#i have two more prompts i'll see to tmw!

[pedroshotwifey]

Christmas Countdown Day 12 - Javi G.

Experiments

Pairing: Javi G. x afab!reader

Word count: 1.4k

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, anal sex, anal fingering, drug use (THC edible), < idk how that actually works but I tried by best lmfao, nicknames (baby, carino, hermosa), paddington 2 honorable mention, stuff im forgetting

Summary: You and Javi get a chance to try out some new stuff

A/N: Don't know if I really like this one tbh. I found it kinda hard to write for Javi G. and it was rly late and I was tired and I'm making excuses, but, like. yeah. Hope y'all like it anyway! Tmw's prompt is snuggling, and I don't know what pboy I'll be writing for that one yet, so feel free to leave a suggestion!

***

“Babe,” you drag out through a laugh. “Quit smiling!”

Javi attempts to obey your request, but only ends up smiling wider, a laugh of his own bubbling up in his throat.

The two of you are sitting on the bed naked, you on his thighs, placing an edible on his stuck-out tongue. You’ve already popped a tab in your mouth, now just waiting for it to dissolve. 

Paddington 2 is playing on low volume on the TV in the corner, but neither of you are paying much attention to it. 

You giggle as you finally get the tab to stick to Javi’s tongue, and he closes his mouth before leaning forward to plant a kiss on your lips. You sigh into him, placing your hands on his shoulders. 

Javi looks you warmly in the eyes and runs a hand through your hair when you pull away. 

“You ready, hermosa?” 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you grin back. 

The two of you have had this conversation a few times before, but today just seems like the perfect day to go through with it. Neither of you have plans tomorrow, so you have all night to act out your deepest fantasies. Might as well do it with some THC. 

You lift yourself off of his lap and position yourself so that you're on your elbows and knees in front of him. 

“Fuckkk, baby,” Javi drags the words out. “So fucking sexy. Let me see your pretty holes,” he instructs you as he leans over to get the bottle of lube out of the nightstand drawer. 

You follow his request, quickly reaching behind you to spread your cheeks, revealing both your virgin asshole and your glistening pussy lips. 

“Damn it,” he groans from behind you, positioning himself on his knees. “Perfect fucking ass, baby.” 

You squirm and have to hold in a whine at his praise, your mind already going a bit hazy as the drugs start to kick in. There’s a studden snap from behind you, making you flinch. 

“No, ‘s okay, carino. Just gonna get you ready for me.”

You nod into the sheets and close your eyes, jolting when a cold substance starts to drip down your crack. 

“Feels so weird,” you say, words tumbling out without your permission. Javi chuckles as he snaps the lube back up and sets it down. 

“I know, baby. Just relax for me.” 

Suddenly, Javi has a finger at your hole, gently spreading lubrication around the tight ring of muscle. He applies a bit of pressure, and the tip of his finger slips in with ease. There’s barely anything there yet, but you can already see the appeal. 

“‘S good,” you slur into the sheets, your eyes still closed. 

“That’s good, baby, jus’ tell me if it’s too much.” 

Even Javi’s words are starting to sound a bit muffled, though that’s partly because he’s starting to feel the effects of the drug as well. He slides the rest of his finger in and starts to pump it in and out. 

You moan as he curls the digit slightly and it hits a heavenly spot within you, your brows scrunching as your jaw goes slack. You buck back into him, already craving more.

“Gonna put another one in, okay?” Javi asks, leaning over slightly to get closer to you. 

“Mkay,” you say, moving your hands so that you can grip the bed sheets. Javi Immediately takes over holding you open by gripping onto one cheek. 

“There’s a good girl, doing so good for me, hermosa,” he assures you as he slips another finger in. 

Soon enough, he’s able to keep three fingers inside of you comfortably. You’re a whining, moaning mess beneath him, but he’s almost just as bad with the noises he’s making. 

Without warning, he moves the hand holding your asscheek down and between your legs, quickly finding your neglected clit and making you gasp. He rubs fast circles, causing you to keen and buck your hips. 

Your brain feels like complete mush between the THC and the euphoria Javi’s producing. Every swipe of his fingers in your ass makes you groan and push back into him, so with the combination of your clit being touched, your orgasm is quick to approach. 

Before you can warn him, a wave of pleasure is wracking your body as your cunt convulses around nothing. Javi picks up speed as he fingers your ass, muttering praises as you ride out your orgasm. You think you might be drooling a bit, but you don’t care enough to check. 

“Alright, ‘m gonna fuck this little ass now,” Javi says as he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you gaping slightly. You nod at him, making a non-committal but somehow affirmative sound. 

He doesn’t waste another moment before lubing up his throbbing cock, tugging on himself a few times to warm it up for you. 

