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alpacinosgf · 2 years

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MILK AND ROSES CH. 9

ALSO ON AO3

Rated: Explicit (Public sex, Exhibitionism, Femdom, Findom, Mirror Sex)

Word Count: 7k

Gotham is unusually quiet on Sunday morning, there’s no sirens or car alarms ringing across the crowded cityscape when you awaken. The cool morning air drifts in through your bedroom window and no matter how many times you thought you had it shut completely – the icy draft is always there to greet you through aged cracks in the wood. You aren’t fully awake yet, lying in that haze of half-consciousness that threatens to pull you back under at any second. Reality doesn’t hit you until you hear the old pipes of your shower shut off with its usual low groan.

You’re facing the wall when Oz steps out of the bathroom and he does his best to try keep quiet as he towels off – unsure by your position if you’re awake yet under the covers. You give a quiet sigh into the blankets before turning over with a stretch to watch him. He’s already moved on from trying his body, focusing now on his thinning hair and the back of his wide neck.

“Well, good morning!” you laugh from your spot on the pillows. He immediately shirks the towel off his face, visible blush on his cheeks at your words. He smirks as he throws the towel at you on the bed playfully – letting you get a good look at the hidden muscles of his chest and strong arms. He notices your ogling straight away and it’s clear he’s in a good mood when he finally speaks.

“See anything you like, honey?” he asks with a confident cock of his head – trademark shit eating grin on full show like the rest of him at the foot of your bed. You don’t know where to keep your eyes. On his freshly shaved face, the full curve of his upper chest or his heavy stomach both of which are covered in dark swirls of body hair that are still damp from his shower. To think that the same man a few months ago wouldn’t let you even look at his bare chest is standing in front of you completely nude and totally at ease is crazy.

“Oh, I see plenty, babe!” you manage to quip back before he climbs onto the bed with you. You place both your hands on his face, giving a firm kiss on his full lips followed by smaller pecks. It’s an affection Oz has rarely experienced, and every time you offer it - he gladly laps it up. He pulls away for a second, and you notice the way his pupils are completely dilated. That’s a thing, right? Looking at something you like or love makes your eyes dilate? You’re nearly certain you’ve read it before somewhere.

“What d’you wanna do today?” he murmurs to you, happy to remain held in place by your hands on either side of his face. Only then do you recall your last-minute plans from last night. A trip to Mexico for a week, or thereabouts. Shit, you’ve got a lot to do.

“Well, I’m gonna have to see about work…” you half say to yourself. “Shauna works in H.R so that should be fine, I think. I’ll probably get a couple weird looks when I come back – and before you say it. Yes, I will go back!” you clarify, having already seen him about to interject you could quit and use the vacation as your two weeks’ notice. He huffs and raises his eyes at you instead. You know him too well, he thinks. In the best and worst ways.

“I don’t really have any clothes for a trip like this either. I mean, I’m sure a Gotham summer and a summer in Mexico are two very different things”

“Okay, you can call Shauna and we can go get clothes. Make a day of it, sound good?”

“Sounds perfect! I’d say we’re gonna have to get you some clothes too, though. I can’t imagine you in anything but a fitted suit in that heat! When are you booking the tickets?” you realise, wondering if he’d done so already before you got up.

“Yeah, truth be told I don’t have anything that I could wear down there! And tickets? We’ll just take the jet” he shrugs.

“Just take the jet? Did you actually just say that? Do not tell me you have a fuckin’ private jet, Oz” you laugh, it sounds so completely ridiculous. You forget sometimes how rich he is. He seems a little indignant at your reaction.

“Well, technically it’s mine. It was Carmine’s but after everything went down, he had to sell or get rid of all his own means of transport. Guy’s a flight risk. So, he put the jet in my name”

There’s a noticeable pause after he speaks.

“Sorry, I’m still taking in the fact you have a fucking jet” you say again, moving one of your hands to push back the stray hairs from your temple and to reinforce your surprise. He gives another huff before moving off you and reaching for his boxers that are lying on the floor.

“Well, while you come back to earth I’ll start on breakfast!” he informs you, dropping the damp towel from before into the wash bag on his way out of the room.

“Hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave” you call after him, and you can hear his breathy exhale of a laugh from the kitchen.

You linger in the bed for a few solitary minutes more, mentally working up a text to Shauna to approve the spontaneous vacation days. You’ve got a pretty good draft in mind if you say so yourself, you’ve been told you have a real knack for talking people into stuff before they even realise it. You suppose it’s a quality you share with Oz and perhaps, it’s only improved with him around. You’re positive that if you asked any of your friends that they’d agree with your hypothesis. Oh well. No harm done, right?

You scoot to the other side of the bed and get some pyjamas on. Your search for a matching sock is disrupted by a loud buzz from the bathroom. You grab a random pair and put them on before calling out to Oz.

“You leave your phone by the sink? Someone’s calling!”

“Probably fuckin’ Carmine again” he swears out loud. “Could you get it for me, sweetheart?”

You oblige him and are hit in the face with the humidity of the cramped space. The floor is almost slick with the damp and you immediately regret putting on socks. You grab the smartphone that’s balancing a little too precariously on the corner of the speckled sink and wipe the screen on your t-shirt. Just as predicted, you see thirty-six missed calls from Carmine alone. There are others too but you don’t recognise the names, thankfully. Seeing Carmine’s is bad enough. Guess he’s sorely missed already, and it’s only been a few hours. Tough shit, you think. He’s all yours this week.

