This Some Icon Level Fic - Blog Posts
JAVIER PEÑA???? ON HIS KNEES?
“Now,” he murmurs, voice honeyed and dangerous, “you’re gonna watch me tear this pussy up.”
Your pussy sings.
Blocked and Begging | Javier Peña x F!Reader | ~3.1k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.
Summary: You block Javier and he shows up at your doorstep.
Tags: angst, smut, fwb dynamic, drunk!javi, fuckboy!javi, modern!au i guess, pussy eating, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, creampie!, pussy pronouns, half-assed beta'd, untranslated spanish, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, reader is a woman of color yet everyone is encouraged to read, no physical descriptions, sorry for any stray typos/grammatical mistakes, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!
A/N: i blame this anon i got for this, tbh. so thank you for doing all the heavy lifting, 'nonnie. much appreciated. there's not much i can say except i hate javier peña so much the only way to fix it is to fuck him! also @almostempty 's fuckboy joel def inspired javi's characterization in this so thank you for blessing us with that weds mwah love u! okay guys as always let me know what you think and thanks for reading 🖤
The first call came in at 2:12 AM. An unknown number, but you knew.
You silenced it. Then again, 2:14. 2:17. 2:23. Again. Again. Again. Until the screen was so flooded with missed calls and increasingly misspelled messages, it looked like he was trying to break into your world through sheer persistence.
Baby Answer the phone I fucked up Please
Fuck him. He hasn’t been around or texted back in days, and now all of a sudden he’s blowing your phone up like you’re the one who disappeared.
You wouldn’t have minded the silence, really, it was to be expected from a man like Javier. However, one of your friends had seen him out last night—messy, drunk, as affectionate as he is with you with some girl—practically fucking her on the dance floor.
When the video came in, you stared and stared until the knot in your throat wrung angry, jealous tears from your eyes. You blocked his number right then and there, throwing your phone across the couch, telling yourself you didn’t care.
You shouldn’t care. You aren’t together. You both made that clear. It’s supposed to be casual.
But it doesn’t feel casual, not with your stomach in knots and your heart twisting up and damn it, it’s really your fault for fooling yourself into thinking this is more than what it is.
You finally answer the phone at 3:06 AM. Your voice is like ice. “What?”
He sounds drunk. Words slurred, voice raspy like he’s been smoking, or yelling… or both. “I fucked up. I know, I know—Just let me come over. Let me see you—”
“Why? So you can lie to my face instead of over the phone?”
“I didn’t fuck her, baby, believe me. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
You hang up.
He can take that sweet-talking, liquor-soaked bullshit and feed it to someone else.
However, twenty minutes later, there’s insistent knocking at your front door. Like he knows you’re waiting.
You exhale hard, palms dragging over your face, and stomp to the door. When you look through the peephole, there he is—his drunk ass swaying slightly on your porch, one hand braced against the frame to keep him steady, the other casually on his hip.
It pisses you off, yet you still open the door. “Leave.”
He does the opposite, stepping inside as if you aren’t in the middle of a fucking argument, shutting the door behind him. Javier Peña never needs an invitation to make a mess.
“You have some fucking nerve—” You push at his chest, but he catches your wrists.
“I know,” The smell of whiskey emitting from him has your nose wrinkling.
“No, you don’t.” You yank your wrists from his hold, trying to be preemptive by putting some distance between you both.
Being close to him is dangerous as hell, especially when you’re angry and hurt and jealous. “You ghost me for days and now you show up like some stray looking for scraps? What—did she not let you spend the night? Got bored fucking her and remembered I’m always dumb enough to answer?”
All your overthinking spills from your lips, grinding your teeth at the thought of him being with someone else before showing up here.
His face twists. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Bullshit.”
“I didn’t sleep with her—”
“Oh, fuck you, Javier. Don’t insult me. I saw you with your hand up her dress!”
He tuts under his breath, shaking his head like you’re the irrational one here and you hate how that makes you feel. “That doesn’t mean I fucked her.”
“Whatever. I shouldn’t care who you stick your dick in. We’re not together, right? So go ahead. Have your fun. Just don’t show up at my place acting like you give a shit about me when you can’t even be bothered to fucking call.”
