Oswald Cobblepot x Reader: Oswald Missed You (fluff)
After a quick train ride, you’re back in Gotham within a few hours, the sun just beginning to set on the horizon of the Gotham Bay. You’d been called to Central City for a two-day business trip, and now that you’re home, you know exactly who’s waiting for you in your apartment.
You climb the stairs of the apartment, hoping that Oswald hasn’t completely trashed the place, or worse, redecorated. You unlock the door, letting it slide open slowly, the old wood creaking along its hinges. You lean in and see Oswald in the kitchen, heating up something on the stove. He looks up, his green eyes wide and expressive. He smiles, “You’re home.”
You smile, walking in and closing the door, “Yeah.”
“I heard about the Central City lockdown. How did you get out of the city?” he asks, following you to your room.
You shrug, “I pulled some strings. The lockdown was an overreaction in my opinion, Gotham gets criminals like that all the time.”
“Hehe, speaking of criminals, have you heard what’s been on the radio lately?” he asks.
You throw your suitcase into the back of your closet, you’ll sort all that stuff out later, right now you’re just so tired, “No, I haven’t. There wasn’t a radio in my hotel room.”
Oswald leads you back into the living room, he turns on my radio, where a female reporter is speaking.
“I’m talking to you live from the Gotham City streets, where another sighting of the masked vigilante has been spotted. Here he’s reportedly stopped a mob related robbery. We’re talking with the victim right now, sir, what exactly did you see?”
“He, he came out of no where,” the man stutters, “he was wearing all black, with a red cape. I, I don’t know, I only saw for a second!”
“We’ll get back to you after further information has been revealed, as well as an official statement from the police-”
Oswald turns the radio off, “This guy has been disrupting mob transactions. Whoever he is, he’s bad for business.”
“No more crazy super-villains right now, I’m tired,” you tell Oswald, pacing over to the couch.
He sits down with you, and you lean my head over to the kitchen, “Your food’s burning,” you state matter-of-factly.
Oswald jumps up and runs to the kitchen, where the soup he’d been reheating is now boiling over. As he frantically stirs the pot, you realize he has no idea what he’s doing. Getting up, you stumble over toward him, “Let me do it.”
Shoving Oswald out of the way, you grab the mittens to take the pot off of the heat and turn it off. Holding the pot over the sink, the boiling soup soon settles and you pour what’s left of it into a bowl. After cleaning up the mess, you throw yourself back onto the couch as Oswald feverishly eats his soup.
“Mmm...clam chowder,” he comments, dabbing his mouth with a linen napkin.
You smile, he may have terrible table manners, but at least he doesn’t use his sleeve.
You stop and notice that he's wearing a new suit, with an all black jacket, red handkerchief, and a turquoise vest to match his eyes. It looks good on him...it looks very good...
"I see you got a new suit," you comment as he finishes his meal.
He looks up, "Do you like it?"
You tilt your head, trying to not give yourself away, "...a little."
"I'm glad," he smiles, getting up and bringing the bowl to the sink. He plops it in along with the considerable pile of unwashed dishes collecting in the basin. You'll have to wash those later.
Oswald reseats himself next to you, reaching over to stroke your hair.
"You have a certain...look in your eye. You think you’re being secretive, but your eyes tell me everything," he starts chuckling maniacally.
“Oh really?” you challenge, “What are ‘my eyes’ telling you?”
"That you want me. You want to explore me, both emotionally, and physically," he leaps up onto you, his legs spread out over yours, his arms pinning down your shoulders, "I can give that to you, I can give it to you right now."
A grin comes across your face as you reach up with your hand and brush his cheek, "You've really missed me, haven't you? I would offer to...but to be honest, I’m too tired.”
And with that, he dives in, kissing your lips. His legs collapse onto your lap, and his arms wrap around your waist. You begin to push off his jacket, and he throws it off, sending it flying onto a nearby dining room chair. The two of you roll around on the couch, playfully kissing until you end up on top of him. You let go, and rest your head against his chest. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, chuckling incessantly, “I thought you said you were tired.”
“You’re the one who wanted to make-out,” you point out.
He twists his lips, “Perhaps, but you let me.”
You tilt your head down, laughing before you push yourself forward, leaning down toward him, combing your hand through his hair, “You’re so cute.”
His face now flushed red, you smile, kissing him on the cheek. You two lie on the couch through the night, entangled in each other’s embrace. It’s good to be home.
Oswald Cobblepot x Reader: Oswald Gets Jealous (angst)
Oswald limps up the stairs to your apartment, and in his hands he holds a small box with a bow.
He comes to her door to find it wide open. Peering inside, he discovers that all of the furniture has been wrapped up, with some pieces already missing.
Just then, two burly men walk into the apartment. Oswald halts them.
"Gentlemen! ...good afternoon. Wha-...what is the meaning of this?"
The men look at each before one responds, "All of this stuff is being sent to storage."
"Bu-but the current occupant of this house is not moving-"
"Yeah, she is," one of the movers interrupts, "she was just here, actually. Said she was moving to Blüdhaven and needed all of her stuff moved."
Oswald wraps his mouth around one hand, glancing to the side, "Oh...oh, I see."
Moving to Blüdhaven?! That makes no sense...it must be a ruse. Throwing him off the scent, of course you would try something like that. You knew he would come looking for you.
"Well, thank you gentlemen,” Oswald nods.
The two movers give him a suspicious look. One of them lifts up a box and walks out of the room. As soon as the man is out of the room, Oswald attacks the one who’s still in the room, flipping out his knife and stabbing him in the jugular. He falls to the floor, blood seeping out from under him. Oswald hobbles out the door, and the screams of the other mover ring out seconds later.
