#the penguin x reader

[agender-wolfie]

Y’all need to understand what gender neutral actually means. Saying “This fic is gender neutral and there are no pronouns or descriptors used” then using “pretty girl” or “that��s my girl” immediately after is NOT gender neutral! Stay out of our spaces if you can’t respect us.

[siolixz]

Before i log off, do you guys think Oz would punch u in the face if u told him this

[richeeduvie]

Birdhouse in Your Soul / DRABBLE

Oswald can’t believe a girl like you would like him. Unprovoked - especially after he thought you were finding him funny when there's nothing to laugh at. He don’t deserve it, but he’s not gonna deny himself.

IM SORRY DOG N BONE AND MADMAN GIRLIES I JUST NEEDED TO GET IT OUT OF MY SYSTEM 😭😭🧍🏻‍♂️ik I'm gonna get bullied down to my ass for this

WARNINGS: Jealousy, insecurities, self-hatred. All from Oz, I love lonely men, Oz is a lgbtq ally but he thinks some stereotypical things concerning fashion. Annoyance against the reader (only for a bit)

-- OVER 1.5K --

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

The first time he sees you is in shit lighting. The diner Oz’s chosen got swinging lamps over him, dim as fuck. But he doesn’t choose a place to eat for the ambience. So, he chews on a burger - enjoys his meal alone. He doesn’t prefer to eat alone, but he usually does, don’t mean nothing but everyone’s busy at different times.

Then, he sees you. Or…really, he catches you seeing him. Oz doesn’t blink when he does, but his brows come down when you turn your head quickly.

The fuck you staring at?

Oz swallows his bite before he takes another, his eyes still on the woman in the booth across from him. He saw you when you came in, he tried to forget you were there at all.

He ain’t no got no business staring at a beautiful woman he can’t pay for.

That’s a simple fact. He means…his eyes took to you - his heart went up in his fucking ears at a two, three second glance. He’s not gonna fucking give you that, not now - with all your staring problems. It don’t matter if your looks, not just beautiful, but is also something to grip him by the neck as he forced himself to turn away.

Then, he almost forgot you were there when he was enjoying his burger, too much tomato, though.

But now, he catches you staring at him again.

The fuck is wrong with you? There ain’t such a thing as manners for pretty girls? He’s seen it before, that there’s some people in life that can get by without learning how to survive, how latch onto any sense of the word decency because of what they were gonna grow up to be. In your case…he didn’t think extreme beauty can be such a negative on a person, but it's getting at him. He wishes it didn't, but it's really getting at him.

Oz looks away from you with another bite and swallow, he sighs out - it's heavy on the breath. Trying to breathe away the parts of himself that are close to getting pissed off.

You're a fidgety broad, something about him scare you?

He tries not to look again in the seconds of facing the front of his booth, but he fails. Maybe it's your unfortunate beauty a man's not gonna keep himself from even though he should, maybe it's him wanting to know if you're gawking at him again, despite the fact that he knows it ain't gonna feel good. Ignorance is bliss works in how he turns people in his favor in his line of work, and ignorance is bliss works in how he wouldn't feel his heart drop and arms burn like a little fucking pussy boy if he didn't look to see if you were staring at him.

But Oswald does. And you are. His eyes meet yours before you try turning like he didn't just fucking catch you again. Fine, he's not a pretty guy, catch a glance or two at him - but he's not gonna tolerate wordless bullying when he's trying to enjoy a meal alone. Not when he doesn't have to.

Not when he can't stop himself from saying anything about it, Oz hasn't ever been able to, really.

He drops his burger on his plate, it clunks as he straightens his back out.

"You-"

You turn at the word just when a glob of sauce falls from Oz's mouth to his suit.

You gotta be fucking kidding me.

"Fuck."

Oz's chin presses into his neck when he looks down to try and wipe the stain off of his suit's breast.

And everything burning at the sight of a most beautiful lady trying to go ahead and stifle a laugh when he looks back up.

Always something to ogle at, always something to laugh at - they don't know what he can do, he can't hide his anger. He shouldn't, nobody should be laughing at him anymore. Why do people laugh at him? After all this time, everything he's done.

You're not even apart of his work, you're not laughing cause you find him a weak gimp at his own job, you're just laughing at the outside - because all of his body and face is just fucking hilarious.

Why does he gotta think you're so pretty?

Oz leans forward, throwing his crumpled napkin on the table.

"What's so interesting about what you're looking at that you can't go two goddamn seconds without staring at me while you're eating your food? Huh? Look what you made me do."

He's sorry for a second, talking to a woman like this - especially when your face drops, but somebody's gotta teach you manners, before you mess with an even uglier guy with a worse disposition, yeah?

Oz watches your throat bob.

"I'-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...gawk. I know, I shouldn't stare. I just..." Your mouth parts, but no words come for three or so seconds. "I really..."

And in the silence, there it is - that face. Oswald wears that face something, or whatever's on yours. Of course, you wear it better. But it's how he looks when he's trying to figure out what to say, how to turn a situation in his favor. Head slightly tilted down, mouth slightly parted. He's sure that if his eyes weren't waiting on you, that you'd be staring at him.

Trying to lie your way out of this. Fine, he understands. Whateva.

"I really like your suit. Sorry I ruined it."

Oz's muscles around his nose scrunch with his brows. He doesn't like how the compliment hits his veins like it's drops to a drophead's eyes.

He doesn't like how he almost falters.

"...You trying to buy one for yourself?"

A lesbian, maybe. What a damn shame for the better-looking fellas of Gotham. But alright, good on the ladies. Oz takes in a breath.

"Oh, no."

"...Watching the model to see if you'll like it on your boyfriend?"

"No. No, I just - I just like it on you."

Oz doesn't blink, not when you turn away from him, not when your eyes come back to him with a smile. Something warm, gorgeous. Fucking confusing.

What in the absolute hell?

You're still in on the joke in your own head, this is material for whatever you'll laugh at, because that's too close to a woman who looks like you calling him handsome. You wouldn't ever naturally do that.

"Listen, sorry I came at you like that - but you don't have to make up a..." Oz turns his hand over and over, rolls his wrist. "A story to get away from the heat."

You shake your head and scoot closer to the outside of your booth. You're wearing a cheap outfit, but it fits you well.

Jesus, be a gentlemen, Oz - even if this broad is making fun of you. Either that or she's crazy. Or maybe she's legally blind and don't got her glasses on.

"No, I just like the way you wear it. Really. It wouldn't take much like a man like you to make a suit look good."

Oz is still. Fucking stiff. You laugh at yourself, you sound like you're embarrassed at what you're saying.

"I know it's wrong to stare, if I was a man and you were...not a man and you caught me staring at you, I'd be a creep. I guess the fact that I have a vagina doesn't make my gawking any less creepy. Sorry, would excuse my creepiness if I told you you were too handsome to look away?"

Oz blinks. He looks to the sugar packet on his table. He remembers reading somewhere in a magazine, years ago - when he was driving for Sofia and waiting for her in the car, there was something about if how you're in a dream, you can tell you're in one if you look at something that has words on it, but you can't read them. That's what he tries to look for, because what do you fucking mean?