“I do give a shit.”
He steps forward and you move back, spine stiff, feet landing near the edge of the dining room, t-shirt barely brushing the tops of your thighs. You’re aware of how exposed you are and how his eyes flick downward, just for a second. Your whole body betrays you when he looks at you like this.
“I’m sure you do.” You sass and his jaw twitches.
“You want me on my fucking knees, crawling to you to show you that I’m being serious? Because I will.”
“Estás borracho, Javi. No seas ridículo.” Men are so nonsensical when it comes to trying to prove their innocence.
You just stare as he kneels, his shoulders going slack, hands on the floor. His gaze never leaves yours as he crawls the short distance across your living room rug to where you are.
You say his name, half-warning, half-beg, swallowing roughly, your ass grazing against the edge of the dining room table.
He reaches you, reverently sliding his hands up your calves until his thumbs brush the backs of your knees. His breath is warm against the tops of your thighs as he presses his face to your stomach, kissing you through the cotton of the shirt, inhaling your scent.
“I’ve missed you.” His fingers disappear beneath the tee, calloused palms grazing the skin of your stomach before they trail past your ribs, cupping your breasts, squeezing softly.
You both let out sighs of pleasure, his thumbs grazing your nipples until they peak for him.
“You’re just saying that so you can fuck me.” As if you’re not going to let him.
Javi squeezes your tits roughly, making your back arch. “I mean it. Was dealing with some shit and got reckless…” He continues to knead your breasts, making you feel disoriented. “Don’t wanna fuck someone else when I have you…” He sounds truthful, but you don’t know if that’s because he means it or because he’s touching you like this and saying all the right things. “I wasn’t thinkin’, perdóname baby.”
One hand leaves your chest to drag down, knuckles brushing your belly as he hooks a finger under the waistband of your sleep shorts, toying with them.
He looks up at you with those stupid, brown glossy eyes. “Let me make it up to you.”
Your hands grip the edge of the table and your whole body screams yes even as your mouth tries to say no.
You never learn.
“Okay.”
His breath is hot and shaky as he lifts the hem of your shirt, exposing your torso. You rid yourself of it, the cooler air nipping at your heated skin, his palm still on your tit while the other grips your hip.
You gasp when his mustache scrapes against your skin, coarse and ticklish, making you shiver so hard your knees almost buckle.
His tongue draws lazy circles around your belly button, slow and sensual, dragging heat lower with every wet swirl. You want to stay angry—you try—but it’s so hard.
Then his fingers slowly hook onto the waistband of your shorts again, tugging slightly like he’s asking permission without speaking. He glances up at you, and when you don’t stop him, he tugs them down your thighs and lets them pool around your ankles.
You step out of them, entirely naked now.
Javi’s strong hands slide under your thighs and lift you onto the table. The wood is cool beneath you but his hands are hot. He spreads your legs obscenely, exposing you fully. The air kisses your folds and you twitch, cunt glistening only slightly due to your anger-thinned arousal.
He knows exactly what to do about it, starting by letting his fingers stroke through the coarse hairs at your mound, his pointer and middle fingers matching the V of your cunt, massaging your sensitive flesh and making you mewl, hips hovering off the table.
He starts slow.
A kiss to your outer lips then a long, dragging lick right up the seam of your pussy, tongue splitting your folds, collecting every bit of heat you haven’t admitted you’re building.
“Look at her,” he groans, lips brushing your pulsing clit. “Fuck, baby. She’s so sweet.” His voice drops a bit. “You think I’d want anyone else when this is mine?”
His tongue darts out again, flattening along your labia, slow and wet. You hiss through your teeth, falling flat on your back, unable to keep straight.
He does it again and again, not quite giving you what you want, but he’s only doing this to savor the blissful taste of your syrupy arousal building on his taste buds.
“Still mad at me?” he murmurs into your cunt, getting even more drunk between your legs.
You open your mouth to snap at him, to remind him why you’re pissed—but then his pouty lips wrap around your clit and he sucks, gentle but insistent, and your head tilts back with a helpless moan you can’t swallow.
“Jesus—Javi—”
“Let me hear you. Let me make it better.”