Oswald waddles back into the room, blood on his shirt and face. Ripping the sheet covering the desk, he starts rummaging through the drawers, looking for a clue as to where you’ve gone. The desk has been cleared completely, there’s nothing.
He slides down to slump on the floor. Oh poor, lovelorn heart. Perhaps he should have taken more action while he could. Will he ever find such love again?
Oswald starts to sniffle, his mouth contorted down in a stretched frown. This can’t be how it all ends. No...no...no…
Under one of the covered pieces of furniture, Oswald spots a loose piece of paper halfway tucked under. On his knees, he scrambles to the paper. Snatching it, he holds it up to view. It’s some kind of business report from...ACE Chemicals. Why would you have something like this? It’s incredibly specific...that must be where you’re headed!
Folding up the paper and tucking it away into his pocket, Oswald stumbles out the door, kicking one of the dead movers out of the way on the way out.
You make your way through the ACE Chemical Plant, along with a hired hand. There was only one guard to sneak past, and he was asleep at the front gate.
"Alright, we're looking for an office of some kind," you inform him, as the two of you walk along the numerous tall vats of mysterious green chemicals, the suspended railway having low guards between the catwalk and the steaming vats below.
All of the workers must have gone home for the night, as you two pass a break room with coats still hanging on the chairs, as well as a small, unguarded control room.
"So...what exactly are we looking for?" the hired hand asks, as the two of you enter an office nuzzled in the corner of the plant.
You open the nearest filing cabinet, "Anything pertaining to the Kean family."
"The Kean family? Whatcha doing snooping through rich people's stuff?"
You shake your head, "It's complicated."
In the bottom cabinet, you pull out a folder titled "Classified". Hopefully this is what you’re looking for.
You open up the folder. Bribery, fraud, money laundering, unpaid overtime, well, the Gotham Gazette would be very interested in this.
"Well...well," Oswald's smooth, mid-pitched tone comes from the office entrance.
You and your hired hand whip around to find Oswald and Gabe standing in the doorway, Oswald clutching his umbrella and using it for support while Gabe aims a gun at the two of you.
"I never thought it'd be the two of you, to betray me. Well...what can you do? The things you sacrifice for love."
You start to back up, assuming a defensive stance, "Oswald, this isn't what it looks like-"
"I know exactly what it looks like! You move out away from me and move in with that lowly thug! ...I can protect you, what do you have to gain by leaving me?" he stamps his umbrella down, his head low.
Everyone in the room waits silently for Oswald's move. He's going to kill you, you know it. You glance around, he's blocking the only way in or out of the office, the only way to escape is through him.
But just as you ready yourself to make a getaway, a sound comes from Oswald. His head still bowed, he starts to sniffle, as a single tear rolls down his cheek. Both Gabe and your hired hand have uncomfortable expressions, as if they’re listening in on a conversation they shouldn’t.
Oswald’s vulnerable, now’s your chance to slip past him.
You slowly start walking up to him, “Ozzy...I’m...so, so sorry. Believe me, I don’t feel anything for Eel I-...I just wanted to help him-”
Oswald’s hand jerks out, latching onto your wrist. With surprising force, he pulls you toward him, and wraps you in his embrace.
“...Gabriel, kill him,” he demands, pointing to your hired hand.
Gabe marches up to him, “Sorry buddy.”
Gabe cocks his gun toward your hired hand, but Oswald shakes his head, “No...that’s a far too merciful death.”
Securing the gun in his pants, Gabe goes up and punches your hired hand in the stomach, and after he starts curling back, Gabe hoists your hired hand up, throwing him over his shoulder. Oswald pulls you along as the two of you follow Gabe out of the office and onto the factory catwalk.
“And now...you find out what happens when you dabble with other men,” Oswald chuckles, keeping a firm grip on you.
Glancing to Gabe, Oswald points down to the large chemical vats below, and without hesitation, Gabe throws your hired hand over the edge of the railway. You can’t turn away as he screams the whole way down, until his body splashes into one of the chemical vats.
“No!”
Your first instinct is to wrestle your way out of Oswald’s grip, but he restrains you with both arms.
“Awe...so you were sweet on him after all?” he smiles, “I have to admit...that touches my heart. But now that sweetness is mine alone.”
Your eyes dart, first to the handgun in Gabe’s pants, then to the control room you had passed earlier, then to the fire alarm just above the three of you. Leaning against Oswald’s chest, you run both of your hands up his suit.
“Hmph, I guess you’re right. Although I never felt anything for him...either way, I’m yours now.”
You reach up, and the two of you kiss, Oswald’s grip softening. At just the right moment, you jerk away, whipping around and snatching Gabe’s handgun to shoot the alarm. It goes off, blaring and setting off the sprinklers. Oswald and Gabe cover themselves, but you immediately start running toward the control room. You shoot open the door, and find the emergency pump, brightly labelled in red. Twisting the valve, another alarm goes off in tandem to the fire alarm as the vats are drained of their contents.
You run out to find that Oswald and Gabe have disappeared, and as the last of the green fluid drains from the vats, you run to look over at the vat your hired hand was dropped into. Even though the drain is filtered, nothing remains of him. He must have been completely disintegrated by the liquid. Oh god...
Oswald Cobblepot x Reader: Oswald Gives You a Room Near His/First Kiss (fluff)
You follow Oswald back to the apartment complex, the depressing grey interior not doing much to quell your nervousness. Oswald however, holds a confident smile, as he slowly begins speeding up his pace, in a rush to get to his destination.
The two of you reach his floor, then go up one more flight to find a thin, pale man lying against the doorway. His eyes are bloodshot, and his hands are jittery. Is he on something?
