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Farrell!Penguin x Fem!Reader, word count: 500 little bit of something fluffy, let's all pretend that oz and vic are family forever and oz is capable of love ok? OK!? ok good💜🐧 commission work request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: fluff, domestic cuteness
Once he’d knocked the door, Oswald turned to Victor, his eyes settling on him as he spoke in a hushed tone.
“When we get in there, you keep quiet. Speak when spoken to, alright, kid? Be polite.”
“Of course…”
They were welcomed in by your warm smile, your hands grabbing Victor’s in an introductory shake that was far from the cold, business-like introductions he’d made so far with Oswald’s inner circle. All you’d offered was your name, and Oswald hadn’t explained anything about you, but Victor liked you immediately. Your place smelled like sugar and spices, it was cosy and inviting. And when you mentioned that you were almost finished making cookies, he realised this was the nicest day he’d had since working for Oswald. Nothing bad was going to happen while he was here, he was sure of it.
He’d sat quietly on the edge of the sofa, looking around at the homemade decor that adorned the walls, interrupted as Oswald sat himself down next to him, leaning back and making himself comfortable. He looked at ease, no worries, no tension in the way he sat. So Victor tried to make some light conversation.
“So… this is your girl’s… place?”
Oswald knocked Victor’s arm with the back of his hand, a gentle smack, but one with assertion behind it.
“Hey, she’s not mine, and she’s not a girl. She’s my partner. Equal. Actually, know what kid, truth be told she’s a hell of a lot better than me, even if she won’t admit it.”
Victor looked forward, trying to figure out what Oswald was trying to say. He was always so wordy, and it took him a little longer to figure out what he was talking about most of the time, so he decided to risk another smack for some clarity.
“But …you’re d-dating her, right? She’s like… your girlfriend, or s-something?”
“Yeah, or something. Bit more, maybe even more than that some day, when I can get a minute to myself to plan it out.”
Another cryptic answer, but at least he knew now that you were more to Oswald than just a safe space to lay low for a while.
“She s-seems nice. Pretty.”
Oswald turned to him, his lip curling up, eyebrows sinking in a confused sneer.
“Pretty? You fuckin’ stupid, kid? She’s gorgeous. She’s wonderful. She’s- … she’s the best. You’ve never met someone like her kid, and trust me, you’ll be better off just having met her.”
You weren't sure if Oz knew you could hear him or not. He wasn’t shy about his affections towards you, but it was sweet to hear the way he talked about you to someone else.
“And wait till you taste these cookies. You think a mixed slush is good? This chick, I’m tellin’ ya. She’s something else.”
With a wide smile that pressed into your soft cheeks, you plated up the cookies, fresh from the oven, and carried them through to the living room other apartment, letting Oz choose one from the plate first, giggling as he winked at you as he took his first bite.
Different Worlds
Selina Kyle x gn!reader WC: 525 Despite being from different worlds, you and Selina find time to see each other Warnings: None Written for @monthlywritingchallenges Golden Hour Challenge - Day 19 - Rooftop - ☀️
You live in different worlds, you and your cat. You take the day, the warm sun pressing into your skin, the flowers blooming as you watch. She takes the night, the cool moon watching over Gotham, the streets filling with noise of unrest. But as day gives way to night and night gives way to day, you find your chance to see her.
You push open the door and step out onto the open rooftop. And there she is, your cat. She leans against the railing, sharp eyes surveying the streets below. When the sun finishes setting and the light bleeds away, she’ll be gone, but for now, she’s yours.
“Selina.”
She turns at the sound of your voice, already smiling. She offers you a hand, welcoming you to her side.
“Hi honey.” She presses a kiss to your shoulder, following the line up your throat. “How was your day?”
You tell her about the customers in the shop, the good, the bad, the deeply confused. She laughs at your impressions, the sound warm and enticing.
“What was your favorite part of the day?” It’s the same question she asks you every night.
And you give the same answer, “Seeing you.”
She smiles, tucking herself into you, turning her back on the city. And for a moment, she’s yours and yours alone. There’s a tension in her shoulders, something wary in her eyes.
“Hey,” You ask softly, “What is it?”
She cups your face, “Promise me you’ll stay in tonight.”
You want to ask, to pry, but she so rarely asks anything of you, “Of course.”
“Lock the door, the windows, everything you can. Use the safety bars too.”
Your brow knits together, “Selina.”
“And don’t answer the door for anyone, even people you know.”
The question is on the tip of your tongue, but you push it away, “Whatever you say.”
She can here the frustration in your voice, her eyes softening in answer, “I can’t tell you yet, but I promise I’ll explain when I can.”
“I know,” You press your forehead to hers, “It’s just hard sometimes. I worry about you.”
“I can take care of myself. And I’ve got nine lives.” She laughs, coaxing a smile out of you.
“Not if you use them all.”
“I won’t.” She assures you, “I can’t. One of those lives is already promised, after all.”
Your smile brightens, thinking of the ring she’d tucked into your drawer. A promise for better times.
“Just be careful.”
“As a cat.”
You can’t help the laugh, “Alright.”
“Come on,” She tugs you away from the railing, turning you towards the raised part of the room. “Let’s not spend what time we have together worrying.”
You look at the dinner she’d laid out and nod. She twines around you until she can lay her mouth on yours, kissing you deeply. You let yourself be carried away on the heat and need in her kiss, your worries flowing away.
You’re as different as day and night, you and your cat. And it shouldn’t work, but even day meets night and night meets day. And those brief moments are worth everything.
Oz Cobb x falcone daughter reader.
contains spoilers for the last chapter.
English is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes :(.
I hate Oz, but that hate make me write this.
I love you; i'm sorry.
A tired sigh left her lips. She felt all her bones ache as she walked looking for her husband and Vic. She smiled just thinking about them. Vic had won her heart in so many ways. Victor would be someone powerful in the future, and she would be there to support him along with Oz.
She saw them in the distance talking; she quickened her pace so she could join in the conversation, only to stop moments later; her whole body paralyzed, even stopping breathing for a few seconds as she witnessed what was happening in front of her. Her heart was begging to stop Oz from what he was doing, but her mind assured her there was a reason behind it.
Seeing Oz kill Victor with his bare hands left her vulnerable. She turned her back to them as she put a hand to her mouth, covering her sobs. She cried silently until she stopped hearing Vic struggle. She heard the body falling to the ground and tried to wipe her tears quickly as she turned around. She saw Oswald going through Vic's wallet, throwing away his ID, and pulling out the money he had.
Her husband's eyes met hers as she walked over to them.
"May I say a final goodbye?" She asked in a whisper, and felt the tears forming in her eyes again.
Oswald looked at him for a few seconds before nodding.
"Sure, doll, but make it quick."
She reached down, caressing Vic's face, lovingly and sadly. She rested her forehead with his.
"In another life you will not have this fate; I hope your family waited for you."