What the hell is going on?

Oz decides he can laugh too. He smiles with it.

"Really, sweetheart...you don't gotta-"

"I know, it doesn't change the fact my eyes were looming, I'm sorry-"

"You want a refill on the coffee, sweetheart?"

Oz doesn't end up picking diners cause of their lighting, but he takes the service into consideration. What kind of waiter just breaks into a conversation like this?

It's a guy asking you if you want more coffee, not old enough to be the fatherly type calling every younger patron "sweetheart" or "buddy". He's a pretty boy.

Oz's hand comes into a fist, he knocks on the wood of the table for the sake of stimulation. He breathes through his mouth before pulling his lips from side to side.

"I'm good, Will. Thank you, though."

"Going for afternoon desert?"

"I don't think for today."

His eyes flicker up from his fist to where pretty boy smiles at you. You smile back.

Yeah, you're just saying things. Saying things don't mean anything. Oz should know. But he bets it's easier for you to get people to listen to you - believe you with a face and body like that. With a smile that rolls through the...entirety of him. He scratches his brow.

"Alright...I'll just-"

"Guy behind you don't get a refill?"

Pretty boy turns to him. Yeah, buddy - do your job.

"...Oh. Sorry, sir-"

Oz puts his hand up, his head nods once before he lifts his chin up slightly.

"I'm, uh...I'm just keeping you alert, Buddy. I don't need anything."

"Oh...okay."

The boy doesn't laugh. People don't laugh when they should sometimes. He turns to leave after you ask him for the check.

"What you doing not telling him he's a handsome fella? Don't call him humorous, though."

It's a real question. You're just saying things to the guy, for a minute - he thought you could've been real in your compliments. God forbid, he almost called it flirting. Like a doll like you, someone he's taken with so quickly, flirts with Oswald Cobb for free.

Now, he's not completely avoidant in giving credit where credit is due. He can be a good guy for a lady, lady of the night - lady in the club. Hell, Oz is sure that if he really tried, a broad on the street could take a liking to him without knowing the life he's making for himself. He's said it...he's an acquired taste. He dresses well, sometime he can look good. He tries to keep clean. But Oz ain't blind. You look like that, a beauty even in this diner. That's not him just being loose, you are beautiful. Oz is...he's real about it.

What lady like you would want him so damn openly?

You blink fast, eyes flicking before smiling thin at him.

"I've got my own tastes."

Oz's charm drops from his fucking face. What you're hinting smacks the word stunned across it.

You look down at your watch, also cheap. The fact you probably don't got a man in your life to buy you better things strikes him too. The thought comes in.

He could take care of you.

It comes too fast, Oz thinks. It's been six or so fucking minutes of what he thought was a bullying he couldn't handle like a pussy-fuck to thinking you was crazy, and the second you've convince him with that..."I've got my own tastes", Something like belief comes beating at his heart. The thought this can go somewhere, all from a woman he hasn't know for more than stares and excuses to want to believe, against every bone in his damn body.

But he'd be too stupid to believe you based on words alone, he knows how to spin words - pull them apart from his hand and watch people eat out of it while he plays it like he's eating out of theirs. But maybe it's your face that makes it hard.

But maybe you're telling the truth, and if so, it feels too fucking good.

"Shit, I gotta go."

You throw money on the table before standing up.

Lucky you, gotta go before you have to make something out of your sweettalk, but it still feels good. Feels fucking good to be like, but it doesn't feel real.

But he has it in the palm of his hands.

"That's the last I get of your flattery? That's a shame, doll."

Oz is good at making it sound like a tease instead of a real question of offense. Yeah.

"If you enjoyed that burger enough to come back, maybe you'll catch me around here. I'm a regular. Nice to meet you...and your suit."

"...Yeah, nice to meet you too."

Oz watches you leave out the door with its bell ringing.

What a woman with words he don't deserve. He'll keep himself humble here. He don't deserve your flattery and smiles to be a truth, as much as it rumbles all over his body - he thinks he'd be fucking blushing if he let himself be more of a pussy-fuck than he can be. Not now, though.

Now, the ideas roll in. You like him. You think he's handsome. You smiled, and you're not taking a car to wherever you're going. He can see you walking down the street from his window booth.

He ain't no fucking stalker, not when he has to be. He'd never do that to a lady who don't like him, even if she was as pretty as you are.

Oz takes one last bite of his burger, yeah. Sure. It's good enough. He leaves his cash on the table before taking himself out the door.

But you do like him. And unlike him, you shouldn't ever have a reason to lie.

[i-smoke-chapstick]

all i can think of are gotham villians that would 100% get incredibly possessive, pissy, and pouty when they have a dream of Y/N cheating on them.

Oswald? Yeah. He’s waking up in a cold sweat, drinking himself into a hangover with lots of insecure thoughts, before being very standoffish the next day with you, maybe even a little mean. More irritated then usual. You can either wait it out for him to calm down and realize he’s being silly or he’ll get hyper attentive to every move you make and accuse you of ACTUALLY cheating 😭 knock some sense into this man pls. superstitious and paranoid bird man thinks it’s a sign.

Jerome. Unlike Oswald, he will surprisingly gently wake up in the middle of the night. Theres no cold sweat or jolting awake, he just opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling for a few minutes….before settling on VIOLENTLY shaking you awake. You’ll be half asleep, and youll have to listen to him rant into the next day about how dream you is a total sleeze. You’ll be able to go back to sleep though, since his ranting is pretty much white noise. Despite this, he’s inwardly pouting. Will be passive aggressive the next day.

Jervis!!! He wakes up with a start and cannot erase the thought of someone else touching you. Makes him violently ill. Will polietly excuse himself from bed (Jervis, reader is asleep, they cant hear you) and will either throw up or just start tweaking. Won’t be able to fall back to sleep. The next day expect some eerily calm smiles and EXTRA affectionate doting, just incase you think you arent getting enough attention at home with him. which is where you belong.

they are all delusional. i love them sm

[taintandviolent]

Regular ; Oz Cobb x Reader

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

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

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

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

Ah, Tuesday night. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Better now.” 

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

“The usual?” 

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

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

“What time you off tonight, doll?” 

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

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

“Yeah, but a girl’s gotta’ eat.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, look who’s back, eh?” 

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

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

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

“Sugar daddy then, eh?” 

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

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

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

“Ah, y’know… business as usual.”

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

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

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

“Only you, doll.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doll!” 

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

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

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

“Just to the station,” You defend. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, doll. Anything you want.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s for the ride, Oz.” 

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

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

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

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

“Do you come for me?” 

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

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

“Well.. what if I wanna’ know?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank god it still fits. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I ‘spose not, huh?” 

You nod, slowly, coyly. 

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

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

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

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

“You're an eager girl, aren’t ya?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. A little too enthusiastically, maybe. 

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

But… he has a point. You hum quietly. 

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

“How’s about you sit on it, huh?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hoo, baby...” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It feels so good.” 