You throw off the now soaked socks into the hamper before you turn the corner, hand outstretched already to hand it to your makeshift chef. Oz is totally in sync with your padding footsteps behind him, left arm behind his back to take it from you. You really can’t help the way you pause a second too long to pass it along. You’re too preoccupied eyeing the rolls of his broad back, how it folds on itself at his generous waist. You’ve never been with someone you physically wanted to bite all over before. You thought it was just a thing people say. But Jesus. You refrain from your baser desires however, and it bring it to his waiting hand.

“Someone is in high demand this morning” you mumble, peeking over his shoulder on your tiptoes to see he’s making French toast. YES. You had recently converted him to the savoury version of the breakfast food, and it was an instant hit. At the same time, he lets out a low grumble from the back of his throat at the sight of so many missed calls from his boss. He slides it onto the countertop beside him and resumes his cooking, albeit with a frown on his aged face.

“Why don’t you just block the number for a while? Save you having to listen to it ringing every few minutes” you offer, letting your fingertips graze his shoulder with a featherlight touch.

“…I don’t know how” he answers sheepishly. God. You forget the age difference sometimes and then in other instances it’s laughable. You don’t make fun though. Instead, you step around his large frame to reach for the phone again and unlock it. For someone who wanted to keep you out of the loop with his shady dealings, he was the one who offered to give you his pin code. You’ve never really had reason to use it, but he’d always ‘just in case’. In case of what? You’re not entirely sure.

You hold the phone to him, letting him watch your steps while keeping an eye on the food and thankfully he’s a decent multitasker. With a few taps Carmine’s number is added to the blocklist. If only it were as simple in real life. Immediately all the phone calls from his disappear from his notifications bar and you go back to the home screen. What’s there is a real surprise.

The photo of the two of you at dinner. The one where he’s kissing your shoulder after threatening that dipshit in front of everyone. He doesn’t notice the quiet grin on your face, so you nudge him gently to pull his attention back. He looks to you first a little confused, but the second he sees the photo he shakes his head and gives a half grin of his own. With a little heat in his cheeks.

“What? I told you it was a good photo?” he deflects with a failed attempt of a nonchalant shrug. You don’t say anything in return but bring your own phone out of your bottoms. You press the side key and he’s greeted with the matching picture.

“Great minds, huh?” you laugh, moving out of his way while he plates up. He wipes his hands with a spare cloth before bending slightly to give a deep kiss. You already know if this were a movie and you saw this scene, you’d be sick at how sappy this shit is. But isn’t. It’s nice. It’s how things are supposed to be, you realise. Easy and warm and comforting.

Halfway through the meal do you finally get a response from Shauna. She’s more excited for your trip with Oz than you had really expected from her. She’s even kind enough to say that she’ll backdate the request to Friday. She’s an actual saint of a woman. You’re absolutely taking the two of them out again for dinner as a thanks with Oz. She’s been talking about wanting to try a new place that opened up just outside the Financial District. You decide to scroll through your dms later to find the place’s information. For now, you give Oz the good news! He immediately raises his hand for a high five that turns out to be just an excuse to intertwine your fingers together as you eat. As if he ever needs to ask. You’re quick to scoff down the last of the food, giving Oz strict instructions to leave the washing up till later. You’re on a tight schedule.

You bounce around your room trying to get ready to get things prepped. Your small suitcase is under the bed, you retrieve after pushing past a few pieces of clothes you swear you lost. You have serious butterflies in your stomach now at all this but it’s so exciting! You can’t remember the last time you felt the sun on you. The real sun, not through several layers of air pollution and God knows what else in the atmosphere. You decide it’s probably better to leave the main stuff till tonight and grab your shoes and purse before heading back to the main area of the apartment. Oz is already dressed? You’re so frazzled with nerves you don’t even remember him coming into the room.

“All good?”

“Yep! I have a few ideas where we can start first?” you say absentmindedly as you double-knot your laces. By the time you’re upright and somewhat put together, he’s waiting with the front door open for you.

“Let’s burn some cash then” he winks with a pat of the thick wallet inside his jacket. This is going to be so much fun and you aren’t even officially on vacation together yet.

Overall, you’re pretty impressed with what you managed to get with such short notice on a Sunday afternoon. There was more than enough selection for you to pick from for the heat and sun, and you got some decent outfits for Oz too. They’re mainly short sleeved shirts in a cool linen that you secretly hope he’ll wear unbuttoned and you even persuaded him into trying on some shorts for you. They’re not nearly small enough for your taste but you have to start somewhere.

It's only on the way back to the car that you mention a specific boutique you wanted to stop by. You’d seen it on Instagram months ago, it’s all very elite and appointment only. Oz shrugs it off coolly, reminding you that appointment only simply means cash upfront before stepping in. You give him the address before he starts the engine and you can see his mind working to pinpoint it. He knows where practically everything is in this city and it only reinforces that he’s had a lifetime on these streets and alleyways before he even met you. It’s funny really. You’d like to know more about his younger days and how he got involved with all this shit. Like how they hell did he manage to get the Iceberg? He’d mentioned in passing before that he owed Falcone for it. But you wonder if it’s a financial cost or a personal one. You think you already know the answer. Still, you want to get to know his past better. And there’s not much to glean from the Internet.

