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pedrito-friskito · 2 years

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the ranch: thunder clouds - javier peña x fem!reader

summary: javier just has a way of making everything better.

warnings: smut, fluff, javi, outside fun, voyeurism if u squint, unprotected p-in-v (wrap ur shit !!!!!!), I’m a feral little fuck these days but I’m here for it

a/n: we’re back on the ranch, folks. in all honesty, this is pretty self-indulgent but I just had to share 💕

| main masterlist | series masterlist | ao3 |

gif by @pedropascalsx 💕

The house is empty, when Javier walks through the door.

He hasn’t even called your name yet, hasn’t wandered into the kitchen to see if you’d stepped onto the back porch, if you’re lounging in the swing with a book in your hand. He knows it’s empty, knows you’re not in it, that you presence isn’t permeating the air like it normally is, warm and familiar to him.

It makes his brow furrow, the crease deepening as he turns to hang his keys on the hook and sees a little yellow sticky note on the wall beside the door. Put there purposefully, where you knew he’d see it when he got home.

Back field. Come and find me.

He hasn’t even toed off his boots yet, and he wipes his feet on the doormat before walking through the house, straight out the back door and out towards the back field. The sun is hiding behind big rolling clouds that threaten rain, the whisper of fall whistling through the air as Javi stalks his way through the grass.

You had found the place the first time you’d visited the ranch. Javi wasn’t even sure how you’d managed it; he swore the spot hadn’t even existed until you’d set foot on the land, and the trees and grass and flowers just rearranged themselves for you, making a space for you to call your own, a little escape for you to slink away to.

Javi follows the worn path in the grass, holding his hand out and letting his palm skim the tops of the growing wheat stalks as he goes. He’s cataloguing with every step, making mental notes of the things he can see as he walks, tallying up the things he has to do.

But then he sees you, tucked away in your little oasis, and his mind pushes everything else aside, only keeping space for you.

The spot is down towards the river that runs the edge of the property, cutting a line in the farmland between the Peña ranch and the neighbour’s. The ground is softer, often muddy in some places, but you never seem to mind. Two large desert willows flank either side, the flowers turning the grass beneath into a jigsaw of pink petals and green blades. There’s a few rocks to the side, the flat surface where Javi’s often found you sunbathing during the day, stretched out with your head tilted back, basking in the warmth, waiting for him to be done his chores so he can enjoy the rest of his day with you.

But today, he’s greeted with a different sight.

Your usual work clothes are missing, and Javi starts to wonder how long you’d been home before he’d ridden back to the ranch house, how long before you’d wandered out to your sanctuary. The flannel stretched across your shoulders is his, the too-long sleeves rolled past your elbows, which are braced around your knees. Tight, black leggings cover your lower half, and when Javi lets out a low whistle, your head whips in his direction, hair wafting in the evening breeze, and he sees his yellow aviators perched on your nose, eyes squinting at him from behind the tinted lenses.

You’d laughed at them originally, when you’d unearthed them from a drawer where they’d been forgotten, a Colombia staple he couldn’t bear for the first few months he was home. “No wonder Steve gave you hell,” you’d giggled, sliding them onto your nose. “How do I look?”

“Much better than I ever did; they’re yours now,” Javier had said, and kissed you long and hard right there in the living room.

Now, he watches you slip the glasses of your face, tucking them into the pocket of your shirt, and he closes the distance between you, an awkward grunt as he lowers himself onto the ground behind you, legs bracketing your hips. Javier puts both arms around your shoulders, pulling you back into his chest and settling his chin into the curve of your neck.

“Hey there, cowboy,” you murmur, running your hands down his forearms before linking your hands with his. “I see you found my note.”

It wasn’t a bad day, per se.

It was just…strange. Everything felt off, your steps feeling like they faltered when they didn’t, everything from a stray hair at the back of your neck to a pen mark on your hand irking you, adding to the strange feeling that had settled in your chest. You felt unfocused all day, your mind settling on one thing for a moment before moving onto the next. You’d blamed it on too much coffee in the morning, but by the afternoon, you were still distracted, strung out, tense.

