#like why the fuck would he do that !!!!!! he works IN FAVOR of gothamites not AGAINST them

[prognostik-a2]

thinking about him ( anarky )

[wordsfromthesol]

Mixed Signals

Author: @wordsfromthesol​ Taglist: @lana-king @marvelfreakbrynnlee​ Pairing: Older!Damian x Reader Summary:  *cough* read the request pictured below *cough* Warnings: Violence, cursing, the good stuff Word Count: 2k A/N: Quarantine requests have begun! I’m going to try and post a little more frequently during this time so ya’ll have some new content while you’re bored (my work has not been suspended...but trying to write as much as I can!) 

“Master Damian, your father wished that I remind you of my granddaughter Y/N’s arrival tomorrow.”

“Tt, and why would I need this reminder?”

“Well, she is staying with us at the Manor. Vigilantism is to be kept to a minimal, as Y/N is unaware of this family’s nighttime activities. Your brothers have been informed and as such, will only enter the cave, if necessary, from the exterior.”

“I shall do the same then.”

“I was hoping you could refrain altogether. Perhaps accompany her around Gotham?

“Tt, I am not a babysitter Alfred.” And with that Damian stormed out of the living room and headed immediately for the training room.

**

“Papa!” You exclaimed as soon as Alfred opened the door. You quickly enveloped him in a hug, before stepping back and admiring his living quarters. “These Wayne’s you work for are clearly loaded.”

“Y/N, you know that is no way to talk.”

You just shrugged as you walked inside. “You’re happy though, right? They treat you okay?” You knew exactly how ‘the help’ could be treated.

“My dear, of course. In fact, Master Damian has agreed to show you the Gotham sights.”

“Somehow I doubt he did that willingly.”

“Some coercion from his father may have been necessary.” Alfred smirked. The two of you sat at the kitchen counter catching up on life, when Damian turned the corner. You glanced his direction.

“You must be my tour guide I’ve heard so much about!”

“Tt, only if you wish to go to the worst parts Gotham has to offer.”

“Hm, sounds much more fun than the best parts. Everyone gets to see those.”

“I am confident Alfred can accompany you around the city.”

“I am too, but he said he’s got something to do for your father all day tomorrow.” Alfred shot a look of disappoint towards Damian, as you continued. “I don’t want to intrude, if you have something to do. I’m sure I can entertain myself for the day.”

“Fine. I will escort you through Gotham tomorrow.”

**

“So Dami, how’s babysitting?” Jason teased his younger brother.

“Fantastic. I must chaperon the ray of sunshine all day tomorrow. See the sights that Gotham City has to offer.”

“From what I remember, Y/N is capable of handling herself just fine around Gotham.” Dick chimed in, trying to ease Damian’s clear frustration.

“Well Father would be most disappointed in me if I left her to fend for herself.”

“Lighten up, I’m sure her positivity will make the day enjoyable.” Jason smirked knowing full well that would only further agitate his brother. You didn’t want to hear any more of the conversation, clearly Damian disliked you. You would just have to live with that, you thought as you stalked up to the guest room.

“I just do not comprehend how she can be so positive. All the time.”

“Hm, been thinking about her a lot since that first meeting…haven’t we?” Now Dick joined in on the teasing, realizing the effect you had on his youngest brother.

“Of course not. The notion is ridiculous.” With that Damian left his brothers, no longer wishing to endure their quips.

**

You expected the day to drag on. In fact, you didn’t even know if Damian would actually take you on a tour of the city of not. To your surprise, he was waiting for you in the kitchen when you sauntered down to grab some coffee.

“Damian. You’re awake.”

“I was unsure of when you wanted to leave.”

“Honestly, I’m more of a nightowl. Mind if I grab some coffee and then go get ready? Say we leave in an hour?”

“I will meet you here in an hour.”

You smiled and nodded as you passed him to get to the coffee machine. “So from a true Gothamite’s perspective, any places that are a must see?”

“Tt, I am not from Gotham.”

“Oh. I thought – nevermind – where are you from?”

“No where you would be privy to.”

“Sorry for asking then…” you stumbled out of the kitchen, preparing yourself for an awkward day.

**

You put on a smile as you walked down the stairs, determined to have fun despite the storm cloud accompanying you. “Ready?” Your cheery voice echoed through the hall.

“As much as one could be.”

You were okay with the silence as you took in the sights. You grew up in a fairly small town, no building was over five stories. This was astonishing. The amount of people and cars around you, everything constantly moving. Finally, the car you were in stopped.

“Where are we?”

“Wayne Botanical Gardens.”

“How rich is your family…?” You question as the two of you got out of the car.

“Heh, I am not sure that I can answer that question.”

“Maybe one day I’ll ask a personal question you do know the answer to.” You sighed before gliding over to the garden entrance. You didn’t talk for the next hour, you were too enthralled looking at all the plants and flowers. Damian was too enthralled gazing at you. You saw the beauty in everything, granted flowers are a typically beautiful plant, but you seemed to admire everything around you. He even watched as you bent down and picked up someone else’s trash. The action seemed to be done subconsciously, as you hadn’t even realized what you just did. As you neared the end, you turned towards him, an undeniable sparkle in your eye.