You’re only a block away from the boutique when Oz turns up the radio, you jump a little at the sudden change of volume before you realise what he’s listening to. It's another news item about the mayor’s speech, asking for information about The Batman from the public. He’s been quiet about the vigilante for the last year and a half but now that an election is coming? He’s willing to point the finger at the guy doing all the hard work. Typical. What’s weird is that Oz’s face lights up though as if he’s being given the key to the city.

“What?”

“Mitchell! He’s here doin’ a speech about the ‘seedy underbelly’ of the city when last night I saw him doing drops with a couple of the girls! Fuckin’ asshole” he laughs to himself.

He’s still shaking his head with ruminating chuckles as he parks outside the building. You hadn’t known that about Mitchell, but realistically it doesn’t surprise you. Not with the things Oz tells you when he comes home a little tipsy and wanting to tell you a funny story that happened. If he censored all the names, it’d be a series of ‘so this one guy says to the other guy’ mumbled into the pillows in between dunk giggles. You don’t think he remembers, or at least he never mentions it again in the mornings and truthfully you don’t really care about the gossip.

It’s way more entertaining listening to him spout nonsense to himself when he tries re-enact a fight and stumbles over his own feet. With the good mood Oz has been in all day, you feel like his phone could have a terrible accident as soon as you get near the water tomorrow. It’d be for his own benefit and you’re pretty confident he’d get a kick out of the sleeping with the fishes remark you would be obligated to say.

All in all, it’s a pretty innocuous building for what’s inside. Old windows that are almost floor to ceiling pull in the light of the glass across the way, and endless rails of custom lingerie in every shade imaginable along with various fabric options. Oz once again proved himself right, offering a fat stack of cash to the sales assistant who greeted you at the foot of the curved stairwell before asking if we had booked a timeslot.

You feel at a loss for words, standing in the middle of the grand room among the finest and sheerest clothes ever seen. You never actually expected to step foot in here, not after looking at the page so often on late nights in bed alone. But you know Oz would never refuse you. It’s still taking some time to get used to have devoted he is when it comes to your needs or wants – no matter how frivolous.

You can feel his eyes bore into your back as you turn your head to take in the wide room, getting a little overstimulated by it all if you were being honest. It seems like a split second later and you’re being whisked into the adjoining dressing room that is quite literally twice the size of your apartment. There’s a large raised centre stage, fit for a bridal shop on tv with crying brides and drama with bridesmaids. Oz must have handed over another stack to get you in here you realise, as he makes himself comfortable on the fabric armchair in the corner. It must be the place countless Gotham bigwigs have sat in wait for their mistresses to wrap things up as they try on garment after garment that their wives could only dream of wearing again. For them, you’re sure there was an air of annoyance and shame as they waited there anxiously – but Oz is right at home. If it means you spend more of his cash, he’s only happy to stay as long as you’re entertained and content enough to do it.

“So, what kind of styles are you looking for?” you are asked, and it brings you back to the present.

You swear you see Oz smirk a little from his seat, it’s quickly hidden away as he rests his cheek in his hand – faux boredom on his face with the sales assistant present.

“Um, I guess…I’ve seen a lot of the long night gowns – the ones with the faux fur trim and sleeves? I’ve always wanted one” you admit to her with a smile, a little nervous of this whole thing.

Buying stuff in a department store is one thing but these cost serious money. You remember finding them for the first time on Instagram and your eyes almost watered when you saw one of them go for two grand. Worst of all, that was the cheapest. To think you’ve gone from dreaming of maybe owning one in your lifetime to being silently offered the entire stock is incredible. You still pinch yourself time to time.

She grins, knowing exactly the line you’re speaking about – and you also know she spots a big commission at the end of the day from you and Oz’s card. The one that feels like a cement block in your pocket right now. She excuses herself from the room to grab a few, thankfully they’re almost one-size-fits-all so there’ll be no need to wait around for sizing help. You turn excitedly to Oz once you’re both alone, leaving your bag beside his feet as you have a look around. Rectangular mirrors cover the walls as if it were a ballet studio, the shift of your reflection between each panel almost hypnotic as you move to the smaller dressing room within the dressing room.

Once again, it’s roomy but allows some privacy while changing into the different outfits. You did spot some leather and latex outside in a corner but you decide against it – no point killing Oz off right away. Your fingers drag along the thickly lined curtain that divides the room in two, before peeking inside to find yet another mirror in front of you. This time it’s adorned in a pale ornate frame as it leans against the makeshift wall of the changing room. There’s also a matching chair to the one behind you, presumably for a ‘private’ showing to the prospective buyer.

“Best seat in the house right here, y’know” you say casually, pulling the curtain back a little to show him. His eyes flicker a little, but he doesn’t move. Weird. Oz is reclining in the chair now, legs spread a little to accommodate his stomach and his lips hidden by the way his hand is resting on the armchair. He looks a little more serious than you’re used to before you spot the starts of his erection in his pants. You can’t even begin to hide the grin on your face before the assistant comes back inside with several of the sheer dressing gowns resting over her forearm. She apologises for the delay (you were half expecting Oz to pay her again, this time to leave the room).