“The room’s all yours. Just hand over this month’s rent.” he grumbles, holding out his hand.
“...may I see the room first?” you ask sharply, crossing your arms.
He pushes the door open to reveal a dimly lit room, with windows on the right side and a small kitchen in the corner, the same as Oswald’s apartment. Except this room is completely empty, save an old record player in the corner.
You step in, your low heels sounding off against the thin wooden floors. There’s still two bedrooms, and you have no idea what you’d do with the second one. Heh...what would you do with a second bedroom?
You open the door to the bedroom on the left, the one that mirrors Mrs. Cobblepot’s room. You look behind you momentarily to see Oswald reaching for one of the old records under the record player. You smile, he certainly loves his music. You look back at the room just as the song starts. There’s already a simple double bed in the center of the room, but nothing more. The floors have a light layer of dust coveting them, and the dark, decrepit wooden floors and walls match those in the hallway, but otherwise, there’s not that much to complain about. There’s another door to the left, and you push it open, revealing a master bathroom, with windows at the back and a large, cauldron-like tub in the center. A bathtub? Seems kind of decadent for an apartment, wouldn’t a shower save more water?
A hand places itself on your shoulder, “So...is it to your liking?” Oswald asks, as if it’s him trying to sell you the apartment.
“Yeah, it is.” you confess. It’s certainly better than some of the other places you’ve lived throughout your life.
“So then, why don’t we go outside and pay the nice man this month’s rent?” he coaxes.
You turn around, and he pulls his hand off of you, but still retains a bright smile. You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes, “You really want this, don’t you?”
He looks away for a brief second, “Well...what could be better than...than being neighbors with your best friend…” he jumps, realizing what “I...I mean, your most trusted ally!”
You sigh, lightening your expression. As much as you need to keep this guy at bay, there are times when you feel really, really sorry for him, “You...you’re trying to please me, aren’t you?”
“I realize that my approach was too direct.” he explains, stepping out of the bedroom as you follow him into the living room, “And…” he chuckles with a twisted smile, “And I can’t win you with faulty methods, now can I?”
On the outside, you lean against the doorway, raising an eyebrow in utter disbelief at the irony in his statement, but on the inside, your heart skips a beat, and you feel an uncomfortable warmth in your chest, “What if I can’t be won?”
He abruptly rushes up to you, grabbing your hands into his, a look of desperation in his eyes,
“Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt that I...”
He stops there, but his lips still move, as if he can’t quite bring himself to say the final word. You blush, and smile. If he thinks he’s gotten you with his ham-fisted use of Shakespeare well...he’s right. Your hands leave his, but not to push away, but to glide up to his shoulders as you lead your body towards his. He slowly unfolds his hands, allowing them to wrap themselves around your waist. You look at each other, both of your shoulders rising and lowering in-sync as breathing quickens at an equal pace. He leans in...and you lean in, and you two kiss, his nose awkwardly grinding against your right cheek.
“Oh...I’m...I’m sorry.” he apologizes meekly, shying back.
You shouldn’t be doing this, but when have you ever had a shot at something like this? Embarrassing as it is, that was your first kiss. Someone like you just doesn’t get many opportunities for romance, despite what movies will tell you.
Tilting your head to the left to avoid his nose, you lean in, instigating another kiss. He responds immediately, gripping you tightly. You two pull each other closer, enjoying the comforting warmth of each other’s embrace.
Finally, you pull away, wiping his saliva off of your lips. Oswald stares at you in disbelief, but also with a naive sense of joy, “I’ve...I’ve, never kissed anyone before. Well, except for Mother of course but...never like that. Does this mean...?”
“I don’t know…” you admit.
“Damn dude.” the two of you both turn around to see the drugged out manager by the front doorway, grinning and bobbing his head, “You two went at it.”
“Just a simple courtship, I assure you.” Oswald replies, straightening his suit, “Now, I believe she’ll be taking the apartment.” he pulls out your wallet and takes out the appropriate amount of cash, placing it in his hands, “All yours.”
“Did you just steal my wallet?!” you realize, snatching it back from him.
He turns around, smiling mischievously as the manager walks away with the cash, “It was just a little insurance...” he paces back over to you, his arms beginning to slide around your waist, “My dear.”
You pull away, making your way toward the door, “No, this doesn’t change anything between us! I’m sorry Oswald, but I...I don’t know if a relationship between us would work.”
He turns you towards him, taking your hands into his, “Well, how will you know for certain if you don’t try?”
How could you even begin to answer that question?
“I...I’m sorry I...I just need some time to think things over, okay?” you tell him, squeezing his hands. You pause for just a moment before letting go, and making your way to the door. Behind me, Oswald nods, “Alright.”
You leave the door open for him, and make your way down the stairs. At least you’ve got him off of your back. Maybe you should just make a run for it now, find room over near the theater district where Mooney’s Nightclub is, and be done with Oswald Cobblepot. But...that kiss. You could never quite imagine what a kiss would feel like, and now you know. It’s primal and unrestrained, but also tactile and precise. No...no, you need something, anything, to get your mind off of this. Maybe buy a new dress, something more business appropriate. You wonder what Oswald would think...no, no, what he thinks doesn’t matter. The blood begins to drain out of your face, and you’re finally able to compose yourself. Alright, focus, you need, to focus…
Oswald Cobblepot x Reader: Aftermath of First Time
Oswald lies in bed, his hands resting behind his head. To his side, you sleep peacefully, entangled in the thin sheets. He reaches over and runs his hand through your hair, a regular sort of habit he's been getting into. He silently chuckles to himself, playing with the locks of hair in his hand. While he toys with your hair, he wants nothing more than to touch other parts of you, but he knows anything more will wake you.