You just wanted to go home, but as soon as the clock hit three, it seemed to stay there forever, only moving five minutes when it felt like five hours.

Finally fed up, you told your boss you weren’t feeling well and ducked out, maybe going a bit over the speed limit to get home faster than normal. Maybe just a bit. The whole way, you were hoping and praying that Javi had finished his day early too, struck by some cosmic urge to come home early and be with you.

But the ranch house was empty when you burst through the front door. Head still feeling like a lead weight, you’d forced yourself into the shower, hoping the steam would help melt away some of the weirdness pooled in your gut, but it didn’t do much. You’d nabbed one of Javier’s flannel shirts from his side of the closet as you’d dressed, and the feeling of the soft fabric against your bare skin had done something, the fresh scent of his cologne clinging to his clothes and invading your senses.

Now, that? That helped some more.

You’d paced the kitchen for a while, waiting for him to come through the door. You contemplated baking, gave up on that quick, toyed with the idea of heading out onto the land to try and find Javi, but then the idea had ticked in the back of your mind, and before you could think twice, you were scribbling the note, putting it somewhere you knew for sure he would find, and setting out towards your favourite spot on the ranch.

“I see you found my note.”

Javier lets out a little snort behind you, lifting his head and resting his chin on your crown. “Hard to miss, cariño. Although, I was half-expecting a game of hide-and-seek.”

You grin, leaning back further into his embrace, pulling your linked hands tighter around your middle. “Close your eyes, then, and I’ll go hide.”

“Nope,” Javi murmurs, popping the p, squeezing you lightly. “You’re not going anywhere.” He bends his neck, kisses the top of your head. “Not till you tell me what’s going on.”

“How do you know something’s going on?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You only ever come out here on the weekends, and you always bring a book with you. And you were home before me, which almost never happens on Wednesdays, and your mouth is doing that little twitch thing it does when something’s going on.” Another little squeeze around your middle. “So, tell me. How do I fix it?”

You roll your head against his shoulder, tilting it to the side and giving him access to your throat again, which he accepts, pressing his stubbly jaw into the curve where your neck and shoulder connect. He leaves a wet kiss against your skin, the warmth of his mouth sending a shock down your spine. It clears your head some, the clouds in your mind parting while the ones above you roll quicker, darkening with every moment that passes.

It takes a moment or two, but you start to talk, telling Javier everything that had happened during the day, your missteps that just seemed to tally too quick, your murky mind and your muddled thoughts. Even as you speak, however, you can feel the fog lifting further, spurred further with the way his mouth doesn’t leave your throat, arms staying twined around you, rocking you back and forth slightly in the breeze.

Overhead, thunder rumbles, and Javi tightens his grip on you, lips leaving your neck as he tilts his head back to look up at the sky. “Storm’s coming,” he tells you, starting to move behind you. “We should head back.”

“Do we have to?”

He blinks down at you, clearly caught off guard and huffing a little laugh, quitting his attempt to get up. “If you’re okay getting soaked to the bone, I guess not.”

“You’ve never kissed me in the rain before.”

The statement rolls off your tongue as you settle back against his shoulder, and Javi turns his head to look at you, brow pinched, lips softly parted. “No, I guess I haven’t.” He thinks for a moment. “I should fix that, shouldn’t I?”

Your bottom lip gets caught between your teeth at his tone, the suggestive quirk to his mouth. It’s funny, the effect he has on you, how his presence alone has cleared your strange unease, replacing it with a longing and love you keep reserved for one Javier Peña.

“Don’t have to wait for it to rain to start kissing you, do I?” he asks, and your jaw drops slightly, lip coming unstuck, eyes falling to his lips. Slowly, you shake your head, and he leans forward, one hand reaching up to pinch your chin between his forefinger and thumb. His mouth just ghosts over yours, the hairs of his moustache tickling your skin, the hooked tip of his nose nudging against yours. “Good.”