God. You haven’t even tried anything on yet and he’s horny. And seeing him silently fuming in the corner with a hard on turns you on too.

You’re ushered into the smaller changing area under the assistant’s instructions, and truthfully you feel a little giddy stripping down into your underwear to try these clothes. Especially with Oz out there, waiting. You fumble with your own clothes out of nerves, but gather yourself in the mirror when you have the garment on. It’s a surreal moment for sure. It’s one you have to capture for yourself or else you won’t believe it later. You pull out your phone and take a few quick photos to send to your friends. You take another breath in, letting it settle in your stomach when you pull the curtain back to your audience.

You make an excited face to the assistant who had been standing patiently by the curtain, and she mirrors it perfectly. She’s really fishing for that commission. You finally shoot a glance at Oz as you walk over to the raised stand in the middle of the room and it’s exactly what you expected. The hand not touching his face is now resting between his heavy legs in a bid to hide his erection. To the untrained eye it’s not noticeable, not in the dark clothes he prefers to wear or in his body language. It looks perfectly normal. He looks like any other bored sugar daddy dragged in here against his will.

But you know better than that, that he’s laser focused on you, how you look in that sheer number and how much it’s gonna fucking cost him. You give him a knowing smile as you twirl, letting the material swing around you a few times. The crimson fabric bounces around you as you move, and you swear there’s a faint hint of glitter in the mesh as it glides through the air around your legs.

“What do you think?” the woman asks, the lilt of her voice at the end exudes the sense of shared excitement. She’s damn good at her job, you’ll give her that. Even with an ulterior motive behind her question, you can’t help but gush about how much you love it all. It’s so dreamy, and even with your regular underwear on it looks beautiful. That says more than enough. You spot Oz twisting the garnet ring again, waiting to say something. You raise your eyebrows at him in expectation in the reflection and he meets your eyes before he finally speaks since entering the room.

“How much?” he asks quietly. It’s said in a hushed tone, but the assistant visibly recoils as if he had bellowed from his seated position. She must not have expected him to talk, or this is just the part of the job she dislikes the most. You see her pick at her fingers as she tries to say it in the best way, but Oz doesn’t want to hear it from her mouth. You already know.

“Two thousand five hundred” you reply casually, never taking your eyes off the way the gown moves. You could almost hear the snap of the woman’s neck as she jerked her head to you. You can tell without even looking that she feels uncomfortable now, she’s probably dealt with a few fights over money in here. You almost wish you could inform her of the game at play here, that there’s still going to be purchases for her to take credit for. Almost. You glance at Oz over your shoulder coyly.

“Do you like it, babe?”

He almost breaks into a grin at that, but he keeps up the play of stern boyfriend.

“It’s too much” he warns pathetically from his chair. You know from his tone that he’s silently begging you to buy them all, let him watch you enter his code and make off like a bandit. You can just about see his good leg begin to bounce impatiently for it, but to the saleswoman it comes across as begrudging. She’s completely misreading the situation but it’s for the best. You’ll have to reprimand Oz later for scaring the poor girl.

In response to his poor attempt at denying you, you turn back to him with a glare – making more of a show with a strong pout. You slide it off and replace it with a wide smile once more when you return your attention to the assistant. She looks perturbed to be perfectly honest, and looks like she’d rather run away than talk you into taking one of the gowns.

“I’ll…I’ll just give you a minute…Take your time!” she offers with a nervous smile before backing out of the room as quickly and professionally as possible. The door shuts with a click and you’re left alone. You restrain yourself from looking at him in the reflection, it’s not easy but you know deep down he wants you to ignore him. Act as if he’s just a walking ATM. You shift the smile on your face at this to the outfit you have on, giving one last look in the mirror until you step off the raised platform to get changed. But there’s no point in going quietly.

“Ugh, I just can’t decide…Maybe I’ll get a couple other colours…” you mumble, knowing full well that Oz is already out of his seat and hot on your heels into the dressing room.

Even with the knowledge he was going to barge in, you do jump with surprise at the way he throws back the velveteen curtain that had the nerve to separate you for a few seconds. Your eyes meet his in the reflection once more, and you can honestly feel yourself get wet from the way he looks over your body. You say nothing, not wanting to waste any time with fake disapproval of something along the lines of ‘someone could come in!’. Said in that same tone every good (bad) porn star says it.

It's exactly what you both want. What you need right now.

The tension radiates off of him in waves. You’re positive that it’s tangible in how you feel it in the pit of your stomach when he turns you to him roughly. It isn’t a show of dominance, in fact it’s quite the opposite when his lips meet yours. That trademark desperation in the scarred texture of his mouth along with an almost inaudible whine. You grin into the kiss, there’s no way you could have hidden it, or willed it away. He stops when he notices you do so, pulling away by a fraction to breathe you in a little longer. His pupils are almost comically dilated, he looks like he took more than a few hits of his precious drops – the same ones that have fuelled this spending spree and spontaneous getaway.

“Are you going to give me what I want, Ozzie?” you whisper bemusedly into his lips.

For a moment he stands there dumbly, just watching the words leave your mouth a second too long before he realises, he needs to answer. He’s completely love drunk by the looks of it and it fills you with a deep sense of pride.

