#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.

[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.”

[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

[crystalveil]

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

[yourlocaldcbitxh]

How I think Gotham characters would reach to you being overstimulated

Brought to you by me being overstimulated

Warnings: Overstimulation due to whatever reason, maybe some self harm (scratching of arms or forgetting to eat), mentions of someone getting shot

~~

Immediate reaction is confusion

Why are you not speaking? Why are you rocking back and forth scratching down your arms?

Probably stands there for a moment before asking you to “stop whatever it is you’re doing” while waving his hands

Doesn’t realize that you can’t hear him until he just stands there saying your name (ex: Edward, Edward, Edward-)

Then he goes into panic mode

Buzzing around you wondering what wrong and how he can help

Settles with glass of water, absolute silence and him sitting there, making sure to get ice for your arms or whatever you need or want after

The type of guy to shoot anyone who walks in and then profusely apologize for the loud noise

Like a 7/10 when he gets his shit together

Pre Riddler

He understands and had anything you could need

Weighted blankets, headphones, snacks you name it he has it

Will let you sit in his apartment or lab for as long as you need

Will get a little distressed if you end up scratching yourself or anything like that

Will walk over and gently grab your hands, apologizing for touching you but saying he doesn’t want you hurt

Will sit with you or leave you alone

Another guy who gives you anything you need

10/10 would recommend

Post Riddler

Gentler than one might think

Technically he is still Ed and is in his body so he knows overstimulated when he sees it

Had the same things as Ed but is a lot less nice about giving them to you

Kind of just hands them to you and walks back to whatever he was doing

Another one who will leave you alone or sit with you if you need it (he will complain about being busy)

Will not care if you scratch yourself

May look at you strangely for a moment but will not comment

Will clean them after if they’re deep though

6/10 kind of disinterested but he’s there

Looks at you strangely for a moment before sitting next to you and asking what you need

If you can’t speak he will simply guess

Essentials are water, blanket, food, soft music or silence

Will not touch you unless asked or signaled to

He runs cold though so beware if he is shirtless or pants less

Will hold you in his arms if you’re scratching yourself in kind of like a bear hug

Refuses to let you hurt yourself

Big on that (hypocrite)

All in all like 8/10 he’s great but can be a little rough with the grabbing

Barbara the queen that she is will order everyone out immediately

Puts a blanket near you to grab if you want and gets some water

Doesn’t ask questions but kind of does the Hand movements asking “stay or go” and you can decide one or two

Definitely has flash cards made she is mother

Another one who would shoot anyone who dares make fun of you or makes a noise

She won’t touch you on purpose but will probably touch you out of instinct

Just move away if you need she won’t take (much) offense (just explain after)

All in all 9/10 we love her

Nice about it

But has no idea what the fuck he is doing at all

Kind of just, stands there and looks at you and walks away to get a glass of water before leaving

Will panic and grab you very roughly if you start scratching yourself

Doesn’t really process the fact that he is making it worse probably

After that he just kinda… leaves

Comes back with food after and says sorry but is still clueless

Explain to him cause he does wanna help but is dogshit at it

4/10 teach him

Another man who doesn’t know what’s happening

“Want a drink” (he means whiskey)

Gets food and water and that’s about it

Totally just freezes when you scratch yourself and kind of just…. Lets you I guess

Internally man is beating himself up

But on the outside he just sits with you to make sure you don’t die

And gives you things you ask for

He’s like that clueless dad who needs to learn but won’t or can’t

Totally a pacer and just walks in circles

3/10 help him (if he can be) he means well

This man does not know the word overstimulated

He is going at all times

Nothing is too loud or too much or too bright

He is the fucking sun for god sakes

Will simply keep talking when he sees you freaking out (jerk)

Covering your ears is a good way to shut him up because usually you listen to him

He won’t know what do to at first but turns down the lights and tries not talk too much (mildly fails)

Blanket and water are a must and he sets them besides you

Another grabber when you’re scratching

“That’s my job sweetheart”

Smells good and is warm so that’s a good plus

5/10 loud but he’s trying

Quiet and respectful

A man of science so he knows what is happening and how to deal with it

Gets you water, a dark room, silence and headphones, and leaves or sits with you while working

He is busy but he cares

A gentle grabber who lets you know he’s gonna touch you

“I’m going to hold your hands if you don’t stop hurting yourself doll”

Surprisingly kind and gentle but that’s because he knows what it’s like to be ignored and not cared for

10/10 for the insane man

[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

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

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.)

[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.

[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.”

[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

[siolixz]

How Oz looks at you when you say he’s like family:

[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.

[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.

[i-smoke-chapstick]

Can I just have a small bit of headcanons or a Drabble on your pick of multi Gotham boys and their hands? Like I dunno if this is weird or not but kinda like just a dive down on what their hands feel like, who’s are soft and who’s are rough, who has vein hands, who has calloused hands. Just that kind of stuff please?🙏🤭🥺 (reason being of a specific hand edit I saw on tiktok 💀, also don’t feel obligated to do this if you don’t wanna. I completely understand.)

'FLESH, [hand! hcs]

-GOTHAM!VILLAINS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Oswald Cobblepot, Victor Zsasz, Jonathan Crane

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; gotham villains and how they use their hands on reader ;)

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!villains x female reader. Not pure porn but smut. Suggestive. Might be the most vanilla thing i've written? but I love this request so much and I AM A SLUT for these men. Canon typical violence for Victor, Oswald getting a little rough ;)

𝛰𝑆𝑊𝐴𝐿𝐷 𝐶𝛰𝐵𝐵𝐿𝐸𝑃𝛰𝑇

♫ “This is just my way of unleashing the feelings deep inside of me.” Flesh by Simon Curtis

I know what you're thinking.

