue flitting out over his lips to taste you, not quite satisfied with how much of you he had already savoured.

With you fucking yourself on his fingers, he let himself grab at your body, anywhere his hands could reach he touched, held, aiding you in the rough rocking that was getting you off. And he pulled you closer as you whined, shaking and convulsing as you orgasm took control of your muscles and limbs, the heat spreading through you, dissipating slowly with the relief it always brought.

Holding you to his chest, Oswald sighed, satisfied in his own efforts. He was a man of his word, it was important to him to stick to it. But if you asked again, for just one more, he would have to oblige.

[wycroftie]

Should I start writing fanfic/hcs? Give me ideas perhaps.. idk…..

[yanderejustforyou]

Tides of Solace

@mariasb85nyy

fic request- Oz X Reader (female)

Oz and Reader Beach Vacation

Super Fluffy - some hurt and comfort (reader comforting an emotional Oz)

The rhythmic sound of waves lapping at the shore filled the warm evening air. You sat cross-legged on the soft sand, watching the horizon melt into hues of pink and orange. Beside you, Oz was unusually quiet. His normally sharp, calculating demeanor seemed softened, but not in the serene way you'd hoped. Instead, his shoulders slumped slightly, and his gaze remained fixed on the ocean, distant and pensive.

"Hey," you said gently, brushing a wayward strand of hair from your face as the soft sea breeze carried it away. The ocean around you seemed to whisper, a calming presence that framed the intimate moment. "You okay?" Your voice was a blend of concern and warmth, a lifeline thrown out into the silence.

Oz didn’t respond at first, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the waves met the sky. He was always guarded, a fortress behind his sharp edges, even with you—someone he’d let in more than most. But there was something about the beach—its endless expanse, the unrelenting tides that danced with the sun—that seemed to pull the truth from people, as if the vastness of the ocean could wash away their fears.

"It’s peaceful here," he finally murmured, his voice low and almost lost to the sound of the crashing surf. "Almost too peaceful. Makes me… think too much." The words hung in the air, weighted by the struggle he seemed to carry within him.

You leaned in closer, placing a reassuring hand over his, feeling the warmth of his skin and the pulse of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. "Maybe that’s a good thing," you suggested softly, your thumb tracing slow, soothing circles across his skin. "Sometimes you need to let yourself feel what you’ve been pushing down, to confront it instead of running away."

He turned to look at you then, his dark eyes shadowed with something unspoken and profound. In that moment, he was disarmed, stripped of his usual bravado. Vulnerability wasn’t something Oz Falcone dealt in easily; it was a currency he did not trade. Yet here, under the fading light of the sun, it seeped into the cracks of his carefully constructed walls, revealing the raw edges of his soul.

"You ever feel like no matter what you do, it’s never enough?" he asked, the tremor in his voice betraying the weight of his thoughts. The question slipped from him like a wave crashing against the shore, vulnerable and unguarded.

Your heart ached at his words. They resonated deep within you, echoing your own struggles. You squeezed his hand gently, amplifying your connection with him. "All the time," you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "But you don’t have to carry all that weight alone, Oz. Let me help you." The sincerity in your tone was palpable, a promise grounded in genuine care.

A bitter chuckle escaped him, an unexpected sound that broke the tension but held no malice—only weariness, a deep exhaustion that seemed to seep from his very being. "You already do more than you should," he said, a hint of shame threading through his words. "And I don’t deserve it."

You shifted closer, your knees brushing against his in an unspoken invitation for intimacy. "You deserve to be happy, Oz," you insisted, your voice firm yet tender. "To feel loved. To let someone care for you without questioning it. You’re worthy of all that and so much more." His gaze held yours, eyes searching for any sign of a lie in your words, as if your kindness was an illusion crafted to deceive. But there was none, only the unwavering truth of your affection for him, a beacon in the storm of his thoughts.

Slowly, deliberately, he leaned into you, resting his head on your shoulder, a rare moment of surrender that made your heart swell. You cherished it deeply, holding onto the fleeting intimacy like it was the most precious gift. Wrapping your arm around him, you held him close, feeling the warmth of his body grounding you both as the waves continued their endless song, a rhythm that matched the beating of your hearts. In that moment, the world outside faded

away………

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the ocean's melody filling the spaces where words weren’t needed. You held him close, your fingers gently running through his hair as the weight of his thoughts seemed to ease. Slowly, his breathing evened out, and his shoulders relaxed against you.