“Oh, where to next? Is every place in Gotham this beautiful?”

“Tt, that would be impossible.”

“Right,” you sighed, remembering who you were talking to.

“Wayne Tower is near here.”

“A garden and a tower, my oh my, the Wayne’s do get around.”

“Yeah. Want to go?”

“Why not, perhaps we can stop for lunch nearby?”

“Okay.”

You trudged forward, ignoring the short responses. Before you knew it, the day seemed over. You knew you hadn’t seen half of Gotham, but Damian seemed rathe insistent you head back as darkness enveloped the city.

“Oh, come on, Damian. Are you scared of the dark?”

“Of course not. I am not a child.”

“Good. Let’s go to a bar! I’ve heard the Iceberg Lounge is a must!”

“A must avoid, perhaps.”

“Well, I am going. You are more than welcome to join me.”

Surprisingly, the rest of the night went on without a hitch. Damian didn’t even suspect that you were actually gathering intel at the lounge. Unbeknownst to Alfred, you had ulterior motives for visiting him in the big city. Your dad was finally letting you in the family business, this was your first assignment. Gather intel on the drugs being pushed out at the Iceberg Lounge in Gotham City.

**

A few more days had passed, and you managed to get to or near the lounge every night. Sometimes you went inside, sometimes you waited and watched from the rooftops. Thankfully, the Wayne Manor was surprisingly easy to sneak out of. Or so you thought. Alfred, however, was growing more and more concerned by your nightly disappearances.

“Master Damian, might I inquire how your day of sightseeing with my granddaughter went?”

“Fine? Did she claim otherwise?”

“No. Did she seem particularly eager to go somewhere?”

“The only place she requested was the Iceberg Lounge. Why she would associate herself with such an establishment is beyond my comprehension.”

“Hm. I feared as much. Master Damian, I might request a small favor.”

“Does this favor involve Y/N?”

“It does.”

“What do you require?”

“She seems to be leaving each night. I am afraid she may get herself into trouble. As you know, Gotham is no place to wander. Could you follow her?”

“Of course.” Damian left and immediately geared himself up, as much as he dared to in civilian clothing. Then, it was the waiting game. Just as Alfred said, around 10 you snuck out through the window. Luckily, Damian was waiting close by on a motorcycle.

This time you decided you would go in the lounge. You discarded the dark robe, uncovering the rather revealing outfit you donned, as you entered the taxi. Upon entering the lounge, you saw a few of the suspects already downing drinks. You didn’t hesitate in approaching them. Unfortunately, this approach had caused wrong person to take notice of you.  

“Hey beautiful. I’ve seen you in here a lot lately. Yet you haven’t come and talked to me. I thought I’d take the initiative.”

“How sweet of you. I’m afraid I can’t indulge your fantasies tonight. Perhaps another.”

“Huh, see…I think you can.”

You smiled at the unsavory character, as you did he latched onto your wrist.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

“Awe, does the pretty lady know self-defense.”

“Yeah, she does.”

“Good.” The man seemed to sober up almost instantly. “Then you can tell me why you’ve been grilling my men.”

Shit. You quickly brought your knee up into his groin, causing him to release you. You grasped the gun in your purse and shot in his direction.

“Can’t even hit me?”

“Oh honey, I wasn’t trying.” You smiled as a light fixture swung down and crashed between the two of you. As you turned to make a run for it, the room filled with smoke and someone grabbed you by the waist and placed the other hand over your mouth. You quickly realized they were pulling you to safety and decided to see how the situation played out. Once you cleared the smoke, you recognized the figure. “Damian?!” You stopped dead in your tracks.

He looked back at you, once he noticed you weren’t going to move, he pulled you in close and pulled out what looked like a gun. Except this gun pulled the two of you up through the air, landing you on a rooftop.

“What the hell were you doing?!” You had never heard Damian raise his voice; you didn’t even think he was capable of it. “You almost got yourself killed in there!”

“What?! Did you follow me here?!”

“Of course, I followed you. Gotham is not a safe place. You should not be out here alone.”

“Why the fuck do you even care? You hate me!”

“Hate yo – ? I was protecting you!”

“Well, I don’t need your protection. I can handle myself.”

“Clearly. But I could not take that risk.”

“You barely know me.”

“I can tell Alfred loves you.”

“Oh, you followed me because my grandfather asked you to.”

“No. Well, yes. However, I would have followed regardless. If I had known earlier.”

“Why?”

“You seem hold this astonishing ability to acknowledge the good in everything and everyone. It amazes me. But Gotham…everyone in Gotham is capable of tremendous evil. I could allow it to take you as it has so many others.”

You took his hands in yours, causing him to momentarily tense. “Damian, I choose to believe that everyone has the capacity for good. But I am not so naïve to believe everyone utilizes that.” You sighed, “If I tell you something. Do you promise not to tell my grandfather?”

Damian just nodded at your words.