Just moments ago he could touch any part of you, if he wanted. And of course he wanted to, but his satisfaction didn’t come from the fact that he could, rather, it came from the fact that he could choose not to.
He could have turned away, insisting that he was tired or far too traumatized to engage further, and he imagines you nodding understandably before peacefully falling asleep, just like you are now.
The sex itself was fantastic. Animalistic, wild, passionate, he didn't want the night to end. Of course, you'll wake up tomorrow morning insisting that your encounter was an isolated transaction, but you'll be back. Oswald glances around the room, fantasizing about where you two could do it next. He wasn't satisfied with the bed of course, no, not when there are far more...creative options available.
He shifts slightly in the bed, so that he faces you. He could easily retrieve his pocket knife from his suit, and end your life. After all, he got what he’d been seeking, right? But no, there were still so many uses for you and death now would be anticlimactic at best. And besides, he enjoyed having the ability, the power to give you pleasure, to see a smile on your face, to be kissed on the cheek, and know that these shows of affection are because you genuinely find him charming, charismatic, attractive even…
But on the other hand, you have near equal power, if not greater, to give him intense pleasure of his own. In the immediate sense, it’s wonderful, but that kind of power could easily be used against him. It’s a dangerous exchange to say the least. He would have to find some way to keep your power in check, the last thing he needs is to have his own pawn manipulate him any further than you already have. Well...you aren’t so much his pawn, more so...his partner, his confidant, his lover, his little bird. Yes, like a little canary in a cage, he’ll find a way to make you sing for him alone.
You awaken to an empty bed. Clutching your head with both hands, you slam yourself back into bed. Was that wrong? Are you mad? Is that all? You can’t believe you let him….do that. But strangely, you don’t regret it. It was nice and man...it’s true what they say about men with long noses.
But, where is he now? You get out of bed and check the closet. One of his suits is missing. He couldn’t have left now, that’s not like him. But there’s still is unwaning uncertainty. After all, if Oswald’s anything, it’s unpredictable.
Trying to take your mind off of him, you wash up and get changed. You don’t have to be at work for a couple of hours, so there some time to relax. Turning on the radio, you grab a magazine from a small pile you keep on the coffee table. You flip through the articles while the radio plays in the background.
The front door rattles slightly, and it opens to reveal Oswald, carrying a neatly wrapped pink box. He smiles, “Oh, you’re awake.”
You put down the magazine, and get up to turn off the radio, “Yeah, where did you go?”
He smiles playfully, “I’m glad you missed me. I...went out to fetch some breakfast, I got caught up because I ran into some old friends from high school. ...have you ever had cannoli for breakfast? It’s a fun treat, and I got the sweet kind, with cream.”
“Oh, you ran into some old friends? I was under the impression that you didn’t have a lot of friends growing up,” you recall, turning off the switch on the radio.
“I was using the term sarcastically,” he clarifies, “no, these men tortured me during our years together at Gotham Academy. Not to mention they’re...they’re considerably younger than me. And on top of that, when they recognized me on the street, they had the audacity to joke around with me, as if everything they’d done to me was all harmless fun!”
He plops himself down in one of the dining room chairs, “But...as fate would have it, it turns out that despite their fine education, all of them are simple men for hire. Nothing more.”
“Mercenaries?” you ask, “Wow, I knew the economy was bad but when rich kids have to stoop to hiring themselves out...gee, what a world we live in.”
“Well, you know, there could’ve been other factors, drugs, gambling, alcohol, the usual vices. I didn’t ask of course.”
Oswald opens the box, revealing several cannoli rolls neatly placed in a row, with some squeezed in to the side. He takes one and bites into it, and you follow suit. As the two of you eat, a bit of cream accidentally gets onto the side of his cheek. Feeling daring, you lean over and lick the cream off of his cheek. He smirks, reaching over and wrapping an arm around your waist.
“Perhaps we could, go another round tonight?” he suggests, stuffing the last of his cannoli into his mouth.
You raise an eyebrow, “Oswald, that was a one-time thing. I promised one time, not whenever the mood strikes you.”
You look up at the clock and wipe your mouth with a napkin before getting up, “I’ve got to get going.”
You grab your coat from the coat rack by the piano, and you glance over to Oswald to see that his lips are pursed into a disappointed pout. You smile, and approaching him, you lean down and kiss him on the cheek, “Hey, play your cards right, and I might not mind going for another round.”
You get back up, and when he’s just out of view, he quickly smacks you on the behind. You briefly turn around, meeting a grin on Oswald’s face that’s both smug and flirtatious. You narrow your eyes and twist your lips, the nerve.
You’re on the block of your apartment complex when you see two police officers carrying out a body bag, with two more lying in an ambulance truck parked by a few police cruisers. There’s been a killing at the apartment? You jog up to the front steps, your black work boots pounding against the pavement until you reach the entrance. The trail of officers and investigators lead you to a room on the sixth floor, above both the Cobblepot’s and your apartment. One open door leads into a room bathed in a greenish, grey light. The apartment appears to have been under renovation, as it is mostly empty save some plastic covers and paint supplies. Evidence markers line the floor, along with chalk outlines of where the bodies once stood. There’s no blood around the body markers, and there doesn’t appear to have been a struggle either. Then your eye catches a damning piece of evidence, a pink bakery box with black lining. Going over to the body markers, there are also half-eaten pastries by all of the bodies. Cannoli too. A terrible feeling builds at the bottom of your stomach. He couldn’t have, but then again, he absolutely could have.