“Yeah?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You good, doll?” 

“Y-yeah. I’m… wow.” 

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

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

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

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

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

[lawrites]

Oswald Cobb x Gender Neutral Plus Size! Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[whooambouttamakeanameformyself]

Imagine...

Imagine Oswald buying you a ring just like his....

Warnings: Nothin' but fluff :)

(This is Gender neutral!)

~~~🐧~~~

Sitting in Oswald's office alone would be nerve wracking to anyone else, but to you, this office is like a second home. Normally you'd be sitting with Oz or on his lap, but he wasn't there at the moment so you were sat on the second couch in the corner of his office. You were about to look down at your phone to check the time, but before you could you heard Oswald's footsteps coming up the stairs. As soon as he entered the office he smiled at you, a smile which you returned without hesitation.

"Gotcha somethin', sweetheart." He said in that rough voice you loved so much. You tilted your head. "But, I didn't ask for anything?" You said in a soft voice. Of course Oswald would give you anything you wanted, though you were very careful with what you told him you wanted because you knew he'd have it waiting for you in his office the next day.

"I know ya didn't, but I think you'll love it." He responded with a sly smile as he pulled a small black leather box from his coat pocket. Of course you panicked for a second before he let out a soft chuckle. "It's not whatcha think, I promise." That eased your nerves quite a bit, but you still weren't sure what he was doing. He handed you the box, watching you as you carefully opened it with shaking hands.

Inside the box was a ring that looked just like one of the rings he always wore... The ring you always complimented him on, the ring you always fidgeted with when you held his hand, the ring you told him you loved because it suited him perfectly. The ring in the box looked just like it but smaller so it could fit you and look good. You looked up to see him smiling. "Well? Whatcha think, sweetheart?" You gave him another smile. "I love it..." And you were telling the truth, this was the most thoughtful gift he'd gotten you yet.

Oswald carefully took the ring from the box. "Gimme ya left hand, sweetheart." A request that you gladly obliged, holding out your left hand. He gently took your hand in his (the size difference evident now). After sliding the ring onto your middle finger, the same finger he wore his on, he placed a gentle kiss on your knuckles. "Looks good on you, sweetheart." He commented. "Thank you, Ozzie." You smiled more as you moved to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug that was quickly returned by the king pin. You didn't think you could love this man any more than you already do, but every day he finds a new way to prove you wrong.

~~~🐧~~~

I know it's short and probably not that good, but I really wanted to write some for Farrell!Penguin, and what a better way to start with some feel good fluff! 🐧🐧

(Edit to insert a photo of the ring in question.)

[fetish4juggalos]

Bed time with Gotham villans

I haven’t posted anything recently and thought in light of 2023 coming to a start I’d post something for the new year even though we’re 6 months into it :3

I apologize in advance for both grammatical errors and spelling errors:)

Oswald Cobblepot

I can imagine oswald being a very wild sleeper. Like the kind that can go to sleep on the opposite side of the bed and end up with their leg over you with their arms wrapped around you

Probably has alot of night terrors specially about his mom and dad. Loud random screams in the middle of the night will be a common occurrence for you

Goes to sleep in a full pajama set with night cap and slippers:)

Blanket hog all the way, constantly kicking you in the back, cuddling into you, ect.

Though he's probably not the best to sleep with hes definitely got the nicest bed. Like im talking king sized with silk pillow cases, and sheets with a ridiculous thread count

I imagine him having some long ass night routine or some weird night ritual he follows before bed

He's the last to get into bed and the first to fall asleep

Likes a warm glass of milk (or a lukewarm glass of alcohol) before bed because he's old fashioned

Refuses to go to sleep without you and will wait till the early hours of the morning and late hours of night for you to come to bed

Edward Nygma (pre-riddler)

Ed unsurprisingly is very pleasant to sleep with

He’s not a very calm sleeper but he isn't like incredibly wild either. Maybe a arm or leg thrown over the edge of the bed but thats about it

Has the occasional night terrors but besides that is otherwise peaceful 

Sleeps in relatively normal sleep attire. Plain shirt with pajama pants mostly

Really basic white male night time routine. shower, brush teeth, wash face and head to bed

He has a decent sleep schedule with only the occasional sleep insomnia

Likes to spend a little time playing video games or solving puzzles before bed

Edward Nygma (post-riddler)

Sleeps a lot less then pre-riddler ed

When he does sleep it’s only for a few hours and tends to have nightmares in between periods of rest

He’s not one to initiate cuddling during bed time but he won’t stop you from cuddling up next him

Will at times sleep on the couch or wherever he ends up falling asleep. Mostly up to you to make sure he gets a healthy amount of rest

Over thinks greatly before bed and ends up circling the room on a tangent or whenever an idea strikes

Sometimes breaks into your apartment just to sleep next to you or will show up and pass out on your couch

Talks and mumbles in his sleep

Victor Zsasz

Victor rarely sleeps but will lay in bed just to be next to you for a few hours before his next job

Sleeps in mostly just boxers since he takes a shower directly before he goes to bed but on off days he’ll throw on a t-shirt and lay in bed with you

Calm sleeper surprisingly

It takes a specific type of man to be able to kill someone then come home and sleep peacefully

He’s a quiet sleeper which is also why he makes such a god assassin as noise suppression is a huge part of his job

You always fall asleep first and he likes to just stare at you for long periods of time

Half drunken water bottles and glasses on the night stand at all times

I feel like he would have some kind of lengthy skin care routine before bed

Likes cuddling especially if he’s the little spoon

Wakes up at ungodly early hours of the morning

Blanket hog but just to be annoying and so that way you’ll sleep closer to him

Only really sleeps if you’re sleeping with him as he doesn’t really sleep as much as most people and probably only rests his eyes for a few hours at a time

Jervis Tetch

Jervis is very affectionate when it comes to bed time. He loves cuddling, holding you, kissing you ect.

I imagine his bed is incredibly comfortable with many multi-colored and textured throws, quilts, and blankets covering the bed. Probably decorative pillows as well in many colors and shapes

Full pajama sleep attire. Button up sleep shirt, pants, slippers, and a night hat similar to Oswald

He likes reading to you or being read bedtime stories. His current favorite (aside from obviously alice in wonderland) is the wizard of Oz

A warm glass of milk or tea before bed is essential and he always makes some before bed

Jervis is a bit of a wild sleeper but for the most part stays in one spot on the bed only kneeing you a few times and stirring in his sleep

He runs warm so he doesn’t take up a whole lot of blanket but during the summer he ends up drenched in sweat blanket or not

Wild bed head since his curls are hard to tame at times

Stays up late so he falls asleep first since he’s always exhausted and sleep deprived

Wokenup in a cold sweat a few times from the occasional nightmares relating to his sister but all he needs is you to pull him back into reality

Talks to you until he falls asleep to help him get some energy out and clear his mind. He talks to you about anything and everything until he begins to drift off

Jerome Valeska

Jerome is an incredibly wild sleeper. So much so to the point where no matter what position or side of the bed he’s on he’ll end up on the opposite side in a completely different position