“My father, he followed in his father’s footsteps. And I, I’ve chosen to follow in my father’s. We, I suppose the closest thing to what we are is spies. He told me just to gather the intel. I guess I got a little trigger happy.” Your gaze seemed to freeze Damian on the spot. “Though, I’m guessing your family knows a little about that. Unless normal citizens of Gotham carry smoke bombs with them.” Your statement shook him from the trance.

“No, unfortunately, I cannot say that is true. I am a vigilante, spy, hero, whatever terminology you wish it to don.”

“Good. Then you can continue protecting me. And maybe I can return the favor.”

[killforyouliveforme]

Penguin/OC Imagine: Oswald Cobblepot/Reader Imagine:  “Mistaken Identity” Chapter 1-3

As requested for @kpopgirlbtssvt

Mistaken Identity

 Requested by kpopgirlbtssvt

Summary:

You were at the wrong place at the wrong time, and because of your ill-timing, you’ve been kidnapped by Oswald Cobblepot. Unfortunately, you’re not freed to leave. But Fate has a way of making things right.

 Chapter 1: Mistaken

 Breathe, you tell yourself. Breathe…Stay calm.

This mantra you’ve been repeating in your head is one you’ve repeated many times in the past.

Granted, they were for situations that required a deep breath before you spoke to your boss about getting paid time-off, or even a raise that you and every co-worker associated knew was well-deserved.

It was the soft mantra said minutes before you went on a blind date, or you received one too many texts that read ‘hey, we need to talk’.

It was only ever reserved for those moments that seemed to be a little too pressing, and often times, the panic you felt was self-inflicted. Exacerbated by years of anxiety—most of it had gradually stacked as you lived as a Gothamite.

Gotham had a certain reputation, even as a city.

It was full of crime, corruption; it was full of scary people who would do scary things to others. Full of people who wanted to hurt and harm…Well, the city wasn’t only filled with those irreputable thugs. What population was left that had not been tainted was the 10%, of which you solely belonged.

Innocent, modest, inwardly contained, you barely had a violent bone in your body; even the idea of hurting another person would send the worst, repulsive signal from your brain to your stomach; it left you queasy, barely functional.

So why, you wondered helplessly, why were you snatched from the middle of Gotham’s busiest streets during one of the busiest days of the week (Ironically, a Wednesday, who knew); blindfolded and wrists and feet bound by what felt like rope, and thrown none too gently into the back of a vehicle? Why was this happening?

What could you have done?

Breathe, you told yourself. Breathe…

The mantra used in small social situations was now used to delay what would best be described as a hurricane of overwhelming emotions to include fear, regret, a little irritation for all your efforts of staying away from danger—but mostly fear.

“If you don’t stop moving,” said an annoyed thug. “We’ll be doing more to you than just looking at ya.”

You weren’t moving to begin with. They just wanted to scare you a little more.

Unfortunately, they were successful.

What fear you’d been managing to suppress ran down your spine, causing your entire body to shiver; your bodily reaction had nothing to do with the weather outside or the temperature within this engine-rattling vehicular prison…Those thugs around you seemed to gather that all too quickly.

“What should we do to her?” Another thug chuckled; his voice was grainier, huskier than the last.

“Well, that’s a matter of opinion.” The former spoke—you were blindfolded, but you could practically see his dirty smirk. “The boss said we just needed to snatch her—never said anything about…Well, you know.”

“I think she can hear us,” said a third voice. This man, you assumed, was probably the more logical of the bunch. Calmer at least, less aroused. “And she’s smart enough to know what we’re talking about.”

“I figured we’d scare her less if we pretended she wasn’t smart.”

“Whatever.”

Breathe…Breathe…In, out, in, out…That’s it…

“Pull over.”

“Why?” asked the calmer thug.

“Because it’s been a couple days.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’ve been looking at her too, you know. Don’t try to high-road me.”

“If you touch her, the boss is going to know.” The calm thug told the other two. “I doubt he’ll like that. We were told to kidnap, and—if needed—maim, but she’s been pretty calm for what it’s worth. So, if I were you, I wouldn’t touch her.”

“She’ll be a tasty little peach—I don’t like them fighting anyway…” The first thug that spoke seemingly made a gesture, one of which you could have assumed was nonverbal for fucking.

The calmer thug said pointedly, “If you do, she’ll only raise hell for us later.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The Boss says she’s got ‘friends in high places’. Higher, I imagine, since he’s going through all this trouble of getting her out of that office, into his. If she takes the Boss’s deal, and he lets her go, we’ve got a bit of a mess on our hands.”

“She’s not going to take his deal.”

“What makes you think she won’t?”

“She’s got every clown working for her, all this money at her fingertips, and Penguin thinks he’s going to make her back down?” laughed the first thug incredulously. “I doubt it. So, odds are, she’s gonna die anyway because Penguin isn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer. We might as well get our licks in—and you know, other things.”

There weren’t any arguments that came later.

But apparently, the situation had been de-escalated by a simple firm look given to the two inappropriate wankers, casted by the eyes of the only thug who seemed aware of the future unfortunate consequences if they did what they were thinking of doing.