You climb down the stairs to your room, discreetly slipping into your apartment. Opening the fridge, you look for the bakery box from this morning, but it's no where to be found.
"I've already disposed of the evidence," Oswald's appeared in the doorway to your room, a satisfied smirk stretching ear to ear.
You sigh, "What did you do?"
"Like I said, I bumped into some acquaintances from school who happened to be men-for-hire. On top of that, I happened to have a job available for them, but it required...confidentiality. I couldn't have any witnesses."
You put my hands on your hips, scolding him as if you were scolding a child, "What did I say about not killing?"
"I only did it this morning, after our agreement was fulfilled. No killing for a week," he points out, splaying his arms out before clasping them together in a business-like manner.
You twist your lips, maybe before you can eliminate this problem, you need him to admit that he has a problem.
"Alright, fair enough," you admit, crossing your arms.
He chuckles, "I'm glad you understand."
Oswald crosses over to you and clasps your shoulders, "I just got back from work as well. Don Maroni finds me very valuable to his team...or at least, he will."
"How so?" you ask.
"I will reveal to him that I once worked for Fish and Falcone. He may distrust me at first, but soon he will realize that I am a valuable asset to him."
You smile, "I'm sure he will."
Oswald leans in and kisses you on the cheek, "I have to work the night shift for Maroni, but when I get home, perhaps we could cap off tonight with a little...fun?"
His hands move down to your waist, massaging you through the fabric of your work uniform. Wow, he's already asking for more? To be honest you still haven't fully recovered from last night, and it doesn't help that he's such an animal in bed.
“No, I’m busy tonight, and besides, why would I want to have sex with a murderer?” you ask, although you let him cling to you.
He laughs, his yellowed teeth on full display, “Haven’t you already?”
Oswald pushes you onto the couch before joining you, his two arms on either side of you, locking you in place. He licks his lips, “You’ve made a pact with me, it’s too late to back off now. All you can do is...enjoy the ride.”
He leans in, and you rise to meet him as the two of you kiss. He suddenly becomes more forceful, gripping your hips and forcing you up, your stomachs and legs grinding against each other. You grab him by the shoulders and pull him onto the couch, kissing him further. Finally, you two let go, and the two of you stare into each other’s eyes in silence, only broken by your heavy breathing.
You run your hand down his chest, “Perhaps you’re right,” you get up from the couch, “but that doesn’t give you the right to demand sex whenever you please.”
“I know...it’s just...last night was so wonderful. Can you blame me for wanting more?”
You relax your shoulders. While he can be very manipulative, there’s always an air of innocent honesty in his voice, a pleading, puppy dog tone.
“No, I can’t,” you conclude, placing your hand on his shoulder. He looks up and smiles.
“Like I said, play your cards right, and perhaps we can go for another round next week,” you promise, before letting go and walking to your room.
As you close the door, you comes to terms with the fact that you feel like, for lack of a better term: a whore. Is sex really the only advantage you have over him? And if so, how far will it take you?
You open your closet door and discover that, shoved into the corner, is a mysterious duffel bag. Upon opening it, you discover that it's filled to the brim with money. It looks like he hasn’t disposed of all of the evidence.
You open my bedroom door, “Oswald, come here.”
Still sitting on the couch, he gets up, limping to the door, hunching forward as he waddles along. You walk to the closet, picking up the duffel bag and holding it up in front of him, "What is this?"
He smiles over a guilt-ridden face, "A, a rainy day fund."
"Oh really? Just like the one you have downstairs?" you retort, lowing your voice, "The cops who found the bodies are going to come up here any moment now. So I suggest you take the money and hide it somewhere where they won't find it."
"Y-yes, of course," he takes the bag and hobbles over to the fire escape, "I must say, you're very good at breaking the law."
You take a firm stance, crossing your arms, "I'm willing to do bad things for the right reasons."
Oswald contorts his lips into a smug grin, "So am I."
Oswald Cobblepot x Reader: Restaurant and Art Gallery Date (fluff + hurt/comfort)
You two approach a one-story building at the edge of the warehouse district. The word “Bamonte’s” is written in golden lettering on the front window. The restaurant itself is fairly empty, the dim lighting illuminating the restaurant and bar area.
Upon entering, a large man in a charcoal gray suit gets up from his table and approaches, “My friend, welcome.”
The man opens his arms and Oswald gets on his tippy toes to hug the man. Afterwards, Oswald turns around, “Don Maroni, this is my girlfriend.”
Oswald takes you by the waist and leads you to the table. The table for two has been set up to include complimentary bread and a bottle of wine. Oswald pulls out the seat for you, and you tentatively sit down as he pushes the chair in, allowing his hand to brush your shoulders as he hobbles back to his seat. We open up the menus. For such a small restaurant, the prices are outrageous, although it makes sense, the price on seafood has been going up ever since they declared the Gotham River too polluted to fish…
“The marinated eel is lovely,” Oswald comments.
The what? I find marinated eel under the “fish” section and…that’s the most expensive item on the menu! Is he insane?!
“Well, yes but…it’s quite expensive. I think I’m just going to go with a salad-”
Oswald cuts you off when he reaches across the table and places his hand on yours, “Let me treat you tonight, my dear. I can afford it, and trust me, it’s delicious.”
Our waiter comes around, a scruffy man wearing a leather jacket over his waiter’s outfit, “Good evening, Penguin. Out on a date tonight?”
Oswald balls up his fists, his cheeks becoming slightly red, “Ha! Mr. Frankie Carbone, ever the jokester! On waiter duty tonight I see?”
You’ve never seen Oswald this…snappy. He looks at Frankie with dark, daring eyes. His movements seem relaxed but controlled almost to a fault.