He notches himself at your entrance, groaning as he slips his tip in. 

“So good, baby, so fucking tight.” 

“More,” you whine, reaching one hand behind you to attempt to grasp him. He laughs lightly at you, prompting you to giggle as well, only for you to be cut off with a moan as he feeds more of his cock into your ass. 

You cry out when you feel his pelvis touching your ass, and he leans over you to let out a loud groan. He’s already sitting at that spot that makes you squirm, so there’s immediately a dull excitement low in your abdomen as you wait for him to move. 

And he does, not a few seconds later. He’s slow as he pulls his hips away from you, dragging his cock along your walls, and then he slams back in, almost knocking the wind out of you. He keeps up a brutal pace, grunting and moaning as he grips your hips tightly. 

You fold your arms under your head, trying to control the sounds you’re making with no success. 

“‘S so g-good, Javi,” you say through a whine. 

“I-I know, baby,” he says, sounding just as wrecked. “‘M already so fucking close. T-Tight little asshole feels so good.”

You move one hand down and start to rub at your clit, determined to come at the same time as him. 

“Fill me up, baby,” you slur out. Javi whines in response, his pace picking up which makes you sink your front end deeper into the sheets. Your entire body feels heavy, and you’re grateful Javi is holding you by your hips so you don’t fall completely. 

You feel a coil low in your belly, tightening and getting ready to snap. Every nerve feels raw, and your body feels like it’s getting warmer with every thrust from Javi and each pass of your fingers. 

“C-Come with me now, hermosa” Javi spits out, his cock already twitching in your ass. The soft movement sets you off, and you begin to come again. Your ass tightens slightly around Javi, which triggers his orgasm, and he comes with a shout, filling you with hot ropes of his cum. 

You gasp for air as you ride out your orgasms together, your movements going slower but sloppier at the same time. As soon as you’re both finished, you collapse, Javi coming down with you. 

He slips out of you, which makes you whine. You can already feel his release dribbling out of your used hole and down to your untouched pussy. He finds a spot next to you on his stomach, his face next to yours. 

Panting for breath, you stare each other in the eye, and then you start to giggle. What for, you have no idea, but you’re both cackling messes before long. 

You scootch toward him slightly, ignoring the dull pain coming from your lower body. Your vision is slightly blurry, but you’re close enough to find his lips. You make out like a couple of teenagers for what seems like hours, but is actually only a few minutes. 

After your lips start to feel numb, you separate, and you somehow have enough of a conscious mind to turn around and look at the clock. The numbers are too blurred for you to make them out, but you’re pretty sure you can make out a 3:02 if you squint hard enough. 

When you turn around to make Javi get up and check for you, he’s already snoring. You smile and put your head back down, dozing off within less than a minute.

***

Thank you for reading! Please consider liking, reblogging, or commenting if you enjoyed!

Also, lmk if you would like to join the countdown taglist :)

FOTJC: @arcanefox207 @redhotkitchen @magpiepills @exquisiteserotonin @sparklefarts38 @pink-whiskey-woman @youandmeand5bucks @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @secretelephanttattoo @morallyinept @beskarandblasters @tightjeansjavi @theywhowriteandknowthings @nerdieforpedro @maggiemayhemnj @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @ghostofaboy @joels-shitty-puns @elvinaa

WCC: @amyispxnk @melaninmommy @brittmb115 @mandoalorian

Link to prompt list

[smuggsy]

the second prompt list you posted, number 25, the "when you love someone" would be really good for nygmobblepot if you wanted to 😌

okay, so first things first, we agreed to change the prompt to this one: Character A combs fingers through character B's hair. thanks for being such a sport! <3

Summary: Oswald is jealous, drunk and dizzy. In that order. Word Count: 2096. Read it on AO3 (or under the cut).

There are certain things that come attached to the title of Kingpin of the Underworld. Certain things one might consider red flags, green lights if you will. Things that would send Gotham's hungry wolves on a merciless hunt for his head, no doubt. Showing weakness, hesitation, doubt, incompetence. Oswald knows there's just no space for error when it comes to these, not for Penguin and certainly not for the Mayor.

Unfortunately, he comes to learn Edward Nygma incarnates each and every one of those traits. The ones that would certainly bring about his demise, Oswald admits, if he isn't careful to hide them behind his facade of cold-blooded killer or faithful politician. If he doesn't avert his eyes when the cameras are rolling or when his party attendees are talking to him, toasting, congratulating, saying things Oswald will have forgotten within the hour.

Because he can't help but be painfully aware of Ed's presence, usually standing in strategic high-points making sure everything is running smoothly, sometimes entertaining particularly snobby guests who would have Oswald at their sides for the duration of the night if it were up to them, their egos too fragile but at the same time too precious to threaten even slightly.