Of that, you were grateful.

If not more confused.

Penguin. That was who had orchestrated your kidnapping. He was the reason you were in this situation. But the conversation had asked more questions than it had answered.

It was a case of mistaken identity, you realized. They, including their boss, thought you were this high roller woman, some big-time person who did what she wanted, when she wanted, and if the odds weren’t in her favor, she could change them so they fell in the palm of her hands.

They knew of her, clearly. They’d never met her; otherwise, why were you in this position in the first place—if that was the case?

“You’ve got the wrong person,” You whispered helplessly. Damn, your nerves made you sound so weak. “You…Please, you have the wrong person!”

“SHUT UP!”

A hard slap across your face silenced your other pleas.

You stayed quiet for the remainder of the trip.

 Chapter 2: Imprisoned

 Ten or twenty minutes passed and it wasn’t until the vehicle had come to a harsh and abrupt stop that a hand wrapped a vice-like grip around your bicep, propelling you forward so you stumbled out and off the high platform. Presumably, the calmer and more gentleman-like thug had been ready to catch you as you nearly fell into his arms with a disgruntled huff.

“Would you watch what the hell you’re doing!” He shouted.

“She can walk,” the other two grumbled among themselves.

You were escorted; one held your bicep; the other had a hard grip around your wrist, pulling you left and right until you presumably had stepped into whatever room it was that they’d been instructed to bring you inside.

“Untie her. Once you’ve done that, leave us.”

This voice was different. Calmer than the rigid suspects that had brought you here, and even more so: civilized, and gentle. Yet firm.

As they’d been ordered to do, the thugs (roughly) cut your bindings from your wrists, and the loose ropes that had made your walk stiffer and more of a task than it could have been. The blindfold still remained; you didn’t try taking it off.

A door closed.

“What do you want?” You asked quickly. “What did I do? What—”

“Shh.”

Penguin’s footsteps were easy to pinpoint. They were unique as everyone, including you, knew he walked with a limp. Allegedly, it had been given to him by one of his previous employers, one of many he’d betrayed. Whether it was well-deserved or otherwise, you hadn’t the privilege of knowing, or, for that matter, understanding.

You suddenly felt hands around your head, and you flinched at the contact. He didn’t seem to register your reaction as anything but startling, and as the blindfold was untied and removed from your person, you steadily blinked.

Your vision was blurry; your senses, off kilter. There was a certain relief that came from being able to see again, being able to take in your entire situation—but the dread followed the moment you saw Penguin.

For some reason, not seeing him but hearing his voice had been an ounce of relief more. It hadn’t made it real. But seeing the Penguin, dressed in his reputable flamboyant suit, even carrying with him his cane with the iconic Penguin’s head atop its connected glossy extension made your situation—and your reality—that much more dire.

He looked at you, perplexed.

For his confusion, you took the opportunity.

“What do you want with me?” You asked fearfully; your hands shook, even as they sat in your lap.

The both of you sat in an office, it appeared. His office, presumably, within his own home. If not for your fear, you’d have actually felt welcomed here; the natural ambience of the homely appearance, despite the large capacity to fit at least fifty more individuals, and likely house at least ten people before reaching maximum occupancy.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” You continued—although Penguin looked just as confused as you did. “I didn’t do anything to you, I couldn’t—I wouldn’t.”

“Who are you?” Penguin asked, staring at you.

Well, that took you by surprise. Quietly, you said your name. It sounded strange on your tongue—saying it to someone you feared, and yet, knowing it might just clear your situation in a heartbeat.

“Are you related to Senator Briggs?” Penguin asked.

“No…”

“Do you know who she is?”

“She’s trying to run for Mayor.” You tell him.

“Is that all you know?”

Uncertainly, and almost embarrassingly, you admit, “I don’t know much about politics, Mr. Cobblepot.”

Penguin continued to stare at you.

“Unbelievable.” He muttered, rolling his eyes. He brought a hand to his nose, rubbing the bridge of it irritably.

“What? Did I say…or do something wrong?”

Penguin chuckled sarcastically, “No, but that’s actually the problem, isn’t it?”

You didn’t have an answer—what could you have said to that. But obviously, he wasn’t looking for an answer to it; in fact, he wanted an answer from someone else.

Standing to his feet, he poked the table, the area just in front of you and said firmly, “Do not move from this seat.”

You whispered, “…Okay…”

“You seem like a smart woman,” Penguin uttered pointedly. “I doubt I have to say more.”

You shook your head, hoping he needn’t threaten you if you easily complied. Surprised by your instant submission, almost taken aback by it, Penguin looked at you for a second longer before his attention was drawn to the door, through which the familiar three thugs suddenly ran and then came to an abrupt halt in front of him.

They stood in a pretty chorus line, befuddled.

“Yeah, Boss?” They all said in one way or another.

Penguin pointed to you indicatively and said irritably to his employees: “Who the hell is she?”

“Senator Briggs.”

“That isn’t her, gentlemen.”

