Lpm - Tumblr Posts

(It have put it on my Youtube channel (in unleasted) cause it break the size limit here).

So we have the little Ayrobot that learn new thing thing about the survival.

The thing about the stasis is not a big foreshadowing at all and nothing of bad would happen that 😏.

I headcanon that all the thing about the beams be dangerous for Ayrobot have be an another thing that have be changed by the Federation. Cause I'm sure see q!Aypierre move throught some beams and doesn't have make anything.

tag : @adreamoverlife

Some contexts : They finish build the hacienda that Aypierre have begin builds well before Ayrobot's arrived. It makes me remember at what would do with his parents. Also, c!Aypierre going gaga about how.

Also it's make me think about Furryduo and the fact they live they live in a hacienda.

@adreamoverlife

La Petite Mort - Vouloir, C'est Pouvoir

Summary: R deals with RJ, Lorraine gets jealous

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: +18 NSFW, smut, language, tiniest little bit of blood and physical violence

A/N: Turns out jet lag is cool because you can wake up at 4AM and start writing again. The headcanons from yesterday helped me break through the writers block, thank you guys!! Let me know what you guys want to see next!

LPM Part I LPM Part II LPM Part III LPM Part IV

Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go, don’t go.

The words rattle around in your skull, bouncing haphazardly in the blank space. For a brief, blissful moment, nothing else exists but you and Lorraine. She’s there, right in front of you, in your arms. Her big doe eyes pleading with you, don’t go.

Like many perfect things, your flawless moment is brief and shattered by reality. The hum in your ears begins to fade as voices are raised around you. Your tunnel vision widens, expanding the scope past Lorraine’s freckled nose. Everything seems to be happening in a vacuum, sluggish and unreal. You feel like you’re just an observer of the universe, not meant to interact with its characters.  

You look at RJ over the top of Lorraine’s head, his expression furious. You grant him that; you’d be angry if you were him too. The van door behind him is open, the film crew all watching with bated breath, wide smiles on Maxine and Bobby-Lynne’s faces. Maxine shoots you an enthusiastic double thumbs up, making you huff out a laugh despite the situation. 

Lorraine wraps her fingers into the hem of your shirt, pulling herself tightly to you, completely disregarding everyone else. You know you’re not going to leave with her wrapped around you, and she does too. RJ shakes his head, his mouth open in silent shock. He throws his hands up, his expression pained. 

“What are you doing, Raine?” He asks, pacing, “What is going on right now?”

You don’t speak, only observe. Lorraine squeezes her eyes shut, bracing herself against your chest. She’s not ready to deal with him, but she needs to be. You rub her back, trying to comfort her. RJ continues to pace. 

“You owe me an explanation, Lorraine! You owe me!” 

You disagree with his approach; his tone is far too harsh. But you do agree with what he says. She does owe him an explanation. You crane your neck to see her face against your shirt, dip your head down to whisper to her.

“He’s not wrong. It’s the decent thing to do.”

She nods, her cheek rubbing against your sternum. The interaction sends RJ from confused irritation to absolute outrage. 

“Two years, Lorraine! Two years and this is what I get in return? You’re running behind my back, sneaking around and with her?”

That gets her attention; yours already snapped onto him. His face is red, sweat beading on his forehead, his hands shaking. If ever this man can be dangerous, you know it’s right now. There is very little more unstable than an embarrassed man. You eye him warily, unsure of his next move. 

Lorraine turns to him, her gaze lowered to his feet, her back only inches from you. She wrings her fingers, and you can’t see it, but you know her lip is being chewed to high hell. 

“I…I don’t know how…to explain-“ she starts, “it just happened, and then you came back, and I had a lot to figure out- “

“A lot to figure out?!” He shouts over her, advancing on her but stopping a few feet short, “How is there anything to figure out? You’re supposed to be a sweet girl Lorraine. That’s what I loved about you. But you’re not a sweet girl, are you? You’re just…you’re just a whore!”

His words make you tremble with anger. You understand his plight, can have empathy for the man. But you would not stand for him insulting her. You take a step forward, silently setting a boundary. His lip curls at you, his eyes wild. 

“I’m not…I’m not a whore,” Lorraine says, her voice soft and shaking, “I love her.”

RJ looks like he’s had the wind knocked right out of him. His breath comes out in a whoosh as her words snap into the morning air. The audience in the van is dead quiet, jaws dropped open. 

“I-I love you, Rainey. I do. It’s you and me.” He says, reaching out to her, his tone changing completely.

She steps back and leans into you shaking her head, “What’s my favorite flavor of ice cream, RJ?” 

Everyone is shaken, Lorraine is standing up to him. Your chest swells with pride, watching her go from cowering to straightening her spine. Her frantic eyes more sure now, watching him. You brush your fingers against her wrist, reassuring her that you’re there. 

RJ shakes his head, “What-what kind of question is that?”

Lorraine tilts her head, “An easy one, I think, for someone who’s in love with me.”

Her expression is pained; she takes no pleasure in this. When RJ answers her with “Chocolate chip,” she closes her eyes and nods. 

“It’s strawberry,” you say from behind her and snap your jaw shut. You hadn’t meant to interject, but it was an unconscious reaction. 