You’re accustomed to Javi’s soft kisses. You know his more feral side very well, too, the heat and lust dripping from his mouth to yours on nights spent tangled in your bedsheets or pressed against the shower wall. But the soft kisses, he gives those like gifts, like you’re the gift he’s meant to unwrap, using his gentle mouth to draw you out of yourself, showing him the side that’s meant just for him, that no one else gets to see but Javier. It’s breathy and it’s almost precarious, like you’re teetering on a tightrope that could snap in a second, the desperation that simmers beneath both your surfaces breaking through at any given moment. But it’s soft and it’s comforting and it feels like home. It feels like Javi.

That’s the kind of kiss he gives you now, breathing life into your lungs and taking only a little in return. You can’t stop yourself from lifting your now free hand to rest your palm against his cheek, his skin warm against yours.

You could drown in his soft kisses, you truly could. You’re half sure you could survive on them alone. But…clear as your previously clouded mind now is, there’s something more that you want, something that’s lurking beneath your surface, begging to be let out.

You nip at Javi’s bottom lip, almost harshly, and he grunts in response. He pinches your chin before sliding his hand up and into your hair, fisting it into a makeshift ponytail and tugging slightly, pulling your head back so he can meet your eyes. “Need something more than kisses, querida?” he asks, and your lip catches between your teeth again as you nod.

The next kiss is a feral one. He devours you, all tongue and teeth and tasting like your own slice of heaven. There’s something so manly about him, so passionate, the fire between you not sparking to life, but just stoking at what’s already there, consistently leaving you breathless and desperate for more. You return his intensity in kind, fingers slipping into his hair and tugging, drinking down the quiet moans that slip from his mouth to yours.

The hand not twisted in your hair dives towards your waist, easily finding the hem of your — his — shirt and deft fingers tracing up your side. “So soft,” he murmurs into your mouth, his voice husky and deep, hand moving north quickly, thumb swiping over your nipple and palm curving along the weight of your breast. “Always so fucking soft.”

You fist your hands in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, your body turning towards his as he releases his grip on your hair to tilt you sideways, the world spinning for a moment as he lays you on the grass. You can already feel the effect your bites and affections, the strain against the zipper of his work jeans, the worn denim thin in some places, making it easier for you to chase the hardness between his legs as he slots himself against your hips.

He grinds down into you, jaw dropping as you lean up to catch his lip between your teeth again, hands either side of his face, pulling his face down to yours. He goes willingly, elbows planting in the grass either side of your head. You can feel the heat pooling between your own legs, the longing manifesting itself and making your thighs twitch.

“My little minx,” he whispers, pulling his mouth from yours to trail kisses down your cheek, along your jaw and down your neck. He plucks at the collar of your shirt, pushing it to the side to bare more of your chest to him, leaning down to suck a bruise into your collar. You whine at the feeling, tossing your head back and lifting your hips. “Gonna make love to you right here.”

You keen at his words, tangling your fingers in his hair once more so you can yank his mouth back to yours. He tastes so good, that familiar mix of nicotine gum and coca-cola and something that you know is just Javier. “Please, Javi,” you breathe, sighing when his tongue touches yours, your tastebuds exploding with him. “Please, I want it so bad.”

Reaching between you, he hooks his fingers into the back of your leggings, dragging them down just enough, your underwear going with them, baring your ass to him. He pushes your thighs to the side, your knees curling upward, and you go to move further, but he doesn’t let you. “Just like this, querida,” he murmurs against your lips, dragging two fingers through your slick before giving your ass a squeeze. “Don’t move.”

You listen to him, breath heaving from your chest as he reaches for his belt, expertly undoing it with one hand and freeing himself from his jeans. He pushes them just low enough, and you can’t stop your eyes from dragging down his chest to his waist, saliva filling your mouth at the sight of his cock, hard and proud between his hips, tip dripping. Just for you.

Javier meets your eyes as he brings his hand to his mouth, spitting into his palm before curling his fingers around his length, pumping twice before dropping his hips and notching himself at your entrance. “Ready?”

You nod, chewing your lip furiously, but it drops open into a moan as he pushes inside. It’s impossibly tight, but you love every moment, eyes rolling back with every inch he sinks deeper. Javi plants his hands either side of your body, keeping your legs turned to the side, sliding home until his hips are flush with your ass and the back of your thighs. His nose twitches, lip curling as he sinks to the hilt, and you reach up a hand, trailing your fingers along his jaw. “Feel good, cariño?” you ask, and you feel his cock jump within you at the nickname.