You didn’t know Penguin very well, but you could tell that he wasn’t pleased. He was far from being happy, and irritation didn’t even begin to describe his current mood.

“She was in the same office as Senator Briggs—she was in her office, Boss!” Thug One, the one that had been excessively inappropriate and insensitive, immediately came to his own defense. “She tried to fight us, just like you said she would!”

“Seriously? If any one of you walked into my office without my previous knowledge of your actions, I wouldn’t go quietly either—no one would.” Penguin stated harshly.

“So…So, that’s not her?”

“No, that is not her!”

“So, you want us to kill her?” Thug One asked carelessly. He reached behind his back, pulled out a huge Glock, and nonchalantly pulled back the hammer, cocking and aiming it at you.

Penguin glanced over his shoulder, seeing you tense up. Angrily, he grabbed the gun from Thug One, and, with it already locked and loaded, aimed it at its owner and pulled the trigger. As you let out a squeak of fright, Thug One fell over; his two other associates glanced down at him apathetically before turning their undivided attention to their boss.

“I’m guessing that’s a ‘no’?” said the logical Thug—Thug Two.

“You are very perceptive,” Penguin muttered indignantly. He gestured ironically to the dead employee, adding, “Get him out of here.”

“You want us to talk to her?”

“No. I will.”

You glanced down at the table as soon as the door closed; you heard Penguin approach. For a whole minute, you hoped he’d just leave the room, and you in your solace.

He said your last name; you barely registered his acknowledgement before lifting your teary eyes to meet his.

Unexpectedly, the anger he had shown to his employees had mostly gone with the exception of the residual irritation from the expired associate that left a trail of blood on the floor as his co-workers dragged him out of the room with an effort.

In fact, to your surprise, Penguin, the ruthless ruler of Gotham, seemed almost…What was the word?... ‘Remorseful’?

“What now?” You whispered, looking up at him. “I was right...I wasn’t the person you were looking for, I didn’t…I’ve never done anything to anyone.”

“Is that true?”

You blinked. Was that true??

“It’s true.” You said, nodding. “I’ve never hurt anyone. I never killed anyone. I just…”

“Just ‘what’?”

“I keep my head down, and I walk away.”

Saying the truth hurt more than you expected. But it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. In fact, you did more than anything not to be the hero. Despite your need to do the right thing, the easier and safest thing always took precedence.

“My men are morons.” Penguin uttered unhappily, sitting across from you at the table. “I gave them the simplest of instructions: Kidnap Senator Briggs. The flaw in that plan, of course, was that I knew what Senator Briggs looked like; they only had a small and, I have to admit, inaccurate description of her appearance. Unfortunately, you just happened to be in the right office at the wrong time, and—I hope you don’t take offense to this—you look like her.”

You met his eyes again.

“So, I’m not the one you wanted.” You said quietly. “That means…I can leave, right?”

“You seem intelligent enough to know that what you want is not a likely option.”

The answer set a small trickle of emotion through your heart; first it started as a quake, then your face started heating up.  

“So, I’m a prisoner?” You questioned.

You didn’t expect this. Death, sure, but not imprisonment. Ironically enough, neither had Penguin as he looked you over, the expression of his remorse set more prominently in the expressive lines of his face.

“I am sorry.” Penguin offered his sentiment. It was sincere enough that you believed it.

“I guess I’ll be chained up in some dungeon.”

Your half-witted and half-serious response registered collectively in him. He smiled at your dark sense of humor, and he offered his hand. You looked at it uncertainly, but he insisted; you took it, and he gently lifted it and you followed him.

Where you were going, you weren’t sure.

Then you realized, you were going to the kitchen. It was here that he let go of your hand, realizing only later than he’d held it for so long in the first place. His reaction was one of embarrassment; the pink in his cheeks and the nervous smile he sent you almost made up for the kidnapping that had come only an hour earlier.

“A prisoner though you may be,” Penguin uttered almost half-jokingly, “but a degenerate, you are not. Your stay here is not of my intention nor yours…clearly”—(He raised his eyebrows and let out a cynical chuckle, marking the irony of the situation)—“but a direct result of my men’s idiocy. I take responsibility for that, seeing as they work for me. Your presence here will be kept under the secure scrutiny of my staff”—(Penguin indicated the maids and butlers and body guards that seemed to pepper around the mansion.)—“but you will be treated as my guest.”

You couldn’t say much to that. In fact, you were so startled by his gentleman-like introduction to the Rules of Engagement that it was hard to register the idea that you were still a prisoner. For someone as remarkably ruthless and homicidal as Penguin was made out to be in the papers and even among the people you worked alongside, he was a gentleman, held to the highest degree.

“You’re wondering where I’m going with this,” Penguin assumed, smiling at your stunned silence.

“Well…Yes.”

“Olga.” Penguin said the name; a plump but stocky maid wearing the classical maid’s attire appeared seemingly out of thin air. You hadn’t noticed her, at least. “She is my house maid, but a phenomenal cook; she’ll provide your meals while you are here.”