Your fingers find his thick and soft hair, tugging hard. He groans against you, lips humming at your clit, tongue circling and flicking with a skill that makes your thighs shake.
Wetness floods you, you can feel yourself opening, melting, helpless under the pressure of his talented mouth.
“Pussy tastes so fucking good,” he growls, voice muffled against your now soaking cunt. “Eres perfecta. I’d never find better.”
His hands grip your thighs, groping the supple skin, holding you in place as he sucks and slurps at your pussy. Messy, wet sounds fill the space.
You grit your teeth, trying to hold onto your anger. To remember how jealous you’d felt when you saw that video. How humiliated you were. How tired you are of being strung along by a man who only seems to remember how much he wants you after he’s already hurt you. How he knows exactly how to play you.
But God… his mouth. His cock. They’re too fucking good and outweight all the shitty things he puts you through.
He eases two thick fingers inside your pussy and you cry out loudly, eyes rolling to the back of your head.
Your walls clench around them instantly, pulsing with need as his fingers curl deep, finding that spot that makes your vision dot.
“Ohhh fuck, Javier—”
“Take ‘em so well, baby” he purrs, pumping into you slow and deep, his lips still making out with your clit between every sentence. “Let me have her. Let me love her. She deserves it. You deserve it.”
The squelch of his digits pumping into your soaked cunt is drowned out by the ringing in your ears and the hot wave of euphoria that seizes your whole body. Your skin tingles, toes curl, as your pussy clenches down hard, orgasming and fluttering around his fingers in messy, wet spasms.
Javi comes up from between your legs, mustache wet and lips glistening. He reaches your breasts and palms them with greedy hands, squeezing them together as his tongue laves at one peak, then the other.
The attention to your chest has a needy, cracked whimper slipping from you and it makes him smirk against your skin.
He then hovers above you. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, despite him being fully clothed, the scent of sex and sweat and his cologne wrapped around you like a drug. He leans in for a kiss.
But you turn your head, letting his lips land on your cheek instead—a silent rejection that makes him growl low in his throat.
His hand—the same hand that was just buried knuckle-deep inside your pussy—grips your jaw tight, fingers slick as he forces you to look at him.
“Dame un beso,” he orders roughly.
You don’t get the chance to obey or protest.
He crashes his mouth against yours, lips hot and hungry, tongue sliding past your teeth in an instant. The taste is potent—his favorite whiskey and your own pussy, mixed and heavy on his tongue.
You whimper into him, your arms pinned between your bodies, lips held captive and bruised under the weight of his kiss.
Your hips swivel when you hear the clatter of his belt then feel the rasp of denim sliding down low enough to release himself.
He drags the head of his cock up your aching seam, circling your puffy clit with it. Javi taps it teasingly against your tender nub, smearing your own wetness, making you jolt.
Breaking the kiss, a thin trail of saliva bridges your lips to his. He keeps the grip on your jaw tight, blunt fingernails digging into the skin, making you wince slightly. His nose brushes yours, eyes locked, the rest of the world melting away.
And without a word, he pushes in.
Slow.
Thick.
Deep.
You can’t speak. Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes out. You just feel it—every inch of him forcing your walls to stretch until his balls kiss your ass and you’re stuffed to the brim with him.
“Mierda,” he groans, eyes fluttering. “You always look so fuckin’ pretty with this dick inside you.”
His thumb brushes your bottom lip, eyes softening for just a moment. Then he leans in and kisses you again—this time tender, sweet, like he’s trying to say something he can’t put into words.
“Now,” he murmurs, voice honeyed and dangerous, “you’re gonna watch me tear this pussy up.”
You barely register his grip shifting—the hand on your jaw moving to the back of your neck, pulling you upright, making sure your eyes are trained down to where you’re joined. Where his dick is slowly dragging out of you, glossy and thick, before he slams back in with a sound that punches all the air from your lungs.
“So fucking good for me, even when you’re pissed off at me. But you don’t really hate me, do you baby?”
Your whole body jolts against the table, your answer coming in the form of a gasp.
He fucks you slow at first, making sure you feel every devastating inch, the drag of his cock pulling against your walls, your cunt already dripping down his shaft.
Your pussy sings.