Throws the blanket off and on going from hogging it to throwing it on the floor

He runs hot so his sleep attire is mostly him without a shirt and a pair of tattered pajama pants or just boxers

He doesn’t really have a night time routine to speak of or a steady schedule

Normally it’s just whenever he’s tired and wherever he’s at that determine what his sleep is going to be like and how long it lasts

He’s a big cuddler at first but because he’s such a wild sleeper he’ll probably end up letting go of you and turning to the opposite side of the bed

He’ll wake up in a bad mood if he’s not sleeping with you next to him or in his arms in the morning tho even if it’s entirely his fault

He’s a brat so it takes forever to coax him into going to bed. Plus he’s stubborn so even when you get him into bed he’ll do everything in his power to annoy you or to not fall asleep

He talks a lot in his sleep normally it’s laughter or it’s him mumbling on about his mother and the trauma he received

He has nightmares but they don’t wake him up only increase his tossing and turning and sleep talk

I feel like he sleep walks at times when he’s not knocked completely out and I can image you’ve had to bring him back to bed a few times

[gilverrwrites]

YAY PENGUIN FISCS!! Can you please do something soft and fluffy with Ozzie! Maybe he's feeling a insecure about their age difference and she makes him feel bettere? thankyou

Guys My Age

Pairing: Oswald Cobblepot/GN!Reader

Rating: Mature

Words: 561

AN: Yes! Yes, I can! I wanna give this man so much loving! 🖤💜

Ko-Fi || Masterlist || Request Info

Content: Fluff, insecurities, (mild) sexual themes, age gap, implied nudity.

Please Remember: You can, and you will.

Deep, steady breathing fills the room as you lay together. Ozzie ran hot, so the silky sheets beneath you served two purposes: to feel luxurious and to stay cool under his heated skin.

Speaking of, once you rolled onto your side, you couldn’t help but run your splayed fingers over him. Enjoying the warmth of his body as you trace the roundness of his belly, then his chest, twirling your fingers in and out of his dark body hair.

Oz grins lopsidedly, exposing his wicked golden teeth. You grin back, enjoying the quiet moment together. 

“I’m gonna go get us something to clean up with.” You lean in close, nuzzling your nose against his before delivering a kiss to his lips, one which he greedily accepts. “Do you need me to get you anything else?”

His hand finds its way to yours, holding it to his chest, keeping you in place. “Don’t you worry about getting up, sweetheart. You let Oz look after you.”

The mattress shuffles under your combined weights as Oz attempts to sit up. Stubbornly, you refuse to move, using your hand to keep him down. It's sweet, the way he always wants to look after you, but sometimes you wish he’d let you do the little things for him without dispute, if only so you could show him how much you appreciate the ‘royal treatment’.

“Come on, Ozzie. Your brace is already off.” You try to sound stern, even narrowing your eyes in a half-hearted glare. “I won’t take long.”

Unwilling to verbally admit defeat, he releases your hand, lips pulling into a begrudging pout as he settles back onto the comforter.

True to your word, it’s barely a minute before you return to the room, climb back on the bed and begin patting him down with a small towel.

“I must have done something real good in a past life to deserve you, darlin’.” When you look up at him, he’s watching you intently; his eyes are tender, admiring, but the remainder of his face lacks any real warmth. 

“Or maybe I was really bad.” You flirt. All clean, you discard the towel at the end of the bed and place yourself close by his side, supporting yourself with one arm to allow you a full view of his face and body.

“Oh, you’re bad, alright.” A smile returns to his lips, his chest shakes under a small chuckle, but it's short-lived. “Seriously though, what are you doing, wasting yourself on an old man like me?”

“Wasting myself? Ozzie… That’s nonsense.” The skin of his scarred cheek feels soft to the touch. “You know I adore you. There’s nobody else I’d rather be with.”

“You’re sweet, baby.” He replies, turning his head, inhaling your scent and placing a chaste kiss on your palm.

“I’m sweet on you, Ozzie.” You coo, turning his head back, allowing you the clearance to lean down and lay your own kiss on his lips. “Besides, nobody else has ever, or could ever, make me feel the way you do.”

From beneath you, he snakes his arms around your waist and tugs, causing you to fall flat onto him. Strong fingers massage the curve of your spin. “How I managed to get a thing like you to fall for me is beyond me, but I sure as hell ain’t lettin’ you go.”

[yandere--stuck]

Is it possible to make a request headcanons for Yandere BTAS Oswald Cobblepot?(ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

🐧 Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot is, above all things, a man with impeccable taste. It's only natural that he'd set his sights on you. A vision of pure enchantment. Divinity in human form. A marble sculpture made flesh, allowing unworthy, mortal eyes to bask in your grace. As a collector of fine art, Oswald knew he had to have you. In a room full of art, he'd only desire to steal you.

☂️ Using the wealth, power, and connections he's accrued over his criminal career, Oswald is easily able to gain information on you. He sends out some of his underlings to keep watch over you, keep track of your routine, and relay any and all findings on you back to him. Such knowledge is key to the courtship process, after all. What kind of suitor would he be if he knew nothing of his lovebird?

🐧 Oswald will likely incorporate a mixture of both his and your interests into future thefts in an attempt to catch your eye. If you have a favorite artist, news coverage will suddenly report that The Penguin has also developed an interest in plundering their work. You may or may not find your favorite prices suddenly displayed in your home. When he finally reveals himself to you, he aims to spoil you even more. The finest of garments, quality cooking, luxury furnishings… In fact, why stay anywhere else but his manor? You deserve nothing but the best, the perfect home, and… Well, Oswald has so many, big empty rooms…

☂️ Oswald also makes sure to inform his fellow Rogues that you are completely off-limits with regards to any crimes they may commit, even if only incidentally. He wants you safe and sound, and will not allow you to fall victim to criminal activity because of the life he's chosen.

🐧 Oswald is able to convince himself that any of your refutations on the nature of your relationship can be waved away as shyness or insecurity on your part. As such, he wants nothing more than to reassure you that you deserve all the love he has to offer. And, with him being rather affectionate, he typically uses touch to prove this to you. Being a gentleman, Oswald loves bestowing kisses upon your hand or cheek when in public. He'll also whisper sweet nothings into your ear in hopes of making you flustered. In a more private environment, he's especially fond of cuddling, and may even try to preen you if he gets caught up in the moment.

☂️ He's semi-lucid in terms of his awareness that you may not return his feelings. It's a constant creeping feeling at the back of his mind left behind by Ms. Vreeland and her cohorts. However, Oswald is able to quell these concerns with the excuse that you only act so hesitant to be with him due to concerns with the law. It makes sense, doesn't it? You wouldn't want to appear complicit in any of Oswald's criminal activities lest you also be punished by Gotham's joke of a justice system. In fact, Oswald wouldn't have it any other way. The only thing that matters to him is your safety and happiness. But, he doesn't dare ask if it truly is the case. He doesn't want to ruin this for himself, just in case. He doesn't want to shatter the illusion. He just wants to be happy and to make you happy and for you to love him as much as he does you. Just let him have this, please.