Olga smiled (if you called it that) and then left to do some house cleaning.

Penguin approached you, coming closer than what was needed. He stood an inch taller than you, yet you could feel the power radiating off him; the power he had over his minions, over a Senator (apparently), and the way he held himself to such a high standard said it all.

“Your stay here may be unwelcomed, but I hope it isn’t too uncomfortable.” Penguin assured.

For the first time since being kidnapped, you allowed yourself to smile. You couldn’t help it really; he was so sweet.

“What do you think?” He asked.

“What do I think?” You repeated uncertainly. “What can I think?”

“I’m open to any ideas you may have.”

There. It happened again.  You couldn’t help another smile come to your face. Maybe it was the fact that Penguin, although having literally just killed someone in front of you, was truly sincere in his efforts to placate the repulsion that his men had incurred.

“What if I just want to go home?” You asked. “And I promised never to say anything to anyone about what happened.”

“The thing about that,” Penguin returned calmly. “They always make that promise, but seldom do they ever keep it.”

Well, there was no denying that. Were you really going to keep that promise? You weren’t sure, but he had a point, though.

“And what makes you think that if you fall asleep that I won’t try to even the score?” You asked.

The unsteady wavering of your tone surprised the both of you. No, you hadn’t a single volatile bone in your body; even Penguin could have picked up on it. The ballsy comment though—where the heck had that come from?

“You could try to even the score,” Penguin offered cleverly, leaning forward. “I doubt you’d get far though.”

You leaned back, by instinct.

You smiled nervously, knowing he was right.

“For what it is worth,” Penguin uttered civilly. “In whatever way this inconvenient but otherwise unprecedented situation may end, you are probably one of the most interesting people I have ever met.”

He started walking away; you turned, watching him.

He gestured to the ceiling, saying, “Your room will be upstairs, the third room on the right as you walk down the corridor. If you want to exact your revenge, as misdirected as it really is, I sleep in the room across from you. I’m normally in bed by nine o’clock.”

Penguin left you in the kitchen, and he didn’t bother looking over his shoulder.

 Chapter 3: Bad Dreams

 Living under house arrest within Penguin’s mansion.

There have been horror movies made in far worse circumstances in far more dreadful locations.

Your routine for the next two months had taken an interesting turn…or rather turns, as there had been more than one occasion that had made you wonder about your current predicament.

The first three nights were the hardest. You lied in your Queen-sized bed, wearing some extra silky pajamas that were a size too big for you (Penguin had instructed Olga to go to the malls and buy you the extra clothes you’d require for the unexpectedly long stay). You had to appreciate the extra effort by which he’d gone in order to make up for his minions’ idiotic error.

Still, you missed your bed. You missed your apartment, although, by now, your studio sized humble abode was already being rented out to the next available buyer who wouldn’t miss two monthly payments in a row.

And luckily, you hadn’t owned a pet so they wouldn’t starve or miss you anytime soon.

On that note, it was convenient, too, that no one in your family seemed to care that you were gone—and if they could’ve cared, they weren’t alive to tell you these days. A mother who disowned you because you refused to leave Gotham (it was your home). A father who had died a few years ago, and possibly, was the only person who cared about you and vice versa. A brother you never spoke to, based on political differences and opinions on morality. And a friend who you thought would’ve called the police, but to your knowledge, you hadn’t shown up on the police’s radar no more than the homeless veteran had.

Some people, you thought unhappily. Some friends.

And yet, despite missing your unappreciative friends and your depreciating apartment, you couldn’t help but be a little grateful towards Penguin. While he had to cope with the idea that you might very well end up slitting his throat in the middle of the night (as he might worry with most people he might have kidnapped in the past), there was a certain gentleman-like, roommate-ish vibe to him.

Every morning when you came to breakfast (if you did, that was), he greeted you with a ‘Good Morning’ and he always addressed you by ‘Miss’ followed by your last name. He wasn’t passive aggressive, neither was he overtly friendly.

Even then, you might’ve welcomed it.

The overtly friendly part, not the passive aggression.

Oswald Cobblepot was an attractive man. While he might be modest about his appearance, knowing he was partially attractive and perhaps staying on the more-than-just-modest side of the spectrum, you knew he was handsome.

Blue eyes, or green, if the light hit them just right. Raven hair, which, these days, he kept out of his eyes and off his forehead, combed back and held up by what you assumed was an array of hair products, and still appearing soft to the touch.

Thin and trim, by the looks of how he carried himself. Even while he limped, his walk still had a bit of a saunter to it. Confidence spoke volumes; Oswald Cobblepot was no different.

A friendly gesture was welcoming you to his home. A more-than-friendly gesture was having his maids go to the store, buy you what might have been every single piece of clothing not stapled to a mannequin, and having it dropped off by your bedroom door every morning you woke up.

A friendly gesture was giving you free reign around the mansion, able to leave your room and not being solely sequestered to it like a cell. The more-than-friendly gesture that he decidedly used was even permitting you to not only walk about the mansion but even extending an offer for you to have lunch with him at a public restaurant, permitting, of course, that you made no move to alert the police of your awkward and otherwise complicated situation.