“Pfff! Waiters decide to go on strike, so me and the boys gotta fill in, now are you gonna order something or what?” Frankie asks, his voice low-toned and gruff.
Oswald closes his menu and slams in onto the table, “The marinated eel for the both of us, please.”
Frankie chuckles sarcastically as he collects your menus, “Good luck paying for that, schmuck.”
You look around and notice that there are only three waiters on staff, including Frankie. The other two are large men who look like they barely fit into their waiter uniforms. Hired muscle, and Frankie must be their leader. But there’s something you couldn’t help but notice between Frankie and Oswald…
“You like him,” you realize aloud as Frankie disappears into the restaurant kitchen.
Oswald jerks his head up, “Wha, what do you mean?”
You giggle, “You know what I mean Oswald.”
“Well, what if I do? Does that make you jealous?” he challenges, his eyes wide and wild.
You grab the bottle of wine and uncork it, pouring a glass for Oswald and yourself, “Of course I’m jealous, but there’s a difference between jealousy and vengefulness,” you put the bottle down.
Oswald chuckles, a devilish grin growing on his lips, “Oh, very well said, but you don’t fool me. You’d poke his eyes out given the chance.”
Your words were completely honest, but you and Oswald see things differently to say the least, “I meant what I said Oswald.”
His laughter stops as he registers your playful but serious tone. He interlaces his fingers together, smiling, “You…are a very strange woman,” he reaches over and places his hand on yours, “and I love you for that.”
Frankie comes around balancing two dishes in his hands. He places them both before us, “Eat up.”
“Thank you, Mr. Carbone,” Oswald smirks tauntingly.
He rolls his eyes, “Whatever.”
As Oswald had said, the marinated eel is lovely, of course tarnished by the fact that Frankie may have spit in either one of your dishes. This doesn’t seem to bother Oswald much, as he scarfs down his dish.
As you finish your eel and Oswald wipes the last of the sauce off of his mouth, you can’t help but notice how the dim lighting reflects off of his slick black hair, his cute smile, or how well his albeit strange suit compliments his small, slim figure. It’s rather endearing, however abnormal. He leans back in his chair, and at the sight of his vest and crisp white shirt, you imagine yourself unbuttoning them…perhaps…going further…
You snap yourself out of this delusion. Did Frankie drug your food? No, he’d have no reason to help Oswald, quite the opposite. Due to their work situation Frankie would consider Oswald a competitor. If not drugs, what is it that you’re feeling so suddenly? Perhaps it has something to do with the atmosphere, or maybe it’s the certain event set to conclude the night but still, shouldn’t you be dreading it, rather than anticipating it?
“Here’s the bill,” one of the large men throws a thin piece of paper onto the table.
“Thank you, Gabriel,” Oswald thanks before examining the paper, “uhm…Gabriel, these aren’t the prices stated on the menu.”
Gabriel raises an eyebrow, his slight accent clipping his speech, “Oh yeah, they raised the price on fish because of that oil spill in Coast City.”
“But these are not the prices listed on the menu. I’ve been tricked,” Oswald protests.
He shrugs, “I don’t make the rules ‘round here.”
Oswald digs in his pockets and pulls out all of the cash on hand. Gabriel snatches the money and counts it up, “Uh, you’re short forty bucks, Penguin.”
Oswald’s teeth clench at the sound of that name, but only for a second, “I, I didn’t expect prices to be so high. Like I said, the menu deceived me.”
“Is there a problem here?” Frankie asks, approaching our table.
“No Mr. Carbone, I was just going to finish paying for our meal,” you reply, sliding a one-hundred dollar bill across the table.
Gabriel snatches the bill and holds it up, amazed.
“Keep the change,” you encourage, gesturing him away.
You watch as Gabriel takes the money to the register, organizing the bills so that he can collect the tip. But just as he holds up the extra sixty dollars, Frankie snatches them from him.
“I’ll take that,” he declares, stuffing the bills into his pocket.
“Oh, c’mon Frankie! I’s been due for a raise for forever! I’ve got kids to feed, you know!” Gabriel calls out.
Not looking back, Frankie continues walking to the kitchen area, “Your kids can starve for all I care, Gabe. My table, my tips.”
“Maybe it’s time we leave,” you suggest to Oswald.
He nods, and you two get up from our table. Maroni looks up from his exclusive table, “See you kids! Don’t get into too much trouble out there, those muggers have been getting damn aggressive!”
“I already feel like I’ve been robbed,” Oswald whispers as you exit the restaurant.
Oswald holds you close as you two make the walk from Bamonte’s to the Gotham Art Gallery. You smile, slightly squeezing his arm while you kiss him on the cheek. You’re so happy, as if you’ve had a wonderful experience with a wonderful man, when the exact opposite is true.
He’d planned this date to prove to you what a cultured, respectable man of society he’s become, but so far, simply everything has gone wrong. While Maroni put on an exceptional performance as per usual, Frankie and Gabriel mocked him with that infuriating name…Penguin. Not to mention that you detected his feelings for Frankie almost right away. Is it that obvious? Either way, it’s embarrassing to say the least. And to top it all off, he didn’t even have enough money to complete the bill, forcing you to pitch in. How humiliating.
“I, I apologize for making you pay,” he tells you, as the cold wind of the Gotham night whips the two of them.
You shrug, “It’s not a problem, Oswald. I was actually surprised when you tried to pay for the entire bill yourself. It would’ve been ridiculous.”
“But it’s the gentleman’s duty to pay,” he argues, tightening his grip on your arm.
You roll your expressive eyes, “In this economy? I think most guys would go broke trying.”