She kissed his cheek, not caring about getting it wet with her tears. She looked up to see Oswald offering her his hand; she took it with a slight tremor. She looked for the last time at the young man who brought smiles to her face when she was sad, the young man who always helped her reconcile with Oswald, the young man who had so much to live for but got involved with the wrong people.
They began to walk away, but without seeing him one last time, she sighed heavily, knowing that this was only the beginning with the new ruler of Gotham.
Victor's death created a before and after; she squeezed Oz's hand tightly and looked at him.
"He did something wrong, right?"
"Yes, doll, he couldn't come with us this time."
And she believed him. Victor earned a place in her heart, but Oz had a bigger place and always will.
At that moment she remembered his father's words.
"Some people were not born for this life, others were always destined and only one wins the power."
As they walk away a proud smile appears on her face, her husband won that power.
tirnalilc.
saw your post about the batman being your hyperfixation... absolute BANGER film, i love it so much
Oh absolutely!! I adore it so much 🥰
I love Matt Reeves take on Batman, Gotham, and just this universe and interpretation in general!!
Every time I watch it, I notice details that I missed the last time watching!!
I'm absolutely ecstatic for the sequel that's in production!! 🖤🦇
Could you please do a head cannon for married life with Farrell!penguin? Thank you
Farrell!Penguin Headcanons ok yes yes yes yes yes i am sorry this took me so long to get to but i had so many thoughts i had to get out ALSO some of these may seem out of character TO YOU, to me they are gospel truths lmao he can settle down and be good i SWEAR (also the doggy in your icon, i am enamoured, very cute 10/10) 💜🐧 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: mostly fluff, some mentions of sex, i mentioned potential kids because i am feeling benevolent and kind today lmao
wedding hcs
i think he'd be a bit of a bridezille tbh, like he's involved in every part of the planning and is obsessed with the tiniest details being perfect
the honeymoon is in italy for sure, like he is doing the MOST, expensive and romantic
white tux with a purple shirt for him, because of course
an entire orchestra to play while you walk down the aisle, he's never been one for understated elegance lmao
whipping out those reading glasses for his vows, trying to stumble through the speech he's written out because he's so nervous, like actually sweating, despite being able to let out lectures and spiels at a moment's notice usually
general married life hcs
oz uses so many petnames and nicknames for you that he has borderline forgotten what your actual name is before
only ever refers to you as "the mrs" when he's talking to his associates, because he once accidentally called you his pudding and the stifled laughter made him blush so badly
makes pasta like his grandmother used to make and lets you taste it by licking his finger, it's a weekend tradition
date night is also a staple in the house, and he will reveal to you his love for bowling and make you start a doubles team with him
makes sure to buy a house with a lot of outdoor space and holds lots of parties and get togethers and is in charge of the grill at bbqs
he'd also demand a house with a pool, just so you truly live in luxury
the pool is fine but really the luxury is oz, laying on a sunbed, stomach poking out the bottom of his shirt, three buttons undone at the top, chest hair and gold chain out for all to see
no matter what you're doing in the house, you should be sitting in his lap, it's just a rule you gotta follow
he's obsessed with the idea of you both learning a language together, so he takes classes with you
every year he sends out a very boastful christmas card with a full 5 page letter about how the both of you are doing and they always have personalised ones with themed pictures of you guys on the front
nsfw hcs
he loves when he fingers you and his wedding ring is covered in your slick. if it were up to him he wouldn't wash it off
calls you mrs cobblepot when he cums on your wedding night
has refused to touch you for a month before the wedding so he can fuck you good and desperately
you can tell when he’s in the mood for sex when he’s wearing his silk, purple tiger print boxers (otherwise he dresses quite casually around the house once he's settled down)
likes wearing nothing but his gold chains in bed, will sometimes make you wear them
he's older so not as agile and his stamina has dipped, but he's just decided this is an opportunity to become the best at giving head so you are in for a fucking treat
he's a little bit superstitious, like he always has to kiss you before he goes to bed and tell you he loves you before you go anywhere without each other because he needs that to be the last words between you should anything happen to him
oswald remembers EVERYTHING, and is definitely the kind of guy who celebrates the anniversary of when he first saw you, when you first kissed, when you moved in etc.
he can be a little bit much at times in his need for you to know that you're his, that he'll never leave you, that he'll take care of you forever, but the desperation in his words is quite romantic actually
family hcs
yeah sure he looks cool on the surface but he's a total dweeb when it comes to family
he has such fond memories (maybe misremembered...) of his own childhood so he's set on his family being perfect
he makes his family go on sunday walks together, but he calls them the sunday waddles
he calls his house the nest and his kids are his chicks
any expected children (adopted or home grown) are referred to as eggs before they're in the house and hatched
refuses to talk about crime in front of the kids in case they "come out bad" lmao (as if they had a choice, they're Cobbs!!)
Hi hi! could you do farrell!ozzie finding an envelope in his office drawer and its full of polaroids of reader varying from wearing just his silk pajama shirt to lingerie that leaves little to the imagination with a little note "for when you miss me xoxo" as a surprise for him with gn!reader?
He just strikes me as a guy to like polaroids that could be put in his wallet more being sent nudes bc it feels more personal
the way that you write him sparked my hyper fixation on and i've been eating it up lately🤭🤭
Farrell!Penguin, word count: 500 are you TRYING to kill me anon??? the THOUGHTS i had imagining him receiving these sent me over the fuckin moon and i had a whole plot in my mind immediately lmao 💜🐧 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: solo pengy!!, masturbation, kinda risky, messy finish
Oswald was frantic, sweat beading at his temples as he hunted for the note he'd made earlier with the information he needed in order to follow through his plans the following evening. He knew he'd find it eventually, he just had to calm down and clear his mind. But in a last ditch attempt, he opened the final drawer of his desk.
Instead of the notes he was looking for, he found something far more useful. The perfect cure to the stress and tension that had settled heavy on his chest.
Several polaroids were left fanned out, all of them displaying you in varying clothes and levels of explicit poses. In the first one he lifted up you were posed on his bed, wearing only his silk nightshirt. In the second, lingerie that barely covered you but left enough to the imagination that his mind started running wild. And then in the last one, a close up of your face, eyelids half-lidded in a sultry expression, your lips blowing a kiss, the background out of focus, but obvious that your body was bent over and completely nude.
He ran his thumb over the picture of you that he held. His smile exhibited a far more gentle, more admirable expression that the lustful feelings in his chest. He turned it over just to check, knowing you well enough that he wasn't surprised when he found the note you'd scribbled on it.
"For when you need a little reminder of what you've got waiting for you at home. Remember to stop working some time, Ozzie. You deserve a break for all the work you do x"
You were exactly right, and he took a deep breath, a satisfied sigh exhaling softly as he reached for his belt, unbuckling it with his free hand and dipping below the waist of his pants to palm at his cock over his underwear.
He spread his legs wider below the desk, giving him adequate space to rub his length, deciding to allow himself the pleasure of going just a little bit further. His thick, warm fingers skimmed over his cock first, before he gripped the length and began to stroke himself, fast and firm.