You seldom took his offer of going to the restaurant. Perhaps it was knowing yourself too well, knowing you’d try to escape and you simply did not want to exacerbate what was overall a pleasant situation into a worse off circumstance…But really, that was what you told yourself.

The truth was, of course, that you actually wanted to have lunch with him. You wanted to be with him, and what was more ironic and perhaps even more confusing, is that you would more than happily walk into his room at nine o’clock when he was just getting ready for bed but not for the murderous reasons he had put in your head.

Oswald Cobblepot was attractive. You knew that all too well.

And it was a thought that had started as an inkling, then became something more of a daydream.

Stockholm Syndrome, you remembered. Beauty and the Beast.

If you were pretty, and he was attractive, which of the two of you were the beast, you wondered amusedly.

The nights came all too quickly.

This night, in particular, made you more restless.

The day over all had been quiet, almost boring. Penguin had been gone for the better part of the day, leaving you to wander around the mansion; the maids and butlers kept a close eye on you, literally the entire time. Glancing around the corner; peering over their dusted equipment or their baking goods to make sure you weren’t trying to slip the wool over their eyes and escape.

Staring at the ceiling, you considered escaping. Ultimately, you knew the truth better than anyone else: You wanted to stay. And furthermore, you wanted him.

Restless nights, indeed. Thinking of Penguin: A powerful man who had the city at his fingertips, every helpless man and woman at his beck-and-call; every mayor who took the last mayor’s place would consistently fall and give submission and their own power over to the one man who had a hook in every dirty pool and every mob’s circle.

And yet, Penguin was still a man. A gentleman, a sensitive soul.

You weren’t sure what possessed you to get out of bed and pull the silk red robe over the navy-blue pajamas, made of the same material. You weren’t sure what took control of your extremities, pulling you out of your room and, with a steady hand, turned the door knob to the bedroom across the way.

Whatever it was, the power was strong. Its force so compulsive, so persuasive, you almost felt no fear what so ever. Amplified in your ears and standing within the ear-ringing silence of Penguin’s bedroom, you could hear his quiet, steady, slow breathing.

He was asleep.

As you approached his King-sized bed, there was a part of you, begging to leave, begging to flee. What the hell are you thinking! It’s screaming at you, hoping you’ll listen to reason and take flight.

But that part of you doesn’t reign anymore. Maybe it was Penguin’s influence, seeing him do what he wanted, when he wanted without asking anyone’s permission or hoping for a better outcome than that which he always pursued and—as always—faithfully received.

You wanted the same outcome.

So, you followed his example.

There was a flicker of mischief in your heart; it buttered your insides with glee and excitement, knowing that what you were doing was far from what you might have usually done in the past. And while the feeling you had was one of earnest and suspense, it slightly flickered into concern.

The moment you heard his whimpers.

And you realized…

Penguin…Oswald Cobblepot, a man, was having nightmares.

Bad dreams. And from the sound of his helpless sounds…Very bad dreams. The worst.

Your eyebrows furrowed in concern; the suspense and eagerness of doing something naughty now transformed into one of need to comfort and protect. He’d done his job in protecting you from his thugs—it now only seemed justified that you’d return the favor.

You lied next to him, hoping against hope that he’d not wake up and think you were trying to accomplish what he suspected might have been your intent this entire time.

Penguin looks like he’s trying to evade his nightmares, his body scrunched up in a fetus position. You lie next to him, and gently touch the shoulder opposite of you; with your other hand on his side, you lightly move him so he slowly sinks into you, huddled closer to the only other warm body.

He doesn’t resist. In fact, he seems desperate to escape the monsters that torment him at night; the ones that torture him in his waking hours are not nearly so cruel, you realize.

“Don’t…” He mumbles in his sleep.

“It’s okay, Oswald.” You whisper.

He’s facing your direction; you rub his back as you lie on your side.

What external opposition you may have against the monsters wrestling against his subconscious, it seems to do the job. He relaxes; the tension leaves his face, and his body. Apparently, it’s a positive enough result that it pulls him out of his nightmare, enough that he opens his eyes and sees you in his bed.

“What…” Penguin says, slowly beginning to sit up.

“Wait, wait, wait!” You say quickly—you know what he’s about to reach for, and you’re hoping you can calm him down a second time, although you wonder if such a thing has ever happened in his lifetime.

“Why are you here!” Penguin demands. Sudden anger.

“I’m not here to kill you,” You tell him; you do your best not to stammer, lest you be perceived as a liar. “I heard you…Having bad dreams, so I thought—”

Penguin stares at you.

He’s trying to understand what just happened during his resting hours, and he glances at the door, realizing it’s fully open. It was never shut…You left every trace of a footstep possible to make your presence known, to him as well as to any guard that might show up.

In his hand, he’s holding a switchblade. He held it up at first, as a deterrent. Now, he lowers it, looking at you with a different type of emotion. One that you were familiar with, seeing as it would flicker across his expressive face for only a few seconds before he masked it with a civil, aloof reaction, instead.