Edward is always on top of things.

Oswald is always aware of this.

Of him.

Too much, sometimes.

It's a bit more difficult to pretend he isn't hyper-aware of his musky scent and hoarse voice and well-lean figure when they share a car back to the mansion after occasions like these. When Edward slides into the opposite seat with a pleased self-congratulatory air and confidently starts listing off people and colourful details that might prove useful in the future and Oswald smiles gently, doesn't tell him he already knows he spoke to all of them because he was watching.

He was watching when he brought the Commissioner's mother her favourite cherry-chocolate liquor and when he complimented the Gotham Gazette's new editor's dress. When he leant in pretending he couldn't hear her, when he oh-so-gentlemanly offered a handkerchief after she collided with one of the waiters because she was too distracted by the way he smiled down at her - Oswald was watching.

And, well.

He doesn't blame her.

And Edward?

"...she scribbled her phone number on a napkin and slipped it into my hand so I'll say we, quite literally," he smiles smugly and produces the neatly folded napkin from his dark-olive jacket, "have her in our pocket."

Oswald laughs, sharing in the sentiment, the joke.

Or so he thinks he's doing until he sees Edward's expression shift into something much less chipper and he realises what he's actually done is roll his eyes and scoff like a spoiled little child.

"You don't approve?" Edward asks, excitement dying off.

Oswald curses his own recklessness and puts on another smile that he knows wouldn't fool anyone.

"Oh, no. I approve. I quite approve of your calculated flirting, Ed. A very nice strategy. Maybe try to exercise a bit more prudence next time, go one at a time?"

The car comes to a stop at a red light, Edward stares at him for a long moment before he seemingly understands the meaning behind Oswald's reproach.

"Oh, that!"

(He definitely doesn't understand the meaning behind Oswald's reproach.)

"Yes! No, that was just Miss Johnson recommending me some poetry," the napkin returns to the safety of his breast pocket and next Ed brings out a little notepad from the inside of his jacket, pushing his glasses up his nose and wetting his lips - Oswald looks away, feeling too hot all of a sudden, "she's the head of the Literacy Club, they hold meetings at the City Library every other Thu—"

"I know who she is, Ed!" he snaps before he can stop himself. It's such an abrupt reaction that Edward stops his monologue and looks at him again with that face that means he's trying to decipher his real intentions and assessing the terrain. He looks Oswald up and down and sits straight, clearing his throat one more time and reading his hostility.

"Of course," Ed mumbles, "yes, you do. Sorry. It was a tedious evening, I should—" he clears his throat again out of nervousness and Oswald sighs, biting his tongue and taking a deep breath in, "I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Or not. I know you're not one for poetry anyway."

"Ed..."

"No, it's fine. You must be exhausted, I know you hate these events, mingling and standing up all night—"

"Ed."

Edward's caramel eyes, that'd been cast downwards to his lap in an awkward and almost sheepish manner, shoot up to meet Oswald's again at his insistence. His gentle gaze brings back memories. Of bullet wounds and take-out food and piano melodies and a flourishing friendship.

"Who told you I don't like poetry?" Oswald tries with a gentler and more genuine smile this time. Because he's being too rude. Edward is none the wiser and he shouldn't have to deal with his stupid outbursts of jealousy. "Go ahead," Oswald says, with a much less venomous roll of his eyes and smiling at Edward's playful air and devilish grin.

His Chief of Staff opens his little notepad and shifts over from the opposite seat to come and claim the space next to him.

"I'm all ears," Oswald announces.

Except he isn't, really.

If he'd known Edward was going to make himself so comfortable between him and the cold window, was going to press himself so tightly against his side and loosen up his tie and giggle and start reciting a love poem with that mocking glint in his eyes and that theatrical hand-waving, Oswald never would've encouraged him.

"I hoped that he would love me, and he has kissed my mouth. But I am like a stricken bird that cannot reach the south..."

He needs to loosen up his own tie, too.

"...for though I know he loves me, tonight my heart is sad. His kiss was not so wonderful, as all the dreams I had."

Oswald stops breathing, stops trying to make himself look away from Edward's rosy lips, his cheekbones ever-so-slightly turned pink because their driver has turned on the heating way too high, the laugh that rocks his body, Oswald can feel it too because if he were closer he'd be sitting on his lap.

Stop it.

"—and then she just started telling me about her divorce, as if it wasn't all over the Gazette's front page last month. I declined her invitation but I figured I'd keep the poem, do a little bit of research, get in her good graces, so to speak. Never know when you'll need some funding and everybody knows she won the court case so, ca-ching!"