[misterfic]

A/N: I still don't know why I wrote this.

Title: The Penguin’s Prey

Summary: In the dark underbelly of Gotham, Oswald Cobblepot manipulates his power to break the one person who can serve as his trophy—Falcone’s daughter.

Pairing: Farrel!Penguin × Fem!Reader

Tags: Non-consensual Touching

_________________________

You trembled slightly, your back pressed against the cold, damp wall, knees drawn up as you stared at the man standing before you. Oswald Cobblepot—The Penguin. His name carried weight in Gotham’s underworld, but now, seeing him up close, the true menace behind his twisted smile was palpable. His scarred face, hardened by years of brutality, twisted into a smirk as he studied you. He waddled closer, his gait uneven but deliberate, each step resonating with the sickening realization that this man was capable of anything.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Oswald’s gravelly voice cut through the silence, laced with dark amusement. His eyes glinted as they traveled down your trembling form, noting your fear, savoring it. "Carmine Falcone's little girl. What a stroke of bad luck, huh?" He chuckled, but there was no warmth in the sound, only cold, sharp edges.

Your heart raced, the name of your father—the once untouchable crime lord of Gotham—now a curse. Ever since Falcone’s downfall, the power vacuum had turned the city into a battlefield, and you were caught in the crossfire. Oswald was determined to rise to the top, and being Falcone’s daughter put you directly in his path.

"Please," you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you knew pleading wouldn’t get you far. Not with him. "I didn’t do anything."

Oswald crouched down in front of you, his dark eyes never leaving yours. His hand reached out, a gloved finger trailing along your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. "Oh, sweetheart, I know you didn’t. But you see, this isn’t about what you’ve done." His voice was low, dangerously soft. "It’s about who you are. Carmine’s precious daughter. That alone makes you valuable. And I always knew one day I’d get my hands on something he cared about."

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening as his finger slid down your neck, a sickening sensation crawling over your skin. "You don’t have to do this," you breathed, trying to keep your voice steady, but the tremble was undeniable.

Oswald laughed softly, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your skin as he whispered, "Oh, but I do. You see, in this city, people only remember the strong, the ruthless. I’m going to show Gotham that the Penguin doesn’t just take what he wants—he takes everything."

Your breath hitched as his hand moved lower, his fingers grazing your collarbone before sliding down to the neckline of your dress. The darkness in his gaze deepened, and you felt a wave of panic wash over you. He was playing with you, relishing your fear, feeding off the power he held over you.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice dripping with twisted admiration. "Scared, trembling… but still so fucking beautiful. It’s almost a shame, really." His thumb brushed over the curve of your breast, and you flinched, unable to stop the tears from welling in your eyes.

Oswald grinned, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Your father… he always had everything handed to him. Power, respect, fear… women. But me? I had to earn it. Crawl through the dirt, claw my way to the top. And now, I get to enjoy the spoils."

His hand tightened on your thigh, fingers digging into your skin as he leaned in, his breath hot against your neck. "I bet Carmine never thought it would come to this, did he? His little girl, all alone with the Penguin." He chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing your earlobe, sending a jolt of fear through your body.

You squeezed your eyes shut, desperately trying to block out the sensation, but Oswald wasn’t going to let you forget. "Oh no, don’t close your eyes, sweetheart," he growled, his hand moving higher up your leg. "I want you to see who has the power now."

You whimpered softly, your body trembling uncontrollably, but you forced your eyes open, meeting his dark, predatory gaze. "Good girl," he purred, his hand inching higher, teasing the hem of your dress. "Now, let’s see just how much power I can take from you."

You could feel the darkness closing in, the walls of Gotham’s underworld tightening around you as you realized there was no escaping this nightmare. Oswald Cobblepot had you exactly where he wanted you—powerless, vulnerable, and at his mercy.

[agender-wolfie]

Oswald’s body makes me drool. I need that man in my mouth 😜

[siolixz]

⋆｡°✩ Of Love and Loyalty⋆｡°✩

+18

Part 1

<Part 2><Part 3: final>

Pairings: Oz "The Penguin" Cobb x Reader

Reader takes Victor's place in this story. She and Oz have a difficult relationship- he clearly likes her and she is conflicted in her feelings towards him (Eve doesn't have a sexual relationship with Oz in this). While I am between chapters, I decided to write this. Life has been so busy lately- so I apologize. Everyone in this story is 18+ and consenting. I've listened to Lana while writing this sooooo

Enjoy and give feedback If you want :)

Warnings: mentions of violence, smut , gunplay (¬‿¬)

After the death of your parents you were in a bad place, evidently. In a bad place, with the wrong type of people- stealing rims; trying to get by and scraping for food every day, life was miserable in Crown Point and it seemed like there was no way out.

 Not until he found you; shots firing by your head- he cornered you in the street- with a gun in your face. 

“P-please, please do-don’t.” all the words your stupid mouth could pronounce, he looked at you and he decided you were going to live- for the time being. 

This man, he was like a force of nature- so different, so strange. He was the most terrifying person you ever met in your life, from the way he carried himself to the way he dressed- you knew he was a mobster. Someone that the boys on the block, the ones that thought they were ‘tough’ and bullied people like you- people that needed help- could only ever dream of being like. 

Only in small glimpses could you see the man that was underneath; he was lonely, that much you knew- he was a man who dreamed of being respected, of being feared and loved, by all- maybe by you too, by the way you would catch him staring at you, the way he touched you sometimes- on your shoulder, on your hips- one time he brushed the hair out of your face, small acts of domestic kindness gave you glimpses into his desires, his wants and needs.  

“Where you from, kid?” He asked you about your life, he listened and he showed how kind he was, regarding your father and mother and your sister, for the first time since the traumatic event someone listened- everything, everything was taken from you.

He told you, “You have to be hard as nails, think on your feet.” He was right, people like you had to fight for the things they needed, the things they had to get in order to survive. He was like a mentor, you looked up to him, really- you did, but you were also scared, scared that one day you’re gonna do something wrong- say something wrong and he will put a bullet between your eyes before you know it. You couldn’t leave, if you did he was going to find you- the thought of that sent shivers down your spine.

As Robert told you about him leaving for California, you felt a rug being pulled from underneath you- he was the only thing tying you to your old life, the old you. The one who used to sneak into abandoned buildings with your friends; the one who ran home from school to meet up with him and your other friends to hang outside together- to enjoy life. 

“Why-why would you do that? Your whole life is here” you asked him. You and Robert enjoyed each other’s company, he kissed you a few times but that was all, he wasn’t your boyfriend, though you cared for each other.

“Not anymore” he told you “Our families are dead…we gotta care for ourselves now. Look at you, living in this nice apartment- it’s crazy he lets you stay here.” He looked around, almost not believing HE was here, let alone you. You told him that you do some paperwork for this club owner and he lets you stay in one of his spare apartments as payment, a good enough lie, he didn’t probe further. 

“Wh-when are you leaving?” you asked and as he told you that tomorrow night- you wanted to cry, beg him to stay.