For Oswald, there’s something about you that transcends your appearance. For all of your flaws couldn’t hide the fact that you care about him, respect him. And in the end, that’s all he could ask for.
The Gotham Art Gallery is a slick, modern building with dark hardwood floors and yellowed spotlights. The art itself ranges from classic to abstract, and you notice on a stand board the exhibit is titled, "Art From a Golden Age, featuring artist Barbara Kean”.
You and Oswald walk in, the gallery already bustling with people in fancy, formal attire. Even Oswald looks slightly underdressed among the sharp suits and evening gowns. Servers walk around offering small finger foods and martini drinks.
“I know the artist featured tonight. I’ll introduce you,” Oswald offers, as the two of you approach a blond woman in a short black dress. The woman turns around and smiles.
“Peter! I didn’t expect to see you here. How are you?” she asks.
“Lovely, Barbara. I saw you were going to be featured in the gallery selects, so I had to drop by,” he steps slightly behind me, placing his hand on my waist, “this is my…very good friend.”
You smile brightly, shaking her hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you Ms. Kean.”
“Oh no, please, call me Barbara. Ms. Kean is my mother. Where are you from, exactly?” she asks, making small talk.
“Star City, I was attending college there but I decided to come back to Gotham to find work,” you explain.
A tall woman with long red hair calls out to Barbara, “Babs! Over here darling!”
She turns around, “V, hey!” she briefly turns back to the two of you, “So nice to meet you. Don’t worry about Jim, he can get a little paranoid sometimes, but he’s a good man.”
Barbara walks over to the woman she referred to as “V”, and hugs her. After thinking on it for a moment, you realize you recognize that woman.
“Oswald, that’s Veronica Vreeland, the famous heiress! She’s always in the celebrity section of the papers, but I never thought I’d see her in the flesh,” you whisper to him.
He chuckles, “Yes, I run with a sophisticated crowd.”
You raise an eyebrow, “No, you, know Veronica Vreeland? Not in a million years.”
“Why? Do you doubt me?”
You pull back your waist, placing your hands on your hips, “Well, if you insist you’re of such high class, why don’t you go up and talk to her?”
His eyes light up, both in fear and in realization of an opportunity, “Why…of course…I will.”
You smirk, crossing your arms as you lean against a nearby wall, grabbing a bite-sized sandwich from one of the servers’ tray. Oswald shuffles over to Veronica, and you can’t help but laugh when you realize that she’s practically twice his height. He timidly approaches the confident woman, fiddling with his fingers and finally speaking in a soft, shy voice.
“Good evening Ms. Vreeland, I couldn’t help but notice you were in attendance to tonight’s gala. I’m-”
She turns around, seemingly only having just noticed him and shrieks, “My word! What sort of attire is that? Absolutely dreadful, cheap, tasteless! And…and that strange hair! You look like a vagabond off of the street! And that nose! Oh! You simply must have it done, this instant!”
Oswald, in absolute shock, slowly begins backing off, “Oh…my apologizes Ms. Vreeland, I, I didn’t mean to offend-”
He backs up one step too far and bumps into a server carrying cherry martinis, the tray falling out of his hand and dumping all of its contents onto Oswald. The red drinks soak his hair and suit, leaving him dripping wet in the middle of the gallery. The people around him fall silent and slowly but surely, an uproarious laughter bursts out among the crowd. People point and laugh, and Oswald, now more paralyzed than ever, shakingly moves his black bangs out of his face to witness the laughingstock he’s become.
You rush to him, pushing through the small crowd that was beginning to encompass him. Not knowing what else to do, you grab him by the wrist and head straight for the exit, shoving people out of the way as you navigate through the crowd. A large man holding a martini glass of his own, stands particularly in the way of the door.
“What a funny little Penguin man!” he roars, seeing the whole thing as a simple joke.
“Move!” you shout, throwing your hands forward, the force becoming more of a punch than a push.
You hit him a little harder than you’d expected, throwing him against the wall, his drink shattering as he hits the floor. Opps. The laughter growing louder from your own faux pas, and wanting to escape your own embarrassment, you lead Oswald out of the art gallery and into the street.
“Are you okay? You’re not hurt, right?” you ask him sternly, checking to make sure no glass had cut him anywhere.
He shakes his head furiously, cherry martini flicking out of his hair and lightly splashing you.
“Good, we’re going home,” you declare, before pulling him down the street.
As we pass the wide glass windows of the art gallery, you notice Barbara’s worried stare as she watches the two of you practically run out into the streets. She’s worried yes, but not enough to have done anything about it.
We’re two blocks away from the art gallery when Oswald finally speaks, “I…I’ve failed.”
You turn around, “What are you talking about? If anything it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have dared you to go talk to that vicious vixen Veronica Vreeland.”
Wow, alliteration. You didn’t mean to do that, but it just seemed like the right words to describe her.
He laughs, but it doesn’t hide the fact that he’s on the verge of tears, “They laughed…they always laugh…am I…am I really that big of a joke?”
You shake your head, “Oswald, they don’t laugh at you because you’re a joke. They laughed because…well…” honestly, I can’t think of a way to describe it without somehow offending Oswald. They were laughing at him, even if they didn’t mean to be cruel.
He stops you in your tracks, grabbing you firmly by the shoulders, "Admit it, you’re just like them. You, you belittle me, you think less of me…to you, I’m a failure.”
You sigh heavily, before taking a step towards Oswald and pulling him into a hug. He’s positively sticky everywhere, but that becomes the least of your concerns as he buries his head into your neck and shoulder and starts quietly sobbing. You smooth his back with your hand as he pulls you close, trying your best to comfort him. For a couple of minutes, the two of you stand in the relative silence of the evening, with only the pale Gotham moon to illuminate the darkness.