“Anything” he nods back before automatically leaning into you once again for more.

“You mean everything, right?” you correct him as you trail a hand down his wide chest. Even through the texture of his shirt, his skin is heated and it thrills you to think he’s gotten so worked up over a little teasing.

“Everything” he parrots back a little too quickly. He’s beginning to run out of patience now and you can tell. You can always redo this scenario another time, and hold off on his reward. You take another look at him, admiring the way he’s so keyed up when you notice he was acting the same way that time in the private room of the 44.

Oh. He’s into public sex?

Good to know.

You file it away into the growing pile of Oz’s kinks in the back of your mind, the ones that like to slowly reveal themselves over time and meld with your own. With this new information, you reach up on your toes again to reach his lips with renewed energy. His roughened hands almost catch in the fine fabric around your body still, but the feeling of his finger almost smooth between the barrier feels so unnatural. It’s not him, as much as he may complain about the hard way he lived and grew up showed in them, it ultimately turns you on. He’s done terrible, awful things with them and you know in your heart people have died at his hands.

You don’t want to know if that’s why you’re really drawn to him. Not now.

The hunger in his hold of you pulls you back to reality again and you ground yourself in his embrace. He’s pushing you back a little with his intensity and it makes you gasp into his mouth. The vicious cycle only continues when you squeezes your sides a little tighter now, until he slips his hand between the folds of the gown to reach your heat. You pull an almost pained look when he reaches into your underwear at last and he knows exactly why. He’s seen it enough times before. You’re getting a little desperate yourself now.

You take matters into your own hands, removing yourself from his grasp to face the mirror and gathering the skirt of the gown into one of your arms before he catches on. A slightly astounded breathy laugh leaves his nose when he sees you spread your legs wide to fit him behind you. You’re too blissed out already to snap at him to hurry up – but you also know it’d probably make him cum on the spot to talk to him like that. Oz comes back to himself and brings his left hand up to your shoulder as he draws himself out of his trousers. You watch him in the reflection as he takes you in – all flushed and red with a dumb grin on your face while you wait. He returns the smile when he finally starts to push in, you see the instant his thick head slips in. His brows knit together as if he were in searing pain and you curse yourself for not having mirror sex before. Seeing him affected by you like this is a little addicting you have to admit.

The fingers on your left shoulder dig in a little too much when he’s fully inside you. White knuckles against crimson. You can feel your toes curl into the plush carpet below your feet already as he breathes into your ear for a second. You can’t take your eyes off of him behind you. He’s clenching his jaw hard and takes a shaky breath when he starts to pull out. That fucking initial drag makes you hiss every time and every time he apologises. As if you really care. He starts off slowly to begin with but it’s not at all what you want. It doesn’t scratch the itch inside you.

“Ozzie, I need more” you whine and he glances at you in the mirror. If you thought about it too long, you’d swear he looked a little embarrassed. What the fuck for? It’s only when you feel your foot bump against his black shoe that you realise. He’s fucking you standing up. Shit. Now you feel bad.

He sees the realisation hit you, and he gives a sympathetic smile that’s more than a little self-loathing as he brings his free hand to slip back into your underwear. In typical Oz fashion, if he can get you off first, he’ll be happy enough. Your eyes shut involuntarily when he makes contact there, but they flash open again when you get an idea.

“Put your leg on the chair, babe” you gasp, trying to pull his hand from your clit for a second to get his attention. He immediately freezes. Thinking you’re not into it. But you repeat yourself again with your brain much clearer now. You literally see the cogs in his brain turning when he sees the chair beside the mirror.

Still completely inside you, he shuffles forward a little to reach for it. All the while you try not to knock over the mirror or get any fucking handprints on it in the meantime. He finally gets a hold on it, and drags it unceremoniously to his right leg. Thank God the little room is carpeted.

You both readjust yourselves, as Oz lifts his knee to rest on the soft cushioning. He looks instantly more comfortable and gives a small but relieved laugh at your idea. He pulls up your own leg to join his on the chair. You wobble a little at the sudden movement but let out a silent groan when you feel his cock rub against that spot inside you. You can already feel your brain shutdown again even before his hand resumes its ministrations on your exposed clit. You rest your own head back against his shoulder now as he starts to move again. He keeps you close, the way he likes it whenever he takes you from behind as he rests his lefthand against your collarbone. That familiar sting of his ring against your skin is a welcome reminder of who he is. Who he really is.

He grunts and speaks words of praise into your ear. How good you’re taking him, how good you fucking look and he asks you to open your eyes and watch how tight you are. The raised angle of both your legs letting you see him ram inside you with every hearty thrust he has in him. When you actually see him disappearing inside you with obscene ease you almost scream. He’s still with it enough to clamp his hand over your mouth until you calm down a little. But there’s no possible way for that to happen until after you cum at this rate. Those fucking hands again. You moan a little pathetically into the heavy weight of it against your lips. Truthfully, if he was going to do this whenever you had gotten a little loud you need to start screaming all the time.

“Can you be quiet for me, sweetheart?” he asks between breathy moans in your ear. You nod frantically in response to his request, and to the building pleasure in your abdomen as if it needed encouragement. With your promise, he releases your mouth again for only a moment before rushing in with his own. It almost knocks what little breath you have left and you both groan into each other. You pull back first, taking a steadying breath while he redoubles his efforts to get you to orgasm first.