“You could come with me” he grabbed your hands and leaned down to look at you “we could start over.” 

You looked at him and nodded “Robert, I-i’m not sure he…he will let me leave.” You took a deep breath. 

“Who? Your boss?” he asked.” Why would he care if you left? Does he-“ Robert took a pause, debating if he was going to ask you this or not “-does he ask for other things too?” You knew exactly what he was referring to. 

“N-no, nothing like that. Robert... this guy, he’s not just like a-a club owner.” you looked him in the eyes, trying to find a way to break this to him “He-he’s like…like a gangster.”

Robert’s eyes went wide “Then you definitely shouldn’t work for this guy. You need to leave.” He’s right, you did need to leave.

How is he gonna know? He’s too busy with Sofia to care for the moment, too concentrated on the new drug- this could be a way out- to get out of this city- for good this time. Leave all the pain in Gotham, start a new life.

 “The bus is leaving tomorrow night, 11pm, promise i’ll see you there?”

“Yes, promise.’ He gave you a quick kiss and left. 

After he came back home, he told you every detail he could think about. He seemed excited, that’s good. He told you he’s gonna need you tomorrow, he had a meeting with the Triads, apparently he forged an alliance with Sofia. Good, good for him, you were happy. Way too happy to see HIM happy, he was your captor- you shouldn't be happy for him.

Too bad you’re not gonna stick around to find out how the deal ends.

 While you were thinking of ways you could tell him about you disappearing while you waited in the Maserati- you were interrupted by a cop and you followed your ‘mentor’s’ words, “think on your feet”---he told you that evening that he was proud of you; as he smiled and grabbed your hand at the lunch you had to observe Luca’s wife at. 

This ‘intimacy’ he placed on you, he was going further and further every day. You didn’t want this, did you? Your stomach did a flip whenever he touched you or looked at you, maybe you wanted to be loved too, protected. 

Oz was also a charismatic man and pretty funny too, so what's not to like? Besides all the killing, he joked around with you and it seemed he enjoyed when you would give him a remark back, when you showed him you had it in you. 

You were leaving tomorrow, when he was gonna be busy at the club- his club. As he was talking to Sofia, he instructed you to be the supplier to the hookers giving the people in the club ‘Bliss’ that’s how he called it. 

His idea, you were sure.  You had to be dressed the part, in a tight white dress so short you couldn’t bend over at all in, your breasts barely covered by the material. 

Between trying to calm your nerves and trying to ignore the way Oz was looking you up and down like a starving man looking at a 3 course meal- this night was going to be hard to get through. 

But you already made a plan, when everyone was distracted, the girls with the customers and Oz with the Triads- you were going to escape. Out the back door and into the night- for a chance at a better life. 

As the evening went on the girls were becoming more and more demanding, people loved ‘Bliss’ and they sure loved you, when you came by- with the product in your purse they cheered for you; they knew your name, some even hit on you- but that’s not important.  

You had to “get your head in the game” like he would say, Oz, it felt so wrong to think like this but you felt bad, a part of you felt like you were gonna let him down- break his heart.

You weren’t ambitious like he taught you to be, you were a coward, afraid of a life like this, afraid of a life with him. 

He was always so full of confidence, of pride- you wanted him to be proud of you too.  Maybe he was going to be so happy he was gonna take the next step and kiss you, you didn’t want this, did you? This dangerous man, he killed people, he murdered them in cold blood and he liked it too.

He was also kind and funny and lonely, so lonely; you were lonely too, you could have a better life here in Gotham, as well- under his wing. 

You checked your phone “Bus is leaving in one hr, u coming?” Robert texted you.

Yes, yes of course you were coming, you had to get to the staff bathroom- upstairs, so you could leave his cash there; change into your old clothes- jeans and a t-shirt- blend into the crowd and leave. 

As Roxy called out your name and pulled you into the crowd, ‘to dance’ she yelled. You couldn’t look suspicious, play the part- play the part, you repeated in your head. 

“You two look like a match.” She yelled in your ear and smirked at you.

“Wh-who?” 

“You and the big boss” she grabbed your waist almost embracing you “Did you fuck him yet? Or are you saving yourself for marriage?” She giggled in your ear as she told you that.

“No.” You answered, clear as day. You saw the way they looked at you- back at Oz’s apartment, you just thought you looked different from them, they were all dressed so nice and you looked like you’ve been to hell and back, because you did- so that’s why they were whispering and giggling to themselves about. 

You told Roxy you had to go, said your goodbyes and you left immediately after. 

In the bathroom, you looked another time at your phone- “Bus is leaving in 30 min. Pls come.” Ok, you had to leav-

“Doll, we fucking did it! Triads are in.” The sound of the door being opened hard enough it almost fell off its hinges, made you immediately drop your phone near the sink ”Oh, it was sweet, you should’ve seen it. We gotta play it safe I mean I still got the Maronis on my ass.” he smiled at you, flashing his gold teeth and started to point his finger towards you.

“But you! Look at you, you fucking did it. I’m proud of you, so fucking proud of you!” He came closer to you and grabbed your face- cradling it, “I told Roxy to order some of that red wine you like- the good stuff, cmon!” He grabbed your upper arm and in the worst timing possible-your phone started ringing near the sink- you quickly turned around and closed it. 

“Give it to me-” He’s going to kill you. 

“Oz-”

“Now, GODDAMIT!” he yelled and you jumped. Your heart beating a thousand miles per hour, he couldn’t see what the texts were, he was going to go crazy. Now for sure, he was going to kill you. Great. You unlocked your phone and gave it to him, your knees felt like play doh.  

As he blinked and looked down at your phone, you could see him scroll through the messages. He looked up at you and you could swear you could see him think about what he was gonna say to you. This man- who was never quiet-was reduced to silence, for the first time since you met him.  God, this was a mistake, why did you want to leave, you didn’t want to leave him.

“We’re this fucking close and you wanna bail on me like that, for what? Some fucking guy who doesn’t care about you.” he said, brows furrowed. He didn’t know Robert, didn’t know if he cared about you or not, yet he is pretty sure he doesn’t- maybe he cares more than him. “With my fucking money, huh?” he asked, after looking at your purse and you. 

“N-no, I swear, it’s not-not about that.” You pleaded, hopefully he was gonna listen, please listen, you thought. 

“What did you have huh? Before I found you? Nothing.” He was right, you did have nothing “I gave you food, shelter, a job and I’m still not good enough for you-”

“Oz, n-no this isn't about that.” you pleaded.

“It sure as shit looks like it. You think you’re too good for this life. You wanna go? Whadya waitin’ for?” he moved his much larger body out of the way, so you could have a clear path towards the door “Fucking go.” He looked almost sad- desperate in a way.

“I-i can’t.” You couldn’t leave, he was going to kill you; he told you that- multiple times.

“The fuck, you think I’m holding you hostage or something? Like you’re my prisoner” Yes, you are. Maybe you liked it, maybe this whole ‘im gonna escape' thing was all a bluff, you wanted a life like this, it excited you, it made your heart race- like he did. 