Oswald found the fingers on his free hand running over the picture of you, his memory of your body strong enough that he could swear he was touching you right then and there. Although it was perhaps not the brightest idea, as the slightest hint of you was enough to send him over the edge, and sooner than he could realise, he was reaching his climax, spilling his seed with a shocked grunt.
His cum had marked his pants, and he knew it would dry in an even worse stain.
"Ah… shit." He looked back at the pictures scattered on his desk. "I'm gonna make you pay for that, kid. Just you wait."
Farrell!Penguin x Plus Size!Fem!Reader, word count: 8.5k commission: i am an oswald cobblepot fat girl lover truther, and i am always so so so so overjoyed when i get to write him loving on a big girl!! this is a sweet commission i got for a slightly shy and maybe a bit insecure and nervous plus size reader going on a date with oswald and then having some dessert afterwards... 💜🐧 commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: weight/insecurities mentioned, passing up food, awkward dinner date, penetrative sex, there's a magnum condom for my monster dong moment in here so you better at least giggle and blush for him
It was a fairly typical Saturday for you, with the exception of the evening’s plans. The minute that five o’clock had hit, you were rushing up off the sofa to start getting ready. Not that you had been doing anything except sitting in silence and waiting all day. Every time you tried to read or work on your latest craft project, or even turn on the TV for some mindless, numbing background noise, you had been immediately distracted by your nerves. And worst of all, those nerves had now made you ever so slightly behind your own schedule.
You ran quickly from the bathroom of your small apartment to the bedroom, abandoning the towel as it fell from you, but catching it in your hand to drag it along behind, and hoping none of your neighbours happened to peer in through the blinds at that moment. Standing in the corner of your room, you wicked away at the droplets of water on your body, watching your thighs jiggle as you rubbed them down. If you spent too long on this, the painful ritual of doting on your body, you might not want to go out at all, and you couldn’t risk any kind of delay-inducing breakdown. This was too important. How often was it that people were invited out on a date with Oswald Cobblepot?
A lot, actually, you imagined. He was handsome, charismatic, powerful, and of course, rich. A fact which you didn’t find important, but which he had flaunted anyway by sending you an outfit to wear for your dinner with him. You didn’t even recognise the name of the boutique on the packaging it arrived in, that’s how fancy it must have been. And you had immediately felt out of your depth, knowing that Oswald was more fashionable, more in the know than you. About everything, it seemed.
Well, maybe not everything. You weren’t quite sure how certain he’d be that he’d made the right move in asking you out once you had the dress actually on. It felt too tight, and like it highlighted every part of you that you were entirely self-conscious about. Every lump, every bump, every asymmetrical curve that you found on the sides of your body, the way your stomach and back both protruded somehow. This dress found a way to highlight it, like it was set out to disappoint you. An enemy. But you were already running dangerously behind schedule, and while that of course would usually send you over the edge and into a pit of nerves, this was only amplified by a thousand, made exponentially worse by the fact that you were potentially going to be late for a date. A date with none other, and you hated to repeat yourself, Oswald Fucking Cobblepot. There really was no time for you to let in the nagging self-doubt, not tonight. If you didn’t look directly at it, then you could pretend it wasn’t happening.
You quickly tidied up your hair, letting it fall into a slightly neater version of your usual style, and added what little makeup you were willing to wear, knowing that your nervous sweating was liable to have it all sloughing off within minutes anyway. Your concerns about looking absolutely perfect for Oswald were no longer a priority, or even a possibility. All you needed to be at this moment was presentable and on-time. And those concrete needs were slipping out of your grasp with every minute you spent panicking in your apartment. With a final deep breath and a quick check of your bag to make sure you had everything, you gripped the door handle and headed out.
Surprisingly, the forecast had been relatively pleasant for the day, and you found this to be accurate when you were out in the mild, thick air of Gotham. No rain, no wind, just a grey sky and an above average temperature for what seemed like the perpetually dismal and gloomy place you called home. Still, you carried your umbrella in your bag anyway, not trusting anything about the city. Umbrella, pepper spray, spare cell phone battery, mini first aid kit. The essentials. As you walked down the steps to the subway station a block away from your home, you wondered how many other cities necessitated this level of preparation and protection from its citizens. Surely, any other city, any normal city, even those without their own vigilante figures of justice, would maybe, at a push, carry some pepper spray. But, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Without the risk, there was no reward. And if the risk was a cavalcade of gimmicky, but dangerous, villains, the reward was Oswald Cobblepot. He was very much worth it, in the grand scheme of things.
As you waited on the platform among the throngs of other commuters, you tried to soothe your nerves by reliving the moment Oswald had approached you. Out alone, stood up by a blind date, filled with nerves about whether or not he had seen you and decided he wasn’t into ‘big girls’ and then left without a single word.And just as you had decided that the drink in your hand would be your last, your senses were overwhelmed by a presence that made your heartbeat quicken. There was a distinct warmth, a deep, almost sweet scent, and a feeling of safety that enveloped you as a figure sidled up beside you at the bar. They asked you a question, a simple one, almost cliche.
“How’s someone like you drinking alone, sweetheart?”
When you turned to answer, you felt yourself wobble on the bar stool, body threatening to faint as you recognised Oswald Cobblepot, smiling at you, his gold tooth glinting in the dim lights of the bar.
Initially, you thought it was a mistake, and had turned to see if there was someone prettier sitting behind you that had caught his eye. But he had placed his thumb and forefinger on your chin, turning you back around to meet his eye. A confident move that, had it been executed by anyone else, you would have been quick to beat them off and leave angrily. But this was Oswald. Fucking. Cobblepot. His charisma and reputation let him get away with a lot of things in Gotham, a bit of forceful flirting was definitely one of them.
He had asked your name, placed his hand high on your thigh as you spoke, and then apologised for having to leave so quickly. But he took your number, gave you his, and told you to be ready on Saturday, because he was taking you out to make up for whatever ‘dumb, rat bastard’ had stood you up. You had expected it to be an empty gesture, one meant to placate a damsel in distress. So when the text came in the next morning, you were giddy beyond belief, and then had to sit down and practice your deep breathing to prevent a panic attack. Then the call came, and you worked out the details together. Or at least, you agreed with every aspect of the plan that Oswald told you.
And then yesterday, the dress had arrived.
The box it came in was itself more extravagant and beautiful than anything you’d ever even treated yourself to after a long time saving up. One of those boxes you knew you were saving, because it would definitely come in handy somehow. And the ribbons it was tied up in, the bow on top so perfect, the tissue paper the dress was carefully nestled within, all of it was too good to toss away. Plus, it had been hand-delivered by the courier of whatever high end store Oswald had purchased it from, the logo of which you didn’t recognise even, so it was all pristine. Your excitement was only dulled when you finally dared to open the box, very carefully, and found within it that the dress was definitely far more revealing than anything you had ever owned or even considered owning.