But it’s too bad you know him so well.

“I’m gonna take you for all you got, Ozzie” you whisper and you almost think he hasn’t heard you from the way he dips his head against the crook of your neck but then he lets out a low whine that gives you goosebumps.

The sensation of his dick twitching inside already lets you know you’re back in control of him. Right where you want him. You clench around him like a vice for good measure and it makes his rhythmic thrusting stutter a few times until he falls back into it. His nose bumps against your cheek with every slam of his hips. The hand that was covering your mouth is pushing on your stomach against him, trying to get as physically close as possible the way Oz loves.

“Who owns you?” you gasp when he starts to grind the heel of his palm against your front once more. It’s getting a little ridiculous now, to see who can finish the other off first. But it makes it all the more enjoyable when you both play games like this. He mumbles his answer in your neck automatically, but that’s not going to suffice.

“Answer me when I’m talking to you” you demand through gritted teeth. It’s definitely not because you’re trying to hold on a little longer to get him to lose it completely. Your nails are digging into the wide hand at the front of your underwear.

“You” he repeats over and over now, right into your ear. He sounds so fucking close now, and you swear you’ve either gotten wetter or he’s gone deeper. Either way it’s incredible.

“I own your fucking money and your cock…FUCK. I own your fucking brain, right?” you grunt out with a full body shiver as you buck against his soaked hand. There’s that fucking whine again right in your ear and you can’t help but look at him in the reflection. He’s totally out of it now with his mouth hanging open in a grimace. He must feel your eyes on him because he tears his own open for the first time in a few minutes since you started the dirty talk.

“You. Nobody else. I promise. I promise” he swears and with that he sinks his teeth into the space between your neck and shoulder. He goes completely rigid, stilling inside you and coming hard.

His hand balls into a fist that gives you the perfect friction to rut against, while simultaneously overstimulating him as you push back and grip his leaking cock. You almost double over with the release. A silent cry dies in your throat as you ride out the high. You’re glad of the chair, because you almost fall back against his heavy chest when your breathing starts to even out. He huffs in your ear again, content to watch you relax for a second before covering you in a litany of open-mouthed kisses wherever he can reach. Your cheek, temple, mouth and neck get the brunt of his affection.

He's always so lovey-dovey after he cums, it’s funny. Not what you’d expect from a would-be mob boss and definite drug lord. He makes the first move, to try untangle himself from you for a second but you immediately stop him.

“Do not get any cum on this fucking gown. I’m serious!” you hiss at Oz. He freezes for a second at your tone but realises that yeah, probably shouldn’t bring this out to the front with stains on it. The paparazzi photo was bad enough, he doesn’t need the entirety of Gotham to know he likes to fuck in public. He takes his clean hand to the front of his suit, pulling out the handkerchief to take the worst of it. You’re positive that the pull out after sex with Oz is worse than the initial sting of him entering you and you make a face every time it happens. But seeing him give the same look in the mirror is amusing.

The gown manages to escape any marking thankfully, and you’re quick to get changed into your own clothes. Oz checks out that you’re still alone, and waits by the door with three different outfits on his arm. You say nothing when he picked the indigo. He’s really that one girl everyone knows that makes purple his personality. But if you said that, he wouldn’t get the joke.

“You good?” he asks when you catch up to him, hand already on the door.

“Me? I’m perfect” you reply coolly. And you catch him doing that thing he does when he’s a little nervous, ducking his head down to look at his feet with an airy laugh. It might be just the post-orgasm high but it makes your heart flip in your chest when you walk out. You’re both equally surprised to see the place significantly busier. It’s good though, means there’s very little chance anybody had a second to hear you going at it.

For once, Oz is the one physically inputting his credit card and the code at the modern checkout. Of course, on a marble countertop. The minute the saleswoman hands you the obnoxious sized box in a larger bag, you lean into Oz’s ear quickly.

“You better fuck me that good the rest of this week, y’know”

He’s a little taken aback at the coarseness of your words, but returns a wide grin as he puts a hand behind your back to walk you down the stairs. You feel like you’re on cloud nine already, and you aren’t even officially on vacation yet. When you reach the bottom of the stairs, Oz sees that the lobby area is empty. So, he takes the opportunity to lean into you this time. Give and take all the time.

“Do me a favour, doll?” he asks with a cock of his head. What’s he angling for?

“Maybe…” you answer a little suspiciously.

“Pack some of those toys of yours, huh?”

Oh. So this is going to be fun.

#oz cobblepot #oz cobblepot x reader #oswald cobblepot #oswald cobblepot x reader #milk and roses #IM SO SORRY FOR THE UNINTENDED HIATUS......

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republicstandard · 6 years

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9 Top Tips For Surviving Twitter As A Right Wing Thought Criminal

Should you decide to enlist in the culture war hosted on the Twitter-dot-com hellscape (where every day is Hamburger Hill), there are some things that you need to learn and apply in order to survive to tweet another day. Welcome to boot camp, you scrubs and noobs.

1. Choose Your Fighter

You, dear-never-ever-before-user of Twitter should take the time to read the Terms of Service. There are a plethora of words and behaviors that can get you booted from the platform and all of them are vaguely explained with the broadest interpretation possible. Once you've read Twitters soul sucking list of obligatory rules that severely limit your speech while protecting it for the people you cross intellectual swords with in the idea war, you are ready to build your player.