Ed blurts out another laugh and turns to look at Oswald, no doubt fishing for praise.

Oswald, who's so helplessly staring at him, lips slightly parted and hearing nothing beyond his gentle poem-reading about kisses and love and dreams. One of his betraying hands goes to Edward's nape and settles there, fingers brushing his hair of their own volition, brain failing to catch up to the situation. He feels light-headed.

"Oswald?" comes Ed's slightly concerned voice, now fully turning to face him better.

Oswald blinks out of his stupor with a pitiful gasp.

Sees his hand almost pulling Edward closer —

"Are you..." Ed starts, eyes darting to the side, to Oswald's outstretched arm with a frown, "...okay?"

"Fuck," he says out loud, without meaning to, "I—," he tries, he blinks again, he swallows through a dry throat, he looks at Ed and at his own hand cradling his head and then at Ed again looking at him with a quizzical look but still not leaning away, "—sorry! I— think I had too much to drink."

With that, he retrieves his hand and shuffles away from Edward, feeling like he's about to implode and like he can't take a proper breath in, he starts to get uncomfortably sweaty.

You idiot! What the hell do you think you're doing?!

"Is your leg—?" Edward places a cold hand on his thigh, "is it your leg?"

Oswald looks down, Ed's slim fingers brushing over the fabric of his trousers, he keeps them there, like it means nothing — like it doesn't mean everything.

"What?" he blurts out, because he didn't actually hear what Ed just said.

"You're sweating," his Chief of Staff states matter-of-factly, but when he goes to grab his handkerchief he finds it isn't there.

Oswald closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, thinking this is his only chance of living it down.

"Yes, yes. I'm feeling a bit dizzy."

Edward leaves his side immediately to go tap insistently at the dark window separating them from their newly-appointed chauffeur. He mutters a few orders that Oswald doesn't actually catch, there's a menacing undertone to his words and then he actually leans over into the front side of the vehicle.

"Are you trying to cook us alive?" he says finally, before shutting the window back close with unnecessary force. He turns to an Oswald biting his lip and trying not to laugh, "amateur. Do you want me to fire him?"

"It's his first day."

"Precisely."

"No, I don't want you to fire him, Ed," he peels his eyes open and gestures to the left window, his vision spinning for a moment before he gets just the teensiest bit nauseous, "but maybe you could—?"

Edward returns to his side and rolls the window down a few inches. The cold winter air feels heavenly on Oswald's flushed cheeks and he lets out a sigh — it turns out he did actually have one drink too many, then.

"Better?" Ed asks, too close. Oswald doesn't dare open his eyes again. He only lets out a grunt and shakes his head.

This has backfired completely.

What was supposed to be an act — a decoy, has turned into him bracing himself against the cold glass window to his right and feeling like he's inside a blender. He meant for Ed to get distracted and brush aside his slip but now Ed is closer than he was before and Oswald genuinely feels like he's going to be sick.

"Stop— stop the car," he crooks out, he opens his eyes to see Edward leaning over him with a worried look but making no move to obey, "Ed!"

It stops just in time. He feels quite helpless as he wrestles with the door handle and stumbles outside into the cold dark and empty street of some downtown neighbourhood to empty his stomach by the sidewalk.

He hears rather than see Edward scramble out of the car after him.

"Oh, dear."

How humiliating, Oswald's mind provides, as he tries to lean back up, tries to get some leverage with a hand on the opened door only to find nothing there and almost trip over. Edward catches him just in time.

"Uh-oh," Ed sings, "I got you."

"Mayor Cobblepot! Is there anything—?"

"Just get in the car and wait there," Ed mumbles menacingly. Oswald would've sent the boy a murderous glare himself if he hadn't been so occupied trying not to fall into his own vomit and holding onto his Chief of Staff for dear life.

So much for living this down.

"Ughhhhhh," is all he can say, because he thinks he's about to faint.

"I know, I know," Edward keeps one hand on his arm and the other round his shoulders, "but you'll feel better now it's out."

Oswald scrunches up his face and almost gags again. Edward does a great job of guiding him back into the car, now much colder than it was just a moment ago. He feels like a deer that's learning to walk: he can't seem to find proper footing and only when Ed sits him down and settles next to him does his head stop spinning. The car starts to move again and the passing lights become so bothersome he doesn't open his eyes the rest of the trip home.

"Now can I fire him?"

Oswald nuzzles closer into the embrace, one of Ed's arms is still around his waist and the other hand is left unmoving over his forehead, a cold solace, keeping his head from moving around too much with the sloppy turns and few street holes the car fails to avoid.

And because he's still drunk and Ed is holding him so close, his lips brush against a warm minty-scented neck and stay there, breathing in perfume and skin and finding no resistance.