The low, scoop neck, the thigh high slit on the side, the tight, silk material, the thin straps, the sleeveless and backless style. None of it was your preference. And you’d known from the moment you tried it on that you’d be uncomfortable in it all evening. But it didn’t seem like there was any validity to the option of not wearing it. You might as well have spat in the box and sent it back to Oswald. No, you had to wear this dress. For him.
The next problem, once you had accepted the fate of having each one of your curves and rolls, your arms exposed, your breasts and cleavage, albeit sagging with weight, on display, was that you had nothing to wear with the dress. You had no spare cash, and not even anything in your savings, that you could part with in order to procure some accessories or a pair of shoes or a handbag that did the dress justice. And it was winter, which meant that you would have to wear your same old coat over the top on the journey to the restaurant where you were meeting Oswald.
“Like slapping makeup on a… yeah.” You thought it to yourself, cringing at how cruel your own words could be, but frowning at the truth. The nicest things you owned would have to do, and luckily, they were neutral enough, in silver and black, that they complemented, or at least didn’t clash with, the deep, shimmering and almost pearlescent purple of the silk fabric that made up the dress. All in all, you didn’t hate how the look had come together, but you were happy to wrap your body up in your almost ankle length puffer jacket as you thought about being viewed in public. Beneath the thick coat, no one would know, and that suited you perfectly.
As you grimaced at the harsh wind that bit at your cheeks, oddly grateful for the way it had distracted you from your almost forlorn thought spiral, you noticed the slight rumbling of the train that signalled its arrival at the station. Jostled from side to side by other commuters desperate, for some reason, to be the first on the train, you finally found your way inside and scoped out the carriage for a seat.
Looking to your left, you caught the eye of a woman with a seat next to her, who looked down to your shoes and back up to your head with a look of vague disgust, one you were familiar with from some people. She looked to be making herself as small as possible in her seat, as if she thought you might crush her when you sat down. You decided you’d rather stand quite happily than let her judge you so extremely, and karma served her quickly as a kid wearing headphones which were blasting tinny music sat down beside her and spread his legs apart, taking up the space she had so graciously provided him, much to her chagrin.
Smiling a little, trying to keep it to yourself, you saw there was now a seat to your right, and when you looked, the man beside the empty spot smiled and shifted his bag onto his lap. With gratitude, you smiled at him as you sat down, holding your own bag in front of you and keeping yourself busy by watching your reflection in the window opposite you. It was there that you spotted the man at your side stretching his neck, trying to gaze down the front of your jacket, which had come unzipped slightly, exposing your bare neck and the deep cleavage the dress provided. Just as you prepared yourself to cough or make it known that you were well aware of what he was doing, you felt his body lean into you, far too close for comfort, and he whispered in your ear.
“Y’know, I like a big girl.”
That was enough to have you standing up and walking away to the door of the carriage. You were only one stop early, you could walk to the restaurant. Anything was better than sitting there being judged or ogled. Usually, you could shrug these gazes off, the cruelty, the fetishisation of your body, but today everything just seemed to weigh that much heavier on your mind, with no pun intended.
Once out of the station, you looked at your phone and began pounding the pavement, realising that because you had gotten off a stop earlier, you might be a few minutes later. The world felt like it was closing in on you, a catastrophe of epic proportions which would set the entire date off on the wrong foot.
“Hey, gorgeous. You rushin’ to see someone special?”
You were in no mood now, and what little bravery you could muster was quick to come out as you turned to scold the sleaze who was trying to hit on someone who was so obviously busy. Luckily, before the tirade of venom spilled over your plump, pouting lips, you recognised the face, the smile, leaning out of the extravagant, deep purple and gold car’s window.
“If you’re goin’ my way, I could give you a ride?”
Oswald winked, leaning over to the passenger side and pushing open the door. The restaurant was minutes away, but you got in anyway, not wanting to make things awkward by refusing a ride. With his hands on the wheel, thick fingers, gold rings on them curled around it, he took off for the short journey. As he drove, you could feel your upper lip sweating, unsure about what to do or say now, but you managed to spew some words out.
“Mr Cobblepot, it’s nice to see you again! At least I don’t have to worry about how to find you when I walk in the restaurant.”
“Oswald, doll. We’re on a date, it’s not a formal affair.”
Cursing yourself, feeling your cheeks flush a little, you let out a soft laugh.
“Oswald, thank you for the ride.”
“No problem, glad I could be of service.”
Within a few minutes you were pulling into the parking space at the front of the restaurant, one you were sure had been kept empty by the poor waiter standing out in the rain. They really rolled out the red carpet for Oswald Cobblepot around here, evidently, and the thought made you nervous. What if they were shocked by his choice of date? Confused, enough to whisper about you, to mention it to him when he got up to go to the bar alone for drinks. Maybe he’d change his mind about you if someone told him he could do better? You had to toss those thoughts to the side for now. You were on a date with him, and that was enough. If this ended horribly, if he never wanted to see you again, at the very least you could be grateful that you got this sweet taste of the good life for one evening.
You smiled towards Oswald as he held the door open for you, trying your best to look confident, and to pretend that you weren’t terrified to enter into the building first. Already, you could feel eyes on you. These kinds of people could smell on you that you didn’t belong there. It was obvious to them. But when Oswald stepped up behind you, every lingering stare was quickly averted, no one daring to make any judgements while you were on the arm of someone so powerful. It was an interesting feeling. Safety, for one of the first times in your life. Even standing next to him felt like you were being held in a warm embrace of comfort. He just exuded a confidence you couldn’t quite find, and he seemed to have plenty to share.
Pushing ahead of you, Oswald followed the waiter to your table and pulled your seat out for you, taking the seat opposite and moving it around to sit closer. With a snap of his fingers, the wait staff rushed to move his place setting around in front of him, murmuring quiet, sincere apologies as they did so. And before you could let that inherent egoism of that power move to settle uncomfortably on your mind, he opened his wallet and passed each of them a crisp, hundred dollar bill, patting them on the back and offering his deepest gratitude. He was generous, a gentlemen, and he was kind to everyone on every rung of the ladder, it seemed. He really was absolutely perfect.
Lifting the menu, hiding your blushing smile behind it, you studied the plentiful options and felt the drool collect against your cheeks before you reminded yourself of who you were, where you were, and who your company was, at which point you flitted your eyes to the lighter options and settled on a bland salad.
“What’re ya havin’, kid? Remember, this is my treat.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr Co- Oswald. I was actually looking at the garden salad, it looks very nice.”
“Huh… sure thing.”
He seemed disappointed in your request, and you wondered at what point you’d gone wrong. There were a multitude of possible answers to that question though, of course, so instead you tried to steer the conversation on to another topic.
“So, do you come here often? The staff seem to know you.”
Lowering his menu, Oswald flashed you a grin, his tooth glinting as he winked.
“They know me everywhere, doll.”
