A little bit of everything Multi Fandom Imagines Book Three

The sad angel - Gotham - Oswald x Reader

(Y/n) had been watching him for months. The unusual, awkward man that seemed to limp in a waddling motion along the streets of Gotham, dressed in his always smartly pressed suits.

She had seen him first when he had made his way into her local pharmacy. (Y/n) finding it impossible not to notice the strange man. And from the moment that she had seen that sad, yet handsome face, she knew that she had found her muse. The spark for her creativity. Something about him speaking loudly to her soul. Something about him that spoke to her heart, as he waited for the pharmacist to finish serving his current customer.

(Y/n) had hidden behind the shelves, using one of the mirrors that hung on the wall to spy on the uncomfortable looking man. Her heart going out to him as he pushed his dripping wet hair from his face. As she saw that he was soaked to the skin yet didn't seem to care that he was visibly shaking from the cold.

Quickly (Y/n) had pulled out the little sketch book that she always kept with her and began to draw the melancholic man that she could see. Furiously scribbling down every subtle line and angle of his face. She could imagine him as an angel. A beautiful yet sad dark angel, that hid a pair of huge black wings that grew from the back of his lithe body, under that suit. An angel that would sit atop the great gothic cathedral of Gotham in an eternal vigil over the equally dark city.

Now all these long months later, her work had become obsessed with the unusual man that she had discovered was called Oswald. A man that spent his working hours as the umbrella boy for the infamous Fish Mooney. His face painted with a smile that concealed a sadness that to (Y/n), seemed to consume him. His great black wings stifled under the stiff suit that he wore. Yet in his own hours. As he made his way home; he would become her sad angel again. He would become her inspiration.

She was ashamed to admit that she had been following him. Watching his every move, his every gesture; but without him, her work would have been nothing. His features haunting her every waking moment as she painstakingly replicated his every nuance. The thoughts of her sad angel, pushing her to achieve the perfection that she saw him as.

"My god (Y/n), this has to be some of your best work. Its haunting, eerily beautiful. Who is he?" Douglas, her manager asked, as he looked through the vast array of sketches and black and white paintings that were amassed in her small studio. (Y/n) not really taking notice of the question, as she added the last touches to the large canvas in front of her. Dropping the brush to the floor and taking a few steps back so she could survey the masterpiece that she had been working on every spare hour, for months. There was her sad angel in all his glory, his pale naked torso and face standing out starkly from the great dark gothic build upon which he stood. His wings were outstretched, seemingly glowing in the rays of a high moon. The kisses of the celestial orb gracing every taut, sinewy muscle and protruding bone of his lean frame. Below him was Gotham. The vile city that (Y/n) and her muse called home. The white lights of downtown the only thing that seemed to brighten the all invasive gloom that permanently hung over the great metropolis. He was Gotham's fallen angel, the combined images of thousands of nameless people. He was the personification of man. Yet he was a god. Their god. The only hope for the unknown masses.

"Jesus (Y/n), who is this guy?" Douglas asked again, as he came to stand behind her, unable to move his gaze from the two perfect green eyes that (Y/n) had given her muse. The eyes the only bright colour that appeared in any of her paintings of him.

"All I really know is that he is called Oswald. He works for Fish Mooney, as her umbrella boy." (Y/n) told Douglas, as she continued to look upon her work. Struggling to pull her eyes away from her angel's gaze.

"Any gallery in the country would fight to display this work (Y/n); but I think that I can finally persuade Macintyre to give you that show you always wanted in the city." Douglas said, as he stood behind (Y/n), and placed his hand on her shoulder.