He moved his hand beneath his jacket and before you knew it- he pointed his gun at you.

“Oz-oz, hey-“ you started

“What did you have, huh? Before I found you?” He slowly started to move towards you, gun shoved near your face. “Fucking nothing. You were nothing. I would kill for you- I gave you so much of what I had, you have all the opportunity in the fucking world.” He came close enough you could smell his cologne and the whiskey on his breath “But this” he pressed the gun next to your head “this is all you feel!” His voice was breaking. 

“N-no-“ you tried to find the words to change his demeanor. You almost started to cry, your heart fell to your ass and you wanted the ground to swallow you whole right now

“This is all you feel, huh? Being with me?”  He looked into your eyes, his own brown eyes were being illuminated by the bathroom you were in, almost reddish- showing the anger and disappointment he probably felt- you let him down. 

“What else did you tell him, huh?” He asked, once he removed the gun from your temple, as he trailed it down your body, from your neck to your belly. “That I’m in the mob... that I kill people, that you helped hide a fucking dead body?” 

He was so close to you, the way he pressed you against the wall- reminding you of the first time you met him. “That I wanna fuck you?” He whispered.

His question made your ears and cheeks flush with blood and your heartbeat start pounding even more- if that was even possible. His gun trailed even lower and you thought he stopped pointing it at you, until you felt the cold barrel of it on your leg- goosebumps appeared on your skin, he trailed it up and up until it gripped your tight dress from underneath. 

His pupils were blown wide and his breath was getting heavier. “Truth is, you always had a choice.” He moved the gun even higher and with the help of his hand your thongs were on full display in front of him, your dress on your waist.  

He moved his gun to the front of your panties, pressing against your pubic bone- you didn't want to look down and stare at the shameful display.  

“And you choose to stay.” As he moved the gun near the part of the thong that was covering your clit and moved it down there, you couldn’t help the moan that escaped you and you looked down, partially because this was so shameful and partly because you didn’t want him to see how turned on you were. 

As you opened your eyes when you looked down- you saw his boner in his pants and the gun he had pointed towards you and the way he held it- like he actually was going to shoot you. 

“I’m-I’m sorry.” You whispered, hoping this would be enough. Maybe you could move on- you didn’t mean it. 

“Look at me.” you reluctantly raised your head “This is what you want, this life- doing this...Don’t fucking lie to yourself. You want to be more than your parents, be someone.” He looked at your lips and then back up into your eyes, as you remained quiet he pressed the gun even harder against your clothed clit. 

“M-my parents would be ash-ashamed of me.” He pressed it even harder “please.”

“Please what? You have to use your words doll.” He gave you a glinted smile- he enjoyed this immensely, what a sick man. “Maybe I can give your little boyfriend a call, have my men go after him and put a bullet in his fucking head. “ 

“You wanna be nothing, great, you already are.” He moved his gun from the right hand to the left and replaced the cold barrel of the pistol with his fingers; the warmth of them was warmly greeted with your involuntary moan. He moved the gun right under your chin- you wanted to cry again, your eyes were closed. He was capable of anything. Don’t cry in front of him, don’t do it.  

He started tracing circles on your clit and as you opened your mouth to breath out a moan, he pressed his lips to yours- tongue touching your upper lip. You were scared, so fucking scared, all you felt since meeting him was this- attraction and fear. All of it led to this moment, a breaking point he reached once he thought you were gonna leave him.

“Open your mouth” he was mere inches away from your lips, he moved the gun next to your body again, pressing into you “open.”- you obeyed. The size of him alone pressing into you was almost suffocating. 

You tried to kiss back- in all your shocked state, truly, you tried. His touches on the most sensitive part of your body were becoming erratic, too busy with the fact he was kissing you. He left your clit and started groping your breasts, almost painfully, you gave him a groan of pleasure mixed with the uncomfortable feeling of having a man his size shove himself over you, touching you anywhere he could get his hands on. 

“You talk about leaving me but you’re so fucking wet.” a trail of saliva connected your mouths “You wanted this.” This wasn’t how you thought the night would end, with your boss on top of you. “Still think I’m wrong?” He removed himself from on top of you and grabbed your arm- putting you in front of the mirror, with him behind you; gun still in his hand.

You saw him pull himself out of his pants and shuddered, maybe in fear and maybe in lust too, this big scary man. Almost crying just because you wanted to leave him, you’ve only known him for a few weeks. 

You were holding yourself up on your hands and as he pulled your panties to the side and slowly entered you, you saw him close his eyes in pleasure and then look back down at the way you took him.

He pressed the palm of his hand on your back; so you leaned forward even more, giving him an eyeful of you and him.

You almost felt like screaming when he buried himself so deep into you the next second, you’re pretty sure you did. What if one of the girls came in? You’re pretty sure Oz wouldn’t give less of a fuck about that right now. 

“Ow fucckk..” he looked up and back down again before setting a pace that made your knees almost give out, thank God you were holding yourself up. He grabbed one of your legs and put them on the sink so he could bury himself even deeper. 

When you felt something cold once again on your head you knew he had the gun pointed again at you; your blood ran cold. “You wanted to leave me..I own you.. I fucking own you” He smacked your bum so hard you knew it would leave a mark; with his eyebrows furrowed and a slight smile he asked you “Tell me, who owns you?” he wants to humiliate you, you thought you had a choice; that you could leave, you never had a choice; never will.

You felt like your cheeks would light on fire by the embarrassment you felt, either way, you had to obey him.

“Y-you” you shamefully lowered your head; closing your eyes, God it felt good to be fucked like this, minus the gun, on second thought, maybe with the gun was better. This was sick.

“Didn’t fucking hear you!” he roughly grabbed your hair and pulled you flush against him, with one hand he held the gun under your chin, with the other he grabbed your breast and fucked you against the sink. You didn’t know what to grab- so one of your hands instinctively grabbed the one he had against your boob- to pull him away if he grabbed you as hard as he did before and with the other-you held the one that had the gun. 

He pressed his nose against your cheek, “Who owns this pussy too, huh?” he kissed the side of your face, he wasn’t going to stop, was he?

Not only were you getting fucked by a man decades older, he practically could do whatever he wanted with you; kill you, fuck you, make you beg for him.

 “You do.” You hated saying this and loved it at the same time- the way he felt inside you, his big hands on you, the same hands that killed so many people without so much as a second thought- this was too much.

“Jesus…you’re fucking drenched.” He wasn’t lying, besides the muffled sounds of music from outside- the only sound in the room was the one your bodies made and the occasional groan from him and your moans, only you two could hear them- at least you hoped. 

“I’m gonna cum…tell me you want me to cum.. tell me you want it inside.” Goosebumps appeared on your skin and your thighs started shaking a little, either by the size of him or in anticipation, you didn’t know.

“I want it, please.” you told him, at this point his face was buried in your neck and his pace was losing momentum so you pushed yourself up against him; again and again.

 “Please what? Please what?!” he asked while fucking you

 “I want you to cum in-inside.” This whole ordeal, it got you so spent up you felt tears in your eyes; he shoved himself as deep as he could inside of you, pushing your body next to the sink until it was painful and you felt the way his cock was pulsing inside of you. 