As you tried to struggle out of the whole it felt you were digging, he laughed heartily, placing his hand on your knee for a brief moment before removing it again.
“Relax, sweetheart, I’m just joking. I mean, they do know me everywhere, and I mean everywhere, but I’ve been comin’ here since I was a young man, just making my way in the world. This food’ll keep you right, keep you good on the path to success, ya hear?”
“And I ordered a garden salad. Fuck.”
“It sounds wonderful, Oswald. What are you going to have?”
Before he could answer, an old man, who you assumed was the owner, approached the table with a notepad, slapping Oswald on the back before greeting him.
“Mr Cobblepot! Nice to see you again, and with a date this time! Lucky you!”
You smiled, unsure if he meant either you or Oswald were the lucky ones.
“What can I get you, big guy? The usual?”
Raising his hands, Oswald shook his head.
“Uh, no, not tonight friend. We’re gonna have the nicest bottle of red you’ve got, and two garden salads, thanks, chief.”
“If you say so, Mr Cobblepot.”
With that, the ticket was put in, and your meal was prepared. There was a surge of disappointment coursing through you, but considering what other limited options you had, you felt you had done the right thing. Although, you couldn’t help but feel horrendously guilty about the fact that Oswald had felt as though he couldn’t eat what he wanted. You supposed there was some unreconciled double standard there, one that was enforced by society but ultimately upheld by your own self-doubt. But you had to commit now. That was at least a concrete plan while you got through the rest of the meal.
You tried to keep your eyes on Oswald, focusing on him as he spoke. As much as you didn’t really want this date to be something you had to “get through” that was, unfortunately, how it felt. To you, this was a chore for Oswald. Something he had committed to, and had to carry on with until he was done and could say goodbye to you. An embarrassment, in the dress he hadn’t yet commented on, which of course meant he hated it. Ordering a stupid salad and making him feel bad about whatever it was that he wanted. The sooner it was over, the better, at least for him. And it meant you could stop trying to pretend like you couldn’t see the prying eyes of the other tables, looking over at you, judging your clothes, your looks, the food you might eat, the company you were keeping.
Still, you managed to find some energy to maintain a conversation. It would have been impossible not to. Everything Oswald said, every polite, interesting question he asked you, every kind word he had commanded your attention. So much so that the time it took you both to place your forks down felt like it had gone in miraculously quick. Which it likely had. You didn’t want to look at your watch, but you imagined that given the fact you were both picking at what you would usually have considered a pretty small appetiser, that barely any time had passed at all. Not exactly value for his money, you cursed inwardly.
Looking to your plate, you were pleased, in a cruel and self-hating way, to see that you had managed to even leave some of the salad uneaten. The fear of eating in front of people not conquered, but at least bypassed, skillfully sidestepped for another evening.
And then your stomach rumbled.
You might have gotten away with it if you hadn’t also looked straight up and into his eyes to make sure he didn’t notice, but he did. Completely embarrassed, you made a move to excuse yourself, but he raised his hand and shook it, sighing as he spoke.
“Listen, kid… you gotta tell me. Why didn’t you just order what you wanted?”
“I… uh, I did, Oswald.”
“Look, either you’re lying to me, because I don’t think you did. Or, you’re not the kinda gal I thought you were. I can’t tell which is more disappointing.”
“Well, I’ve fucked this up. I might as well be completely honest.”
You took a deep breath, emotions running high enough to give you not a boost of confidence, but a complete lack of ability to hold your tongue.
“Ok, fine. That’s not what I wanted. I wanted the burger. The big, fat, greasy burger. With everything on it. And a side of the truffle fries. And the garlic bread. I don’t know why that was all on the menu, this place seems too fancy. I guess they have it on there for people like me. People with an unrefined palate. People who are greedy. People who are f…”
You trailed off on the last word, very aware that not only were you dangerously close to insulting yourself, but Oswald also.
“I’m really sorry, Oswald. It’s… I should have been honest. It’s difficult for me to… I don’t like eating in front of people, usually. Not in public, and not anything that isn’t… y’know… healthy.”
Oswald wiped at his face with a napkin, and sat still for a few seconds, scrutinising you, looking to see if your words were truthful, although your shuddering breath and wet eyes suggested they were.
“Thank god for that, baby. I was worried I’d picked wrong. You shoulda just told me! You think I ain’t got a lil bit of that no good self-confidence block sometimes? I ain’t exactly the picture of a slender physique, y’know?”
He patted his stomach, smiling wide enough to pull a grin from you in return.
“I figured we’d eat together, keep each other company. I don’t date anyone I think can’t match me. You have no idea how worried I was when you were picking at that salad! You still hungry?”
Swallowing your nerves, you nodded gently, averting your eyes from him.
“C’mon then, lemme take you out for dessert.”
Oswald stood up from the table, offering you his hand to help you out of your seat. As he led you to the door he called out behind him.
“Thank you fellas, charge it to the card!”
You stayed mostly silent in the car, worried that Oswald was still wrestling with his opinion of you. Lying, pretending to be someone you weren’t, making him think he was wrong. Those all felt like cardinal sins of dating someone as amazing as he was, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he bought you dessert and then took you home. In fact, you expected it at this point. Though you weren’t sure what you thought would happen. It seemed unlikely that you’d get anything more out of him, he had been a complete gentleman the whole evening. No overkill on the flirting, kept his hands, and his eyes, to himself. Maybe, if you had been lucky, or hadn’t messed everything up, he would have given you a goodnight kiss. But now, you felt like it was a miracle he would even give you a ride home.
“Wait here, sweetheart, I’ll be right back.”
The car was stopped by the curb next to a little bakery you had walked by maybe once or twice on your way into the nicer side of town. You’d been so wrapped up in your own thoughts you hadn’t even noticed. From the window, you could see Oswald, laughing and talking to the woman behind the counter. He seemed to know everyone. Or, he was so personable that everyone he met instantly liked him and felt like they had a rapport. You wondered why it was so difficult for you to feel like that, though you did feel comforted by his presence. You chalked it up to your own insecurities, convinced you’d never be good enough for someone like him.
As he exited the building, he smiled, holding up two small, white paper bags and handing them to you as he got in the car.
“What’s this?”
“Cream donuts. Best in town. Best on this coast. Best in the world maybe. They’re my favourite, and I thought you’d like to try them, since you’re sweet, and round yourself.”
Blushing, you bit the inside of your cheek to suppress the high pitched squeal that threatened to ruin the cool exterior you were clinging onto.
“Thank you, Ozzie.”
“Ozzie?”
“Sorry! Oswald! I didn-”
“No, no, I like that. Sweetheart, you can call me whatever you like, I ain’t complaining.”
With that, he pulled out into the road and headed to your apartment, following your directions as he made the quick journey through the dark streets. When the car was stopped, he got out and opened the door for you, walking you up the steps and stopping at the front door. He was standing too far away for you to lean in and kiss him, as you were so desperate to do. It felt awkward, but you persevered. You had to speak. Without risk, there was no reward.