“So tight,” he groans, head dropping until it’s touching your chest, forehead against your collar. “You feel so good.”

He only lasts a few thrusts like this, the clench of your thighs making him groan so loud it nearly echoes. For a moment, you have the fleeting thought that someone might see you, might catch you like this, but it’s quickly pushed from your mind when Javi yanks at your shirt, buttons popping, and closes his lips around your nipple.

Scraping his teeth before the touch disappears, he tilts sideways, landing on his side behind you in the grass, still buried in you. A hand curls around your waist, one sliding beneath you, splaying flat on your belly. He pulls you back into him, rocking his hips every time your ass meets his stomach. Your fingers claw at the ground, dirt beneath your fingernails, but you’re too blind with pleasure to give a damn. You’re so close, teetering on that edge, and you can feel yourself start to topple as Javier curls a hand around your throat, arching your back until you can just see his face, as twisted with pleasure as your own.

“Let me feel you, baby,” he groans, thumb swiping along your neck, making your gasp crackle on the way out. Your eyes flutter and he grins. “There you are. C’mon, squeeze me, just like that.”

You push yourself back onto him as you cum, thighs quaking as the orgasm topples through your body like dominoes. Javier holds you through it, still gripping your throat and pulling you tight against his chest. He’s quick to follow, mouth at your ear as he spills himself deep, teeth closing around your earlobe.

And then it starts to rain.

You’re both panting as the drops start to fall, fat raindrops the size of your thumbnail pouring from the sky in an instant. Spent, you barely have the strength to move, tilting your face towards the sky, giggling as the rain wets your cheeks. Javi hums happily, hips staying flush against you, still nestled deep within your walls.

He slides his arm beneath your neck, hand moving from your throat to your jaw, long fingers turning your face towards him.

He kisses you soft and slow until the rain lets up and the clouds start to part, rolling across the sky and giving way to the starry-filled night. You lose track of time there in the grass, your bodies damp with rainwater, skin marked with your release and his, minds no longer hazy and hearts full.

—————

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ceilidho · 5 months

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prompt: reader is a large animal vet making a house call to a certain ex-SAS member's ranch.

It’s the first time you’ve been called out to this ranch.

You’ve been to some others in the surrounding area—just last week you stopped by a ranch just half an hour away—but never this one. It’s far out of the way, almost tough to find—you miss the turnoff twice, each time forced to turn back around and squint to find the poorly marked dirt road leading to the ranch. Your shoulders only unclench when the ranch house finally crests over the horizon and you spot the horses milling around in the fenced-off enclosure.

They must have had an in-house vet prior to calling you out. None of your colleagues remember ever visiting and the ranch is big enough to necessitate one. It sprawls across the landscape, acres upon acres. The kind of ranch that deals in thoroughbreds, horses that go on to graded stakes races. In the pen already, you can pick out Thoroughbreds and American Warmblood, the distinctive spotting of an Appaloosa, even a couple Hanoverians.

There are men working around the ranch outside of the main enclosure that you park just a dozen or so yards away from, but something about the man standing by his lonesome with the horses makes you pause.

A head taller than the rest, and built like a redwood. Bandana affixed around the lower half of his face, almost bandit-like. You shake those thoughts out of your head. You’re not here to pass judgement on people; you’re here for the horses. Whatever scars mar his face are hardly your concern (still, rugged, you think, a bit breathless even sitting in the front seat of your truck).

When he turns in your direction, eyes locked on your truck and then locked on you when you pop into the back to grab your bag, your back straightens. Imperceptibly, yet still. Compelled to measure up somehow, to whatever standard he expects.

He strikes you as the man in charge. “Mister Riley?” you call out, shielding your eyes from the sun.

He beckons you over with a gloved hand. Even from the distance, he leaves you unsure of yourself, quick to stumble when his stare starts to burn.