Oswald's hands? Out of every Gotham man I could've chosen???

YES. YES OSWALD'S HANDS. Have you seen this mans HANDS? Whether they are on a knife, or in those red gloves, or if he's leaning forward on them? All predatory like...

Not to mention...the VEINS. In almost every scene I've seen of this man? His hands are VEINY. Skinny bird man is not living up to that penguin stereotype, especially not in the earlier seasons.

God- just the way he stirs the wine glass or glass of brandy. Yeah. He's thinking and wishing it was your thighs he was holding, staring into the golden swirls.

The man has some issues with being nervous during sex, but when he lets loose he lets LOOSE. And he becomes feral, desperate, grinding and PAWING for every part of you he can kiss and hold and worship.

C'mon. We see the way he grips that cane of his. The way he holds the custom made knife. The way he gets his knuckles all bloody from hitting Fish or doing his own dirty work in season 1.

Also...going back to those red gloves of his. Could you imagine? Him making you grind yourself into the palm of his hand, watching you, mesmerized at the feeling of skin on leather.

He just wants to watch you writhe from pleasure. His little true love all needy for him and his hands. Gah.

He's so flustered, by the way, if you tell him you like his hands. He's sputtering, and asking why, but that little cheeky (and villainous mastermind) part of him is making a note to use them even more.

"You-," He says with a bit of an unbelieving smile, brows furrowed, voice wavering before his face turns to a look of complete shock, "You want me to what?"

Don't get him wrong, he's listening intently to your wishes, he just looks like he's seen a ghost at your vulgarity. He's not used to being wanted.

𝑉𝐼𝐶𝑇𝛰𝑅 𝑍𝑆𝐴𝑆𝑍

♫ “You can dominate the game 'cause I'm tough / This spark of black that I seem to love.” Flesh by Simon Curtis

This man might have the most iconic hands out of EVERYONE on this list.

I mean, c'mon now. When you think of leather-clad knuckle-less gloves, who do you think of?

The man, the myth, the legend himself. Victor Zsasz has the hands of a working man and he likes to use them.

These are the same hands he carries his guns in, the same trigger finger that will pump inside you while you mewl around him.

In all seriousness, though, he LOVES his hands too. They are his favorite part of his body. Without his hands, what would he be able to do? He's skilled with them. Pleasuring you with them is no different.

They are slightly calloused from the sharp edges of the guns he holds, but he's learned to use his gloves to protect them. Regardless, the old scars and marks from when he was just a boy playing with a tec-9 still remain.

Also, he canonically wears rings when we first see him in the show. Yeah, he's using that to his advantage.

You'll feel the cold metal as he drags a finger along your spine, watching you shiver. He'll do that lazy side-smirk, breathing heavily as he watches you arch up into him just from a touch.

Don't tell him you love his hands. Please, for the sake of the zsaszettes having to suffer a total EGO trip. He's taking it in stride.

But if you do happen to mention it...he's bragging about it.

Every time he gets complimented on a nice shot, he's bring you up.

I can imagine him holding someone hostage, whether its Jim or someone else. He notices them staring at the gun in his hand, full of fear, and he'll look flattered.

"Oh? Are you staring at my hands? Sorry, I'm taken." He's mentioning, off-hand, to the rando he's kidnapped. It doesn't matter if the hostage is a full on 50 year old man. "My girlfriend says she loves my hands. Y'know, life's work, and all that."

𝐽𝛰𝑁𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑁 𝐶𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐸

♫ “This is not the way into my heart, into my head. / Into my brain, into none of the above.” Flesh by Simon Curtis

Okay, maybe i’m just a monster fucker, but HEAR ME OUT!!

Uncut nails behind those talons of his on his costume. On or off.

Sometimes, he’ll be fully clothed, drawing scratch-marks into your skin, lowly humming in pleasure. That little spark of fear in your eyes when he draaaaaags down just right makes him go crazy.

He can’t help it. You’re his armeggedon, his muse, his savior all in one. The remedy to his madness…and you get all worked up from just a touch. It strokes his ego, like Victor, but he’s quieter about it.

Dirt beneath his fingernails, callouses and blisters from working with those damned poisons. He’s suffered a chemical burn or two, and you’ll see the small circle scars on his knuckles.

You’re like his personal test subject. He likes to study you- watch your expressions when he glides his nails down your skin, almost touching you- but not quite.

Surprisingly a tease when he finds out. He’s nonchalant. He won’t let you see the sheer arousal simmering beneath the surface.

But boy, it’s there. His heavy breathing. It affects him just as much as it effects you. The chill down your back, the shivers left in his wake. He takes his time edging playing with you.

You might need to ask him to cut them lowkey because they can be kinda painful when he’s fingering you. Or…if you’re into that little sting of pain while his tongue massages your clit through his mask.

He doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s filthy.

“There you go, little mouse. You like it, don’t you?” He pauses, in thought, while you grind for friction like a cat in heat against his finger tips. “I wonder…where I should sink my claws into you next?”

That damned deep voice of his…the subtle curl of his fingers inside you. Before you know it, he’s pumping in and out, trying to elicit the most vulgar reactions from you. He can’t help it. For a man who prides himself on control…he looses it all when he’s with you.