“Well, this is me. Would you… like to come in? I can make us coffee and we can eat our cream donuts?”
“Nothing has ever sounded better, toots.”
You smiled, unlocking the heavy front door and considering what that meant. Did he really want to spend more time with you, or was he just being polite? You couldn’t tell with him, he seemed so nice, so sweet. It wouldn’t surprise you if he agreed to marry you, and have kids with you, and retire to the Italian coast with you just out of his desire to be polite. Alternatively, it meant that he was coming into your apartment, fully aware of the implications behind that as an after date activity. So it really seemed, even though your brain fought against it, that he was into you.
Stepping in through the door, you held it open and stepped to the side against the wall to make room for Oswald. As you walked away, you tripped, feeling yourself being tugged back at your ankle by something that had latched onto your shoe. Stumbling forwards, you saw everything happen in slow motion, preparing to fall flat on your face, but instead found yourself limping into Oswald’s arms as he caught you. Looking up to him, his charming smile and breath of relief made your heart flutter more than the anticipation of the pain of thudding against the floor had. Looking down as you steadied yourself, you muttered your annoyance.
“Oh, shit…”
Oswald had caught you in time, making sure you didn’t fall and make a complete ass of yourself as you entered the building, but when you looked down to see what you had caught yourself on, you noticed that the little clasp on the strap of your shoe had bent backwards, snagging on a loose nail in the wall.
“Aw, I really liked these.”
“Wait there, sweetheart, lemme get that.”
It took you by complete surprise as Oswald knelt on one knee on the filthy ground, tarnishing the suit pants that you were sure cost more than a month of your rent plus utilities, just to help you out. It was incredibly chivalrous, dauntingly romantic, and yet managed to be so endearing and adorable. His fingers betrayed his cool, confident exterior as they trembled when they made contact with your skin. With one hand on your ankle and the other lifting the toe of your shoe, he lifted your leg up, balancing the sole on his other knee, and began working on the buckle.
“Musta got bent when you got knocked into the wall, toots. I can fix it though, gimme a sec.”
Still shaking, with what you could only assume were nerves, Oswald bent the little piece of metal back into shape and pulled the ankle strap back through the buckle. He gazed up at you, a question on his lips, but was stopped by his inability to form a coherent sentence. From this angle, you looked… he couldn’t really find the words, not even in his own mind. There was a noise akin to a pained groan filling his head, a desperate need to scream out, which he was sure would only translate to a pitiful whine if he dared try to say anything. You stared down at him, eyes wide as you waited for him to finish, or to speak. His hands held your lower leg, palm holding onto your soft skin as he stared back up to you. From down here, you looked angelic. The ceiling lights of the dingy entrance of your building, irritating and far too bright usually, seemed like a halo, an aura of beauty surrounding you. Your thighs, your stomach, your breasts, all of them more pronounced as your leg was hitched up into them. When you smiled, a look of slight concern, he watched as your cheeks pushed into your eyes, your double chin more pronounced as you leaned back. It had him struck completely dumb.
Trying to maintain his gentlemanly approach that he’d upheld the entire evening, he averted his eyes from your body, trying to push the thoughts of how each of those curves and soft protrusions would feel weighing down on him as he held you in bed, but for his efforts, he was only punished further. Out of the corner of his eye, and pulling his gaze in like a trap, he noticed that the way your leg was balanced on his mean that the slit of your dress was pulled wide. And from that exact angle, he could make out the front of your underwear. They covered everything, but that didn’t stop him from indulging in thoughts of a more carnal nature. How those thick, plump lips would feel around him, how soft your chubby mound would be against his nose as he dove in for a taste.
Clearing his throat and wobbling slightly, he lowered your leg to the floor and steadied himself, cheeks red as he chastised himself for taking such a long look at what was below your dress.
“There you go, doll. Good as new. But lemme get your size and I’ll have a new pair at your door by tomorrow, ok?”
You giggled, knowing there was no point in refusing his gesture, and took his hand as you guided him towards the stairs to your apartment. Taking it slow, so as not to rush Oswald given that his leg brace meant he was at a slightly slower natural pace than you, was actually pleasant. It meant you weren’t having to rush to pretend you could keep pace with ‘fitter’ people, and you didn’t have to hold your breath for fear of sounding like you were struggling. Everything felt right, like you were at the pace you should be at with Oswald.
Oswald, though, was more than happy to trail behind you as you made your way up the four flights of stairs to your apartment. Sure, his leg was getting a bit sore, his knees stiffening up, but it was worth it for the view. All evening, he had managed to steal glances, sneak a little peek at your body as you leaned in to speak to him, or shifted in your chair, or leaned back in the passenger seat of his car. How your lips had closed around your fork, how your eyes instantly shot to his as he spoke to you, how your cheeks puffed up when you smiled. The way your breasts spilled ever so slightly up over the top of the dress, the way your thighs spread out on a surface, the way your stomach hung and moved as you bent over. Only brief glimpses, but he had seen so much. And now, he had a free show.
Holding your coat in your arm, since it wasn’t needed for the brief ride home, you made your way up the steps in just your dress. The fabric clung to every curve, every protrusion of your soft form. Each stair you climbed, each move of your legs, your thighs jiggling, brushing against each other. The way your ass bounced, tightening and loosening as you stretched the muscles to carry you. By the time you both had reached your floor, he was having to try and picture some of the more horrific crime scenes he’d been a part of just to keep himself from going over the edge. If he got any stiffer, he wouldn’t be able to walk to your door.
With great effort, and with all of the strength he could muster, he managed to suppress his cruder instincts and desires and shuffled to your door, following you through it and sitting down on the sofa when you offered him a seat.
“Thanks, sweetheart. Beautiful place you got here, you got it lookin’ nice, real nice.”
You were hanging up both of your coats, but you turned to question his sanity, knowing that he likely had storage closets in his home that were bigger and better decorated, when you noticed that he looked a little flushed.
“You ok, Oswald? You look a little-”
“Nah, nah, I’m fine sweetheart! Just came up those stairs a little too quick is all, I’m not no spring chicken remember! And it’s hot! Or is it hot in here?”
“I haven’t had heat in here for a week, landlord is putting it off. But… I can open a window?”
Oswald nodded silently. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was making him nervous, the looming threat of having to kiss you. Or… the anticipation of kissing you? He’d come all the way up here, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes fell on your body, flitting away when he thought you were about to catch him, not realising you already had. The thought alone made you blush, so you turned from him quickly, opening the window above the sink and picking up the bags from the bakery as you took a quiet breath to calm yourself.
“Dessert?”
“Thank you sweetheart, you’re a doll.”
Oswald took his donut with a smile and a gleeful sigh, and you giggled as you pulled yours from the bag. It looked amazing. He’d definitely picked right. And the way he tore into it, devouring almost half of it in one bite with a soft moan, eyes rolling back in his head, you realised how silly you had been earlier to be embarrassed in front of him. You’d only made him feel worse, clearly. Oswald had no issue making a mess of himself in front of you, and he waved his hand, encouraging you to eat, which suggested he had no issue with you making a mess either.