As Twitter is becoming pretty censorious, I'm also on: Gab: https://t.co/TrQ2JW4sAI YouTube: https://t.co/1NfMOYwkbF FB: https://t.co/zeAtcHTDcf WT: https://t.co/xs18l5Tpkc pic.twitter.com/EkVtklMN10

— Orwell & Goode 🇨🇱 (@OrwellNGoode) May 14, 2018

The limits are on the far end of infinity. You may choose to be a cute doggo, or perhaps an ms-paint frog or toad, an oft overlooked historical figure, a painting, or a parody of a living or dead celebrity with a morbidly hilarious twist. Your creativity in creating your avatar and name has a moment to really shine here but whatever you do, don't choose your own face and name because some of the people you talk to want to kill you. Or, at least completely ruin your life so that you will do it yourself. This is not an exaggeration. Rest in peace, Andrew.

2. Your first tweet

Oh good. You decided to stick around.

For the love all that is holy do not tweet using the hashtag #MyFirstTweet. It's very tempting, I know, but as it's your very first tweet, everyone you run across will already know it's your very first ever tweet on account of there being no previous tweets preceding it. The new friends that you make today will use this tweet to let their friends know that you have taken the monumental step of becoming a brand new Twitter user; so do make it snappy and full of wit, let your personality shine. For goodness sake understand that the monsters that want you dead use the search feature and the hashtag #MyFirstTweet to hunt down brand new baby right wing accounts to have them aborted. Much like they screech about needing the "freedom" to do to actual humans in the streets, wearing nothing but pink knit double peak hats and their own undercoat of rapist-repellent blubber.

Yeah. I went there. Bring it.

3. Follow carefully

Despite the disgusting urchins that lurk about bandying their rotund degeneracy on #findom, the mountain of actual pedophiles that will try to convince you they are the good guys, and the entirety of #blacktwitter, Twitter is actually a very friendly place and you are bound to make lots of wholesome friends fast; especially if you have never ever been on the platform before, not even once.

Exercise restraint in your tender first few days and resist following back your new friends too quickly as this will result in a “shadowban" or will prompt Big Brother to underhandedly investigate your phone number under the guise of checking to see if you're human, as if robots can't be programmed to use a phone. I suggest just a few follows per hour- keeping it under 100 for the first day. Apparently, according to Ze Bluebird Gestapo, having like minded friends is the same thing as terrorism and you will be gulaged for it. Yes, I'm mixing up Nazi and Communist metaphors in the same sentence. Don't @ me.

4. Personal Security

You need to download and use a VPN. The animals you will run across will pull cute little stunts, like e-drag you into an argument by calling you completely true things as if they are an insult, and acting as if per capita is a flavor of snow cone only people who hate communism can taste. and then drop a link as if they are proving a point, but in reality is an IP address snatcher which is used to find out who and where you are, instead of just answering the question about why 13% of the population commits over 54% of all violent crime.

Next you will want to turn on the double authentication feature, because as soon as you say something true, some cyber-SJW is going to start jaw-jacking from the monumental sugar rush from powdered donuts and 17 cases of orange flavored Mountain Dew and try to hack your account. In the same vein, make certain your email address is hidden and that you aren't using @YourRealEmailAddress as your handle. For your password, use a ridiculous combination of letters and numbers that have no connection to your actual life- which the hideous banshees and their he-minions are trying to end. Am I hammering that point home enough?

Remember to self care today. And be kind. And always punch Nazis.

— Emma Evans (@TrancewithMe) June 28, 2018

Finally, delete the phone number you used to set up your account. You may need it later and it would be sad if it were already occupied.

5. Get a Thesaurus

I've said it before but it bears repeating; get a thesaurus. Contrary to popular belief, you are in fact allowed to talk about objective biological realities, religion, the various systems of government in the world, criticize certain groups of rootless manipulative cabals of wandering tribal people without getting suspended if you follow three simple rules.

Frame and maintain the conversation.

Use uncommon synonyms.

Subtlety can be volatile.

It goes without saying that a debate isn't won until it changes someone's mind. Minds can't be won if the conversation gets deleted. Since mein feind maintains control of the flow of information via control of the media, what you say on twitter could be the final straw that bends the balance of someone's mind to the right. We want that, we need that, especially as the left gets more unhinged.

Understand that the globo-tech complex is happy to assist in the restriction of speech through the creation of algorithms and databases in which words are input and some alert dings off in some rainbow diversity cheeto cheese powder crusted dungeon sticky with sips drips where some slack eyed Gollum pushes the ban button; and you're suddenly on the other side of a suspension. One such word is “retard” and there are many more. Aside from minority reporting, there are particular words and phrases searched just to report wrong-thinking accounts. A small price to pay to cleanse the universe of criticism that may mean people have to self-reflect and experience personal growth and take responsibility for their lives, the horror.

Take what you want to say, leave off the slurs, play around with synonyms and you can take a blatant violation of ToS and turn it into poetic philosophy. If you're intent on low brow trolling, I don't blame you, but I'll miss you when you're gone.