“Doc,” Riley greets you when you’re close enough, and you fight back a shiver. His voice rumbles like thunder, like hooves pounding into the freshly tamped earth, into the dirt.

“You called about a pregnant mare,” you remind him.

The bag in front of your legs puts a bit of distance between the two of you, a needed buffer. Up close, he towers like sequoia, in fact, sleeves rolled up past his forearms, old tattoos on his left arm faded like beaten leather. He holds out a hand though, forcing you to take a step forward out of politeness and shake it. Your lips tighten at the touch of his skin. It’s weathered too, coarse palms and fingertips; there’s dirt caked around his nail beds, the kind that never comes out, the world’s indelible mark on the skin.

He stares at you for a moment without speaking. There’s no helping the way you squirm under his gaze.

“The horse,” you remind him, cheeks hot.

“She’s in the stables; I’ll bring ya to her.”

You struggle to keep up with him, bag bumping against your leg as you haul ass after him. Big as he is, he moves quickly, fast on his feet—used to quick beasts, you know, probably used to anticipating their movements, always one step ahead. Your last shred of decency keeps you from staring at his ass the entire walk to the stables.

Her coat is a rich coal colour, mane sun-bleached. Inky eyes peer back at you when Riley lets you into her stall. It’s cooler inside somehow, out of the inescapable glare of the sun; the sweat on the back of your neck stays wet under Riley’s eyes though, nervous rather than weather-born.

She’s gorgeous though, the mare. Pretty as can be. Heavily pregnant too, you can see. Obviously well taken care of too, still decently muscled like she’s still been taken for walks and rides during her pregnancy.

“She’s too far along now to ride,” he tells you when you remark on that, his voice carrying in the confined space. He doesn’t raise his voice, but it makes you perk up again, at attention, head whipping over your shoulder to look at him.

“I can tell. A little over two months ‘till she delivers,” you say with a nod, looking down at the chart you have on her. “I can come back for her last deworming before she foals, if you want.”

He grunts, doesn’t answer. You take it as an affirmative.

It doesn’t take you long to run through her check-up. A docile girl, you coo when she lets you touch her without any sign of aggression, sweet-tempered thing. It’s second nature after all, at this point in your life.

Still, you find yourself watching Riley out of the corner of your eye, careful under his watchful gaze. Not that you usually aren’t, but still. Your movements feel intentional, precise.

When he walks you out, you get a bit bolder in the sunlight. Freer to pester him with questions.

“Did your last vet retire or something?” you ask, fishing for information. It’s probably none of your business, but you find yourself curious anyway. There are a few different vet practices operating in the area, so it’s always helpful to know who’s going to your competitors.

He shakes his head. “Friend of mine went to school for this—been with me as long as I’ve had the ranch. He got hitched a couple weeks ago though.”

“Moving away?” you guess.

“Opening up a practice,” he corrects, making you frown. That’s worse, at least for you. “On his honeymoon this month though, so he gave me your name.”

“My boss’ name, you mean.”

“That’s right,” he says, and you realize that he’s walked you all the way to your car, half-pinning you to the door of your truck. Just close enough that a new layer of sweat breaks out on the back of your neck. You have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. “Don’t know if I caught yours, little filly.”

Now that makes you stutter over your name, confidence finally failing you. When he hums like he’s caught your name in his head now, mapped it to you with his sharp eyes, you feel yourself swallow reflexively.

“Not like you’ll need it for long,” you tease, trying to gain back some semblance of control. “Just until your friend gets back and sets up his practice, at least.”

“Not sure about that. Might find some use for you yet,” Riley says, close enough now that you can tell he smells of hay and silage, peppery when you breathe in too heavily.

And you breathe too heavily. Hard not to when he crowds you up against the truck, hand laying flat on the roof, boxing you in. You wonder if any of the ranch hands are looking over at the two of you, curious.

“What do you mean?” you ask, head empty. Mouth dry enough now that it hurts a bit to swallow.

His brown eyes glint in the sun. Honey gold under the light. “I can think of a few reasons to keep you around.”

#i dont know if brits have ranches so imagine he moved to the states or something id ont CARE #ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #cod simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost/reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2

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