Having been given the permission to do so, you indulged yourself, taking a large bite of donut and with a full mouth, moaning a note of satisfaction. You savoured it on your tongue, and without intending to do so, ran your tongue seductively across your lips to ensure that nothing went to waste. But you were quick to pop it back into your mouth when you noticed Oswald gazing at you intently, his eyes unblinking.
“It could mean anything… it could…”
But you could sense something behind the gaze, something definitely in tune with how you found yourself looking towards him over the course of the evening. Enamoured, potentially even filled with lustful thoughts as he watched you. But the intensity of his stare slowly dissipated, his lips curling up slowly into a gentle smile. The change in expression concerned you, but not enough that you didn’t smile back, finding the bravery to try and ascertain what, exactly, was on his mind.
“What’s up?”
Oswald let out a soft chuckle as he looked to you, covering his mouth as he finished the bite of donut he was working on. The laughter worried you, more than putting you at ease, and you only got more flustered as he reached for you.
“Hang, on sweetheart, you got a little something…”
“What? Oh, shoot, have I made a mess?”
You attempted to wipe at the corners of your mouth, worrying that you were making more of a fool out of yourself the longer it stayed. Taking his thumb, a sweet, mischievous smile on his face, Oswald stroked your cheek, removing the dollop of cream that had found itself there. He held his thumb out, displaying the offending smear to you. Without thinking, and in a move that still confused you even afterwards, when you had time to consider what possessed you to follow through with the action, you leaned forward and wrapped your lips around his thumb, licking the cream from it and sitting back. As soon as you had swallowed the sweet flavour on your tongue, you realised what you had done. Your cheeks flushed a bright pink almost immediately, and your eyes widened, threatening to prickle with tears as you watched Oswald stare back at you in the same silent shock.
“Jesus christ, sweetheart.”
His face was still, mouth straight, eyes wide with disbelief. You couldn’t quite read his tone. You had to say something, anything, to fill the silence. It was too quiet, and the longer it went on, the worst it would be. So you conjured up some words of apology.
“Oh my god, Oswald, I am so sorry! It’s just…”
You weighed up the options before you, and decided to cut all your losses and try making a joke. Be yourself, be goofy, be ‘unrefined’. Be. Yourself.
“... it’s a good donut.”
He laughed, his eyes bright and his smile wide and sincere, soft and gentle, filled with genuine happiness. You were finally getting comfortable around him, and as arousing as it was to have you sucking on his finger, he found it even more tantalising knowing you were finally opening up to him.
“You got more, toots. Hold on, lemme get that. Just a second…”
He fumbled around in his pocket for a moment, pulling out a purple cotton handkerchief, monogrammed in gold, and wiping his brow on it. Sitting down on the sofa, he took a deep breath as he wiped the streak of cream from your cheek, not really listening to you as you spoke.
“Oh, you dropped something, Oswald. Let me get it.”
Bending down to reach for the small, glinting square just below the sofa, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment.
“... lemme get that…”
You’d been so hopeful that he was going to lean in to kiss you, or, if you could really imagine something so bold, to lick the sweet, sticky mark from your flushed skin. It was beginning to feel like the intentions were never there. He might be attracted to you, you could concede to that by now, but he seemed to be far too much of a gentleman to take things further, especially on the first date.
But just as you silently prayed that there would be a second date, and a third, and, dare you dream, a fourth, your fingers tapped on the metallic wrapper under the chair, picking it up and turning it around as you brought it closer to you.
“Oh, sweetheart, I am… so sorry. You can just give that here.”
Your heart skipped a beat, enough that you found yourself struggling for a breath. Between your fingers, with Oswald reaching for it desperately, you held a condom. It wasn’t exactly a definitive symbol of intent, but it was enough to give you hope. You never imagined that the glint of the golden wrapper could have aroused you so quickly, but it had. And as Oswald took it from you, you found yourself smiling slightly in return to his nervous grin.
“I didn’t mean anything by that, toots… I am so sorry, really.”
“You didn’t mean anything by that?”
Stuttering, letting you see him truly nervous for the first time that evening, he tried to respond.
“Well, uh… n-not nothin’, kid. I mean, it’s there, isn’t it. It was in my pocket. I’m not exactly the kind of guy who walks around with one ‘just in case’.”
“So there was… intent?”
So bold, but so nervous, and yet you kept prodding him for more information. The way his cheeks and nose had begun to turn pink let you feel an ounce of control, like you were finally able to take charge.
“So… a gentleman like you doesn’t carry them around for nothing, but he’s smart enough to be prepared on the off chance…?”
You spoke so softly, so slowly, sultry and sweet, enough that Oswald’s smile began to spread out, realising that you weren’t put off by his little faux pas. Regaining his composure, he returned to his usual, composed self and shuffled forward on the sofa towards you.
“I do like to plan for every eventuality. I go out on a date with a beautiful dame, I don’t expect anything in return. But I’d be damned if I showed up to your place and had to turn down any opportunity.”
Your own confidence was dwindling, if only slightly, and you broke the facade of the flirtatious tease to beg for some reassurance, as subtly as you could.
“And… you hoped for an opportunity… with me?”
You hadn’t known Oswald for very long, but it felt like he could read you like a book. He clapped his hand over his mouth and drew it down, shaking his head as he looked over your body.
“Are you kidding, toots?”
“I guess… I just wasn’t sure if I’d be what you… expected… or wanted…”
“We lookin’ at the same thing here? You think I wasn’t hoping for even just a chance? With that face? And those legs?And that ass? And that sweet, cushiony stomach you got? All wrapped in that fuckin’ dress? Oh, ho, ho, don’t ven get me started on the dress.”
Finally believing that Oswald had consciously and willingly chosen you, you decided to take what you wanted, or at least, ask for it nicely.
“Actually… I think I would like to get you started.”
With a coy smile, you batted your eyelashes at him, and he moved forward to the edge of the sofa, his hands lifting yours from your sides and kissing the knuckles.
“I’m glad you wore it. I didn’t wanna make a big deal outta it, felt like I was being controlling or something… And I knew if I told you how good it looked on you, I just wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t have been right for me to spend an hour of our date telling you how I liked the way the fabric hung on you…”
He pulled you closer, tugging on your hands, lifting them again and turning them over to kiss your wrists. One placed on each one, a shiver coursing through your veins.
“... how each little curve, each bit of you is highlighted, teasing me, begging me to run my hands over them and feel them…”
Oswald’s hands skimmed over the ridges and curves of your sides, palms pressing into each of the outward bulges of soft flesh as he moaned in appreciation. The sounds he made were muffled by your neck, where his lips were held in a flurry of passionate kisses, his tongue lapping over your skin as he tasted you, savoured you. Each pause to catch his breath he spent whispering his intentions and desires for the evening.