“I promise,” You say quietly. “I wasn’t trying to kill you. I came into your room, and I heard you—”

“Wait.”

You stop talking, hearing his soft command.

He puts the knife on the end table, and he moves closer.

“If you weren’t trying to kill me, why did you come into my room?” Penguin asks curiously.

You smile nervously. Oh, the things you want to tell him.

“Well…”  You began.

Damn! It was easier thinking it than saying it aloud. That feisty, mischievous spunk that had been in your system was suddenly no where to be found. Damn it!

“I…” You began, searching for the words. “I was just…um…thinking about how nice you’ve been and how you were sweet and caring and-and thoughtful and we’ve practically been together for about two months now, s-seeing each other every day, and there’s a couple of times where I thought you might…I don’t know…like me more than what—than what you might have led me to believe…”

The words came out like vomit, although, thank goodness, there was no real actual vomit. The stammering that inevitably found its way to your unsteady tone, the small gestures of desperate attempts to convey your thoughts with your gesticulating, however, trembling hands.

You took in a long, deep breath, realizing it had been a few minutes since you had taken one and you looked at Penguin, now, with a hopeful smile. He stared at you still…Not so much as ‘perplexed’ or even ‘repulsed’ by it, but more or less subdued by your astounding ramble.

Basically, you said you liked him. More than just a friend, even so, at all, considering you were his prisoner.

“You weren’t trying to kill me, then?” Penguin asked carefully.

“No…Why would I?”

“Why would you?”

“Well, aside from the obvious circumstance. But I couldn’t kill you. You’ve treated me so well, a lot better than my past boyfriends or girlfriends have ever treated me.” You tell him, unable to ignore the warmth in your face as you knowingly blush. “And…you were having bad dreams, so I thought I could try to—I don’t know—make it easier for you?”

“And that objective required you to be in my bed?” Penguin asked with a small sly smile.

“Well, no, it didn’t require me to be in it, but I figured…Why not?”

You think he’s going to make some satirical remark, but it’s the opposite. At first, he’s taken aback by your response and then he smiles at you. Not just sincerity as he normally passes off to you, but there’s more to it.

“So…” Penguin says uncertainly. “Now what?”

“Well, it’s boring in my room. So can I sleep here?” You asked politely.

He paused. Then says, “Sure…”

He lies down, uncomfortably at first as you do the same. You snuggle closer to him, smiling when he tenses up at first and when you’ve stopped moving around, he relaxes and puts his arm around you.

He wishes you goodnight, saying your name softly as though his voice alone could caress it in its own soft syllables.

“Good night, Oswald.” You whisper, smiling.

Before you can drift off to sleep, he kisses your forehead. You lift your head so his lips end up kissing yours, completely by ‘accident’. You don’t acknowledge the incidental slip as it was by your own device and you quickly return the kiss without so much as a hesitation. You can feel it in the kiss as he eagerly responds, having longed for that feeling of intimacy and human contact that you just as wantonly crave and return as well.

An unprecedented event in a ruthless town and you found what you needed most in a man that needed the same.

Chapter Four: The Confession

Your bedroom became storage after a time. Without a body to warm the mattress or a soul to graze its presence, the room just became yet another space for Olga to gussy up, to dust, to vacuum. After she finished, the door was closed; not a single person in Oswald’s employ would have been able to tell that at some point or another, it might’ve been a place for you to sleep. At the same time, every staff member could attest to that.

While your bedroom became ‘just another room’, Oswald’s became a home for two.

Every night, in fact.

Since the day you’d crawled into his bed to calm his ever-so-torturous resting demons, his sleep had become more than restful; naturally, he wanted it to continue. Three weeks later, when the day was over and yet another day was happily spent in his abode, you eagerly locked the front door then retired to bed.

As you lied there, you slowly fell asleep. After a time, you felt the bed shift with the weight of a second human as Oswald dressed down to pajamas. A pang of pity stung your heart; he always came to bed seemingly exhausted; a soft sigh left his lips just as he lied on his back, directly beside you. Very little space ever remained between your bodies, especially when he made himself comfortable.

The first couple of nights he spent sleeping beside you—you’d seen him at his most vulnerable, and some of the most adorable interactions you’d ever witnessed. For someone like Penguin who was so self-assured more than 99% of the time, always affluent in all things political, business, or any subject matter regarding manipulation and the other, Oswald was out of his depth when it came to any type of physical interaction—especially when it concerned yourself.

—————-Author’s Note——————-

      It’s about 5300 words and some change, and I enjoyed writing it. If you want an Oswald Cobblepot/Penguin imagine, send me a message or ask. It takes me a couple of days (or in this case, a week) to get it done, but I usually DELIVER. :) 

 @gotham-dumpster-fire Look what i did! I did a thing XD 

@ceruleanrainblues @penguinsheart @ahsfan23 @oxwald-nyxma @ladypenguin21 I thought you all might appreciate this too, so I tagged you as well :) @cobblepotkingpenguin @kpopgirlbtssvt @oswald-cobblepot-imagines