Somewhere a church bell gives a low chime, signalling midnight. Oswald sniffs back the last of his tears, and you reach up, wiping a stray tear from his cheek.
“Listen, the chimes of midnight…” you whisper softly, although there’s no one else around to hear you two, “you know what that means?”
He smiles and nods, before you pull back slightly, offering your hand to him. He excitedly grabs it, yanking you through the Gotham streets, racing home, laughing as the two of you go.
“Is this going to become a normal thing? Taking baths together?” you ask him, turning off the water on the tub.
He shrugs, the water barely going past his shoulders, an innocent look on his face, “I wouldn’t mind if it did.”
“Well, I’m not getting in the tub with you this time,” you tell him, noticing the opaque water turning a slightly reddish color from the cherry martinis spilled on him. If you’d thought bathing with him was unsanitary before…
He peers out from the tub as you dump his suit into a nearby pile of dirty clothes, “…please?”
You turn around to see that he’s staring at you with a puppy-eyed look, pursing his lips, and cocking his head sideways. You roll your eyes, after what he’s been through tonight, it’s rather hard to say no to him, “Fine.”
You unzip your dress from the back and pull the entire thing over your head in one fell swoop. Oswald’s eyes widen and he bites his lip, leaving his mouth slightly ajar.
“Do you mind?”
He opens his mouth, but it takes a few extra seconds before he can respond, “No, no I don’t mind.”
You roll your eyes once more as you throw off your undergarments and march over to the tub, stepping in one foot at a time. You slide to the bottom, the water just grazing the tip of your chin. Oswald reaches over and gently grabs your arm, leading you to his side of the tub. He turns you around and rests your back against his chest, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.
Oswald leans back slightly, adjusting himself so that I’m sitting directly on his lap…and something else.
“They’re idiots, all of them,” he grumbles, “I’m just as intelligent as any one of them, and what do they do? They mock me…humiliate me…”
He runs his hand through your hair, clawing it with his fingers until his arm disappears back into the waters, “But I’ll show them, I deserve to be among them-…no, above them. They’ll see, I’m going to become a man of importance in this town. Veronica Vreeland will beg just to grovel at my feet.”
He pauses, both of his hands on your shoulders, before tilting his head down, close enough so that his breath heavy on your cheeks, “Thank you, for being there for me tonight.”
You two lean in and kiss, his arms moving to your hips below the water. You press against him, pushing his back against the tub as you grind against his chest. The two of you let go, both smiling at each other.
“Alright, that’s enough bath time,” you lift myself out of the tub, “I’ll get another one of your suits from the-”
Oswald leans back into the tub, his eyes leering and his jaw shifting from side to side, “No…no, you misunderstand…”
As you wrap a towel around your body to conceal yourself, you slowly turn around, your heart racing both in fear, and anticipation.
His arms splayed on both sides of the tub, his tilts his head up, licking his lips, “We won’t be needing anymore clothes tonight.”
So this account will become a “work only” blog, where I’ll post writing and work-related stuff. If you just want random reblogs of stuff I like, go to tandotheprocrastinator
Why do the writers of Gotham have to make me fall in love with such adorable and fantastic characters and then do freaking horrible things to them? I cried when Jerome died, I get terrified when something bad happens with Oswald (ex. his mother being taken) and when he gets mad… I just… why
Because the writers of Gotham are all evil sadists and love to rip out our hearts of our chests and squash our still beating hearts with their bare hands (T__T) At least I feel that way.
Advice On Being Creepy From The Penguin, Robin Lord Taylor
Most of us try to avoid coming off as “creepy” during the year, but Halloween is a different ball of wax (or bowl of eyeballs) entirely. Today’s the day to let our freak flags really fly and give voice to the fringe characters lurking inside us all. In keeping with the spirit of the day, we asked Robin Lord Taylor, a.k.a. the Penguin on Fox’s dystopian action drama Gotham, how to creep out like a pro.
Taylor, a 37-year-old Iowa native, creates a stormy sea within this iteration of Penguin, a character previously made iconic by Burgess Meredith (in the ‘60s Batman series) and Danny DeVito (in Tim Burton’s Batman Returns). Gotham’s younger Penguin is whip-smart, vulnerable, uncomfortably close to his mother (played by Carol Kane), and prone to murderous outbursts. Taylor has won widespread praise for his nuanced Penguin, even earning a shout-out from Mark “Luke Skywalker” Hamill. Hamill recently took to his Twitter account, @hamillhimself, declaring, “…I’m mesmerized by @robinlordtaylor as Penguin! He owns that part and I can’t look away.”
Without further ado…
Robin! Just when your character, Oswald Cobblepot [Penguin’s alter-ego], earns audience sympathy, he snaps…and snaps hard. What’s the key to playing a convincing psychopath?
“The key is showing the humanity of a psychopath. When you understand why this person is doing deplorable things, you cannot help but sympathize a little and, therefore, see yourself making the same decisions. And that, to me, is what makes a psychopath creepy and unsettling.”
“To add 'creepy’ to your persona, I would say that you should be absolutely 100% believable when showing kindness to someone that you genuinely dislike. That way, when you show your true colors, it is all the more upsetting.”
What goes into a truly frightening “villain laugh?”
“Make it genuine. When it’s real, it’s the most frightening.”
What do you consider scary?
“When reality is questionable and unexplained.”
Which actors have been the most mesmerizing as a scary or creepy character, in your opinion?
“John Malkovich, Anthony Hopkins, Jack Nicholson, [and] Louise Fletcher.”
Are you wearing a costume this year for Halloween?