He sets a brutal rhythm, fucking into you hard and deep, making the table creak beneath you. Each time he drives in, your slick gushes around him, creamy and filthy, soaking the hairs at the base of his cock.
“Look at her,” he growls, keeping your neck craned so you can’t look away. “Look at how wet you are. You see that? That’s how bad you want me.”
You whimper, fingers digging into his arms for balance.
“Creamin’ on my cock like this—fuck, baby. This is why I come back. You’re why I come back.”
He slams into you again, making the whole table jerk forward.
“This pussy’s perfect. So warm. So tight. You were made for me, huh?”
You nod—frantic, trembling—tears in your eyes from how full you feel, from how right it feels.
“You gonna let me fuck you stupid?” he rasps. “Gonna let me ruin you?”
“Javi—”
“Say it. Tell me she’s mine. That you’re mine.”
“She’s yours,” you whimper, biting your lip, trying to hold on. “I’m yours.”
“Good girl,” he purrs, slamming into you so deep it makes you see double.
After a few more strokes, he lays you flat on the table, his hands gripping your hips with bruising intensity. He drags you toward him until your ass is right at the edge, your body completely at his mercy.
There’s no teasing this time. Just the relentless pace of his cock plunging into your pussy, the wet slap of skin on skin while he fucks this second orgasm out of you.
You're already so sensitive, your walls quivering, stretched to the limit and still greedy for more. He hits that pleasurable spot inside you over and over again, and you can’t help the helpless cries that tear from your throat.
He leans into it. Grinds deeper. Fucks harder.
“One more, shit, Let me feel you. I know you fuckin’ want it.” He pants, watching your face twist up, your body arching.
The pressure builds fast and then you’re coming again, a white-hot burst that sets your skin aflame, jaw open in a silent moan as your cunt squeezes around him, sticky and pulsing.
He curses low and filthy in Spanish as he follows, slamming deep one last time and holding there, cock twitching inside you as his own orgasm overtakes him. His seed floods you in hot, lazy waves, filling you so full you can feel it leaking out around him even while he’s still inside.
Javi slumps forward with a ragged exhale, arms bracketing your body on either side. He doesn’t collapse, but he’s close.
His lips find yours again, slower this time, gentler—just the soft slide of his mouth against yours, the afterglow humming between you like static. Your fingers drift into his hair without thinking, stroking through the curly strands, feeling like you’re floating.
His brown eyes are soft when he opens them, catching the dim light of the room like warm honey. He looks beautiful like this—flushed, vulnerable, skin damp, chest still rising and falling against yours.
“Stay,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and raw from all the moaning and crying he’d coaxed out of you.
There’s a pause. He studies your face, his expression unreadable, answer delayed momentarily.
“No puedo,” he says at last, his bluntness almost cruel. “Gotta be up in a few hours.”
And just like that, the warmth in your chest snuffs out. Cold creeps in, sharp and fast, and you lay there stunned as the post-coital haze clears. Your jaw tightens. Your hand drops from his hair. He feels the shift in you instantly, watches the light drain from your eyes as he pulls away.
He tucks himself back in his jeans, does his belt with maddening casualness.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” You snap, sitting up so fast it makes your head spin. You reach for your shirt and yank it on.
“You’re really gonna leave after this? After that?”
He shrugs, not looking the least bit apologetic. “Promised Pops I’d help him with the fence. You know how it is.”
You slide off the table with a grunt, snatching your shorts up from the floor and stepping into them. Your legs still tremble from the good fuck you just received, thighs squeezing together to keep his cum inside you. You try your best to ignore it. “All this just so you could get some pussy,” you spit. “Get the fuck out.”
He rolls his eyes, unfazed. “No seas así. Unblock me so I can call you tomorrow.”
He steps close again like it’s nothing, wraps a hand around your waist and tugs you in. You stiffen against him, glare up into his face, trying—desperately—to see through him. But you can’t. And that makes you want to scream.
“You really gonna call?” you ask, voice quiet but sharp, already hating how pathetic it sounds.
“Yes.”
You roll your tongue over your teeth, the taste of him still clinging to your mouth, your skin still tingling from his touch. You should know better. You do know better.
And yet—you believe him anyway.
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