6. Engaging the Enemy

Never engage a hostile. There I said it, my legal obligations have been met. You cannot blame me for what you do with the following entirely hypothetical thought experiment. This article is satire and not for use by anyone, ever. I warned you.

If have attracted a swarm of busy-body detractors through the use of hashtags, do yourself a solid and check their bio and follower count. If their bio contains and reference to #resist just block them, they are there for one purpose and it's to bait you into a violation of ToS. Similarly, if they have 0 or 1 followers it is a sock account of a #resist account. If they have less than 50 followers they have nothing to say, no one likes them anyway, and they just want your attention.

Doxxxing is officially endorsed by Twitter dot comhttps://t.co/aPr8KZAO65

— These tweets are endorsed by this site. (@EndorsedTweets) June 21, 2018

To engage a hostile blue check mark I recommend to avoid placing your extra-spicy tweet on the thread under their tweet. Instead, drop a teaser; then quote tweet the azure-ticked parasite and drop your main show, curtain call, and encore onto your own wall. Most of the people who sit around deriving sexual pleasure from the fantasy of Nazi scalp-hunting haunt the timelines of these verified whine bags, just waiting for you to show up to report your ‘spouts of hate’. Or, as I like to call them, incontrovertible but inconvenient truths.

7. Types of bans and what to do

You are going to get banned at some point. Deal with it.

Shadowban: this is triggered by following too fast, liking too much, retweeting too often, being too active when new, using too many hashtags, using popular hashtags in multiple tweets, and just for the random inconvenience because you're found to be guilty by association. Your options are to take a break, or power through it. There is some theory that these shadowbans are on timers of 1, 3, 5, 12, and 24 hours and that tweeting resets the timer and extends the discomfort. If you have triggered one you will experience a sudden drop in interaction and may think that your friends are ignoring you. They likely just aren't getting your notifications. If you want to check, DM a friend and ask them to tell you if your notifications are coming through. DO NOT use a shadowban checker website, it's believed that these are run by la resistance, and may put your account at risk; or at least in a database to be watched closely. In any case, shadowbans are usually temporary and you'll be back to normal before you know it. It's worth noting that more shadowbanning occurs during certain news cycles like mass casualty events, terror attacks, and when the President does something noteworthy.

Permanent Shadowban: On rare occasions the shadowban never goes away. I don't know what to do about it but if you have some verifiable information regarding this, please contact me or Republic Standard.

12 hour, 24 hour, and 7 day temporary restrictions: Oooh you bad bad boy! Looks like you broke ToS and had to delete some tweets. You should have followed my advice. Tsk tsk. You can DM your mutual followers, participate in DM groups and you can share tweets from the timeline to the DMs, and block accounts. You cannot like, retweet, or share pictures nor can you follow anyone. There's nothing you can do about this; you're stuck like Chuck, whoever he is. There's no use getting your panties in a twist over it though, it's a good time to get to know your friends a little better one on one and perhaps even explore the possibility of meeting in person. It's an isolating online experience but you do have a little time to reflect on what you can do to refine your technique.

Suspension: Sadly, anything after 7 days and you're gone. Finished. Never to be seen from ever again. No coming back from this, George. It's over. Finito. Buh bye. Later gator. Basically dead. Sayonara. Ciao.

Aren't you glad you remembered to delete your phone number?

8. Opsec

I wish I didn't have to go there, but I have to go there. Even if you have a pure, hate-free, friendly account that never runs the risk of crossing ToS, you still aren't out of the frying pan.

Being right wing has painted a big old target on your back and some of the people aiming arrows at you are going to look a lot like friends, and potential lovers.

Infiltration isn't a new tactic. On anonymous Twitter it's not even particularly hard. Despite the fact that most people who try are hilariously bad at it, some aren't. Despite all the accurate memes about the left being dumb and useless, when it comes to operational security the left is a decade ahead of the right. Whether you agree with the ideas of real-world rallies or not, we have to come to the understanding that social media platforms are not secure places to organize such things. Unite the Right organizers just managed to doxx themselves because they could not get this very simple idea into their skulls. If it isn't on a website you control from the code up and you are operating military grade hardware, it's not even remotely close to secret. Stop thinking that it is.

Hey hey hey time to get doxxed by antifa from using discord YEEEEAAAA BOIIIII https://t.co/zZ3kO54Wmg

— Pikawubz (@pikawubz) May 8, 2018

Don't share your photos, too much detail about your location, or too much detail about your life. If you choose to trust someone, make sure it's mutual. As difficult as it is to imagine loyalties do change. Ideological commitment under certain conditions like bribery, threats of doxxing, or a broken heart, can be overcome. Don't forget that this is an ideological war and the stakes are high.

9. You are not alone

You've made it this far, and this following section truly is the most important part. You have found a warm community of the brightest minds, kindest hearts and most determined people I have ever known to exist. Yeah, we have our in-fights and squabbles; what family doesn't? Helping one another to discover truths that have been hidden from us, fight for a future we want and need, through tough times, and sharing laughter, anger, fears and frustrations bonds us together. If you are ever in a situation where you feel isolated, reach out. If you feel despondent, reach out. If you are being threatened, reach out. We are here for each other. You never have to be alone again.

Happy tweeting. See you in the trenches.

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#IFTTT #Republic Standard | Conservative Thought & Culture Magazine

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