“... how warm you look, how you would feel…”
His hands moved around to your lower back, fingers hovering there before he let them slip down, palms over your cheeks, cupping at your rear. He pulled you slightly, knocking you off balance, stumbling and almost falling onto him, your breasts making contact with his face before you steadied yourself. But Ozzie leant forward, placing his prominent, distinct nose between your breasts, then his cheeks, moaning and sighing as the soft, gentle and ample tissue that comforted him.
The haze of arousal came over you, your body no longer being controlled by your overthinking brain, your desires free to rule, and your hands found his thick thighs, travelling up them until your fingers struck the metal of his belt buckle, quickly, but not effectively. Taking his hands from you, Oswald lifted yours from him, unbuckling the belt on his own. His eyes flitted up to meet yours as he unzipped his fly, eyebrows raising in a question. You answered with a smile and a subtle nod, trying to decide whether it would be polite to watch or look away, but found your eyes trained to the spot. Breath hitching. Mouth falling open ever so slightly as he took his cock out, average in length, but thick, already stiff in his hand.
Ozzie’s hands were back on you, his fingers tickling at the back of your thigh, gently edging you closer to him, pushing up the skirt of your dress, exposing more of your skin. Under the fabric, his thumb hooked onto the waistband of your underwear, teasing your panties down as he chuckled, lustfully.
“You wanna take a seat, let me see if you feel how I thought?”
Usually, you’d worry about the position, the weight, the worry that you wouldn’t look good in position, that having someone look up at you would only highlight your double chin. But, strangely enough, not only did you not care when those thoughts quickly entered your conscience, you got excited over them, the notion that your body would be there, viewed, and worshipped by Oswald Cobblepot, of all people.
As you began to lower yourself down, he motioned for you to pause for a moment, reaching to the other side of the sofa and picking up the condom. He pursed his lips as he rolled it down over his thick length, leaning back as you eased down onto it. The moment it touched against your lips, filling you, inch by inch, until your thighs were settled against his.
Straddling him, you felt his hands cupping at your thighs, caressing down your back, gently grabbing at you to pull you closer and assist in your movements. He couldn’t settle on a place to touch you, his hands taking in every inch of your body, fingers digging into your thighs and moving to your hips to cling to you, moving you back and forth as you rocked yourself on his cock. Each motion felt better than anything had before, each soft groan he made, the way his lips curled into a snarling grin with pleasure sending you further into ecstasy.
His hands travelled to the nape of your neck, curving round your shoulders and peeling at the thin straps of the dress, watching the silk fabric slip down over your chest, eventually exposing your breasts to him. With no effort to hold back his boyish glee, he threw his head back and moaned.
“Mother of god you look fuckin’ fantastic!”
While you rolled your hips forwards and backwards, relishing in the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you, Oswald’s large fingers pinched each of your nipples, teasing at them as he licked his lips, delighting in the way it made you whine, biting down on your lower lip, your smile still visible.
The movements between you were frantic, reaching the apex of the heated moment you were sharing. As the climax approached, you felt Oswald move his hand from you, bringing it down in a swift, sharp cracking motion against your upper thigh, his fingers settling on your rear as he gripped and winked.
“You think you can get a little bit faster, toots? A bit dirtier to see me through?”
By the time he was finished speaking you were already rutting into him, animalistic as you determined to give him what he wanted. He was hardly a gentleman now, as he smacked your ass, jutting his hips upwards, pumping his length inside of you as he wailed out.
“That’s it, baby… good girl, good girl, god, you’re such a good girl for me, huh? Oh yeah… fuck… fuck!”
He pulled you onto his chest, still inside of you as he thrust his hips up, firmly, but slowly, letting your top half rest against him as you felt him cumming, then relaxing, holding you on him, still inside of you. You had no intentions of moving, until he decided it was uncomfortable. You were content to be balanced precariously on his body, your toes pushing you up from the floor, face resting against his still clothed chest, listening to him hum in satisfaction as he caught his breath.
Letting out a soft chuckle, he leaned down to kiss your head, stroking your hair as he settled back down flat.
“Every eventuality, kid. As if this wasn’t what I wanted all along.”
Finnie!!! Aaaaah congrats! I'm so happy for you. Well deserved. 💙 You know I have to send something for my man. 🙏
Is Farrell Penguin still available?
Because I think he's Wanted: Dead for Indecent Business Proposals and a Prison Break 😤
Farrell!Penguin x Fem!Reader, ficlet a/n: thank you bug!! and yeaahhhh hehe ok linds, i hope i picked the right one in the two options, but this one just SCREAMED good time with daddy oz to me lol main event post • event masterlist • tag: finnie3k • main masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: face sitting, reader has a vagina, "good girl" used, oral sex
Oswald's fingers skated over the rolls of flesh that made up your hips and upper thighs, pulling you closer and closer to him, his nostrils flaring as he strained to inhale you. Your cunt there, wet with the arousal of promises, enticed by what was coming, as he spoke softly, his last words.
"You know, if everyone could get control over me this easily..."
Your mind lingered on the words, a sultry confession, admitting the hold you had over him, but not quite accurate. So you teased a little, rocking your hips back from him, his smile receding as you took away your sex.
"Oswald, let's not pretend. You're in control here. You're the one who wants this."
He grinned, a flash of his tooh, always an indicator of the sincerity in the smirk.
"You're gonna be begging me not to stop in a minute, though, sweetheart. I guarantee it. In fact, I'd be willing to put a bet on it."
With your fingers lazily stroking through his hair you eased closer, your folds against his lips as you gave in to his pleading stare.
"Put your mouth where your money is, then."
Against your mound, his chuckle was muted, but you could make it out from the physicality of his large body moving under yours, a belly laugh that jiggled you as you maintained your balance against his chest. And arching your back, you pressed your cunt to his mouth, not allowing him any space to breathe. He was insistent. Nothing else but you. If he felt like he might suffocate with your thighs tight against his cheeks and his tongue inside of you and his lips puckered tight around you, then he'd let you know. Otherwise, you were to stay there, gently resting on his face.
Oswald reached to your ass, pushing the ample muscle into him, making sure you were effectively clamped against the source of your pleasure. His nose, crooked as it pressed against your clit, his mouth, filled with you, wet, dribbling with saliva and your arousal as he lapped furiously, swallowing whatever of you he could.
It wasn't practised by any means. There was no romance, no gentle flits of his tongue as he explored you tentaitvely. He was fucking you with his tongue, teeth nibbling at your folds, lips sucking you into him and letting you go with a salacious pop that only made you wetter. You were sure he might be a more attentive lover under other circumstances, but he seemed far too hungry to think of anything else but eating you, devouring you, and leaving you empty of want.
Strands of his combed over hair loosened from their neatly combed style as you brushed through them, knuckles against his skull as you pulled him into you, rocking your trembling body in a rhythm he set with his tongue. Muffled praise that you could only barely make out still served to push you closer to the edge.
"Good girl... Good food... good view... good company..."