"Thank you," he murmured after a long pause, his voice barely audible over the waves. His head tilted slightly, his temple brushing against your cheek. "For being here. For… everything." You smiled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Always, Oz. You don’t have to thank me for loving you."

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes glinting in the fading light. There was something raw and unguarded in his expression—a mixture of gratitude, longing, and something deeper, more intense. For a man who so rarely let his emotions show, the moment felt monumental.

"You make it sound so easy," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Loving me."

You reached up, your hand cupping his cheek. "It is easy. Hardheaded mob boss or not, I see you for who you are. And I’ll keep reminding you of that, as many times as it takes."

Oz’s breath hitched, his eyes flicking down to your lips. For a moment, he hesitated, his fingers brushing against your arm as though testing if he was allowed this—if he was allowed you. But then, the hesitation melted away, and he leaned in, capturing your lips with his.

The kiss was slow and deliberate, full of the unspoken emotions he couldn’t bring himself to voice. His hand slid up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he deepened the kiss. The salt of the sea lingered in the air, mingling with the warmth of his touch and the heat that spread through you like wildfire.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered, "You’re my anchor, you know that? My everything."

"And you mine"

[evansdoodles]

[ilovetheriddler]

For your Halloween fic prompts, could you do (BTAS) Penguin x Gn!reader where he gets dragged to a haunted house and reader is one of the main monsters/scarers? Thank youu

I loveeee horror and I also love your work ^_^

(Also, you can add smut if you want, but if you do could you do top reader bc I swear no one thinks about how good Ozzie would look getting roughed up 👁️)

Oh! I love this! I hope that you enjoy it!

Halloween Fic Event.

Penguins in a haunted house? It's more likely than you think!

(Oswald Cobblepot x GN!Reader.)

Contents: a bit of scaring, slight jealousy.

Oswald wasn't too keen on the idea of wasting his time visiting a haunted house... but you had insisted that he just had to go, which wouldn't have been unbearable if you had been available to join him, but you told him that you'd be busy with some job you'd recently gotten, what job could possibly be more important than him?! He'd be more than willing to provide you with anything you wanted, yet you insisted on working all these odd jobs here and there. It was baffling to him.

It was so poorly lit in here. How was he expected to even see five feet in front of himself in these conditions?! As he walked, he couldn't understand how anyone could find something this tame so scary? At least not until someone jumped out in front of him and made him feel like he was about to pass out from how high his heart rate skyrocketed. As he tried to calm his nerves, he heard a familiar laughter.

"M-my Beloved? Is that you?"

"Hehe... yep! Did I scare you?"

It was just you, dressed up in a fairly impressive costume. You had gotten a job to work here during the short time that it was opened. You'd always loved horror and thought it would be fun to scare some people... Oswald included, of course! You couldn't help yourself. He looked adorable when he was all startled and flustered! You reached your hand out and helped him stabilize himself.

"You... could have just simply informed me that you worked here instead of giving me a near heart attack!"

"I know, but it was honestly too tempting, you know?"

"... So, they're paying well, right? You enjoy this job?"

"Yeah, it's nice, and I get paid more than I thought i would so..."

He let out a hum of approval as he looked you up and down, taking note of how you looked all dressed up to be terrifying, out of all of the different partners he's had over the years, you were definitely his favorite. You were always so sweet to him, amusing, and your interests were quite unique. He always loved hearing you talk about them.

"So... What time do you get off? I'd love to take you to that new place uptown..."

"Hmm... that does sound nice... i get off in a few hours."

"...Very well then, I'll come back and pick you up then."

He figured it was best to leave you to your work until later. He didn't want to distract you after all. He didn't go far, though. He just sat outside the haunted house.... waiting. He occasionally worried about your well-being a bit too much, but Gotham was a dangerous city after all! It was reasonable worry as far as he was concerned.

He knew the city better than anyone else and also knew the dangerous people that lurked within it, like the joker. He'd do everything in his power to make sure you never ran into that guy. Or Jonathan Crane.... but that was less out of fear for your safety and more out of fear that Crane might be into you if he ever met you, and he'd let that happen over his dead body!