“You’re not going anywhere.” he kissed you on your cheek. “You’re not going anywhere.” he whispered again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's note: Dude you fucked your own criminal kingpin boss?

Hope you liked the story, have a good day xoxomxxoxoxo

[richeeduvie]

Feather Trail - Small, Small Blurb for the Birdhouse Drabble

———— He Was Right to Follow You —————

This is just a lil bit.

This wasn’t what Oz he was expecting when he decide to follow you.

“Donny! Watch the supply, please. Precious cargo.”

You being a low-level drops deal…sorry, distributor…it just wasn’t the guy’s idea. But you’re good at what you do, and Oswald guesses the level of confidence you had in the diner can only exist in someone who does this for a living.

What a girl.

“…Boss, Ethan got fucked down on Leaver’s street.”

He watches you still, sigh, and press your palm against your forehead.

“Fucking hell. But you know what?”

And then you smile. Jesus, like your guy getting fucked isn’t nothing but gum on your shoe.

“It’s fine, it wasn’t even the biggest deal today. Just keep it pushing.”

“…His shoulder’s popped.”

“So. Push it back in. That’s our word for today, push.”

Oz’s head turns low, chin against his neck when he watches you kiss your goon’s cheek.

“Our very own doctor in the house.”

It could be jokes, the dynamic - meaning nothing, maybe that’s so when the guy turns away with an eye roll and a head shake, not blushing, not immediately excited to commit to your order.

But Oz breathes deep, hand flexing at his side. His mouth is parted, tongue just on his bottom lip. It’s rage rolling through him, and suddenly, he’s not breathing anymore.

He needs to find out if you mean the things you say.

[i-smoke-chapstick]

please i am begging i need a edward x oswald x reader threesome fic so bad will give you my firstborn child

‘YOU CAN BE THE BOSS,

-GOTHAM! NYGMOBBLEPOT X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; Do two tops make a bottom? No. But TWO tops and one bottom? Well…it’s something.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!nygmobbleput x female reader. SMUT!!! THREESOME!! Edward and Oz are both partial to bondage. They are both tops so they need a bottom to balance them out. Them both being a bit of a whore for your attention. Lots of kisses, body worship, need I say more? Oh, also, they fight like a married couple. They are too competitive for their own good.

♫ “As close as i’ll get to the darkness / He tells me to ‘Shut up, I got this.’ / Malt liquor on your breath, my my.” You Can Be The Boss by Lana Del Rey

Hands. Hands are all you feel, two sets of them specifically. They can’t keep their hands off you. And neither of them are intent on letting go any time soon.

You mewl against the headboard, struggling against your restraints. It’s not new in your relationship. Both of them seemed keen on tying you up. You aren’t quite sure just where Edward managed to get his hands on bondage rope, ball gags, and ankle cuffs, but you’ve learned not to ask questions.

They stand above you, hovering over you. Oswald’s tongue darts to wet his lips, and makes a curt nod to Edward. You notice the discreet gesture, one that silently says ‘My turn. No if’s, and’s, or but’s.’ You’d laugh at the childish action of calling first dibs, but it’s hard to make a coherent thought with Ed tracing patterns on your thighs.

You watch Ed grumble, and silently move aside.

Oswald’s nails dig into your thighs as he positions himself, he looks like he’s concentrating a bit too hard. Holding himself back. The moment he enters you, it feels heavenly. His cock drags across your velvet walls gently, slowly. Too slowly.

“No.” Is all Edward chimes in. You let out an embarassing whimper in confusion as Oswald continues his movements. Ozzie rolls his eyes and grits his teeth, face flushed from the feeling of being inside you.

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

Ed cocks his head, observing. He sounds unamused.

“She wants you to go faster.”

“I know that,” Oswald huffs out, ruffled. He doesn’t stop moving, and your breath hitches. “It’s called teasing.”

“Obviously.” Edward growls out, a little louder than intended. No insult to his intelligence to be taken lightly. “I just meant-“

Oswald let’s out a condescending laugh, corner of his lips twitching. “Oh, Edward. So impatient.”

Ah. So Ed just wants his turn now.

You watch Edward sneer, and Oswald turns to look at you.

“Is he right, my dear? Do you want me to go faster?”

He’s being awfully patronizing today, not that you mind. You let out a noise of agreement through the gag. Edward’s eyes light up at that, wolfish grin spreading across his face. One of Ozzie’s fingers comes down to gently trace your lips, and before you know it, he’s pistoning into you.

Cradling your body gently, and pounding into you. You feel him pressing gentle, loving kisses all over your neck and shoulders and chest, in contrast to the harsh thrusting of his hips against your skin.

Eddie’s eyes are narrowing in on you, chest rising and falling as he watches the show.

“Ah, so beautiful.” Oswald is whispering sweet nothings in your ear, trying his hardest to keep his composure, and failing. “So sweet.”

You wonder if he’s deliberately showing off in front of Ed that he has you. You watch Edward’s eye twitch.

Oswald lets out a broken laugh, borderline condescending, as he spills inside you first. You watch him breathe hard against your skin, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He thinks he won whatever kind of game him and Ed are playing.

“That’s enough.” Edward says harshly, taking off his glasses. Oswald sends him a wicked triumphant grin. You feel the weight of the bed shift as Edward lays down his long limbs, and positions himself on top of you.

You miss the feeling of a cock inside of you. You pull against the rope, and Ed finally fixes his attention off his pseudo-argument with Oz onto you.

You feel Ed’s hand clamp down on your throat, and watch Oswald’s eyes darken. Careful.

“My turn,” Ed whispers to you, gentle, and instantly fills you back up in one swift movement. You feel the familiar feeling of hot, feverish friction. Edward’s other hand goes down to rub harsh circles on your clit, that makes your back arch up into him.

Ed lets out a low groan, and his eyes flit to Ozzie’s, who clicks his tongue. Ed holds his gaze, showing off.

“You’re acting like a child.” Oswald sneers and whispers under his breath, as if he wasn’t doing the exact same thing just moments prior. Edward pushes hard into you again. You can’t help the high pitched squeak of surprise that comes from your throat. You squrim against your bindings, aching to touch him.

“Don’t be a sore loser, Oswald. It doesn’t look good on you.” Ed responds. “I think she likes this much better.” Another squeeze to your throat has your eyes glazing over in overstimulation.

In defiance, Oswald turns away, jaw clenched, and Ed get’s the one up. He finishes inside you, just like Oswald, cum sticky and dripping down your inner thighs.

“A little crude, don’t you think?” Oswald scolds, and joins Ed back above you, motioning to the mess they’ve made of you.

You watch Ed roll his eyes for the millionth time. They stare at each other, predatory, and you realize this is just the beginning of tonight. One round. They truly won’t stop until you’re either too broken to concentrate…or you’ve chosen a winner.

Good luck.

[crystalveil]

So…..how’s everyone feeling after the finale 😭 poor kid just wanted a mentor and instead it ended like that, what the fuc-