You take note of the fact that RJ’s entire body goes rigid. His fists curl at his sides, his jaw flexing. You know he’s going to do something stupid in his desperation. He takes a step toward Lorraine, and you feel yourself winding up, every muscle tense and ready to spring into action. 

Wayne climbs out of the van and circles around, his hands out in front of him. He wants to diffuse the situation, but you can see in the way RJ’s lip twitches that it hasn’t worked. The moment is a ticking bomb, every second passing by filled with nervous tension. Your heartbeat is slow, steady. Your eyes trained on RJ, tracking his every movement. 

Lorraine steps toward him, her brows furrowed, her worry for him growing. He calms slightly, the muscle in his jaw relaxing and his fists unclenching. His eyes grow wide, his mouth downturned. He looks like a child, you think. It almost makes you feel bad for him. Almost. 

“It’s time for you to go, RJ. I’m sorry it turned out this way.” Lorraine says softly, reaching her hand out to comfort him.

His fingers wrap around her bicep, and the wild look in his eyes is back. He pulls her into his body, her hands pressing against his chest. She struggles back, but his arms around her keep her pinned there. The whole thing lasts less than a second. 

Before RJ can even speak to justify himself, your knuckles are connecting with his cheekbone. A satisfying crunch pops around the bones in your hand, his glasses fly off his face. Lorraine stumbles backward, free of his grasp, as he crumbles to the ground. His shoulder hits the dirt, and his hands fly up to his face, crying out and inspecting the damage. His nose is bleeding, and a red and purple bruise is already forming above his cheek. 

“Woah, now!” Wayne cries out as you step over RJ.

He takes a step toward you but is halted by your look. The girls in the van twitter like birds at the commotion, but neither of them protests. Jackson sits quietly, waiting to see the outcome. You’re not sure where Lorraine is, somewhere behind you. 

You grab the collar of RJ’s shirt and pull him up to your face. With your free hand, you dust his shoulders off, and you give him an apologetic half-smile. You’re not sorry for punching him. You’re not sorry for what you’ve done with Lorraine. But you are sorry that someone has to be hurt in this situation. 

“You don’t love her, man.” You say, your voice low, your faces inches from each other. 

RJ deflates, his weight hanging in your hand, “I…I…” he sighs, squinting at you, “I wanted to.” 

You see Maxine move out of the van and approach you from the side, RJ’s collar still secure in your grip. She squats down and hands over his glasses, which you take and wipe on your shirt. You let go of him, but you remain in his space, Maxine hovering just outside of it. You place the glasses back on his face. 

“She deserves to be loved, not just wanted,” you say, searching his face for a reaction.

Maxine whistles, low and long, “Now there’s some cowboy wisdom. I see why she loves you, handsome. You’re a regular Casanova, ain’t ya?”

RJ turns to look at Maxine, still shell-shocked. You stand and reach your hand down for him to grasp. He hesitates but takes the offer, and you pull him to his feet. His nose gushes with blood, making you wince.

“You’re gonna want somethin for that,” you say, gesturing at the blood geyser on his face. 

Bobby-Lynne sidles up to him, a tampon in her hands. She fusses over him, shoving the cotton up his nose while he whines. She pulls him back toward the van, he follows with unsure backward steps, shaking his head. His eyes lock on to something over your shoulder, and you know it must be Lorraine. You turn to watch her, surprised to find the stubborn set in her jaw, her arms crossed over her chest, her brown eyes cold. 

You had only seen that look on her face twice in your lifetime. Once when Mr. Day had to put down a sick cow, Lorraine absolutely insisted she be there. Her father had denied her, and the next day she was in the barn, arms crossed and refusing to leave the cow’s side. The second time you were teenagers, and you were slowly drifting apart. Your parent's divorce sent you down a path of alcohol, drugs, and sex at a young age. Lorraine climbed into your bedroom window one night and would not leave until you explained to her why you were pushing her away. She never left your side, and you never pushed her away again.

And now, as she watches her boyfriend… ex-boyfriend get pulled into the van, she wears that same look. You turn back to the van, watch as the crew piles in. Maxine rolls down her window and winks at you. 

As Wayne puts it in gear and begins to roll away, she leans out and yells, “You treat her right, church mouse! Or I’ll come back for her!” She blows a kiss and laughs as the car kicks up dust and rolls down the driveway. 

You put your hands on your hips and laugh, shaking your head. When you turn back to Lorraine, her eyes are narrowed at you.

“What?” You yelp, your smile washing away from your face.

“That’s not funny,” she growls.

You smirk, “I mean, it’s a little funny, Rai-“

Your words are swallowed whole, Lorraine’s lips crashing into yours, her teeth knocking against yours in her haste. She pulls you back and leans against the trailer with her hands wrapped in the front of your shirt. She's possessive, her mouth hot against your lips, her hands pulling at you. You fall into her, let her expend her pent-up anxiety with soft sighs through her nose.

When she calms, you push back, creating enough space to look down at her. There is worry in her eyes, set in the lines between her brows.

“You’re not leavin',” she whispers, her hands still tight on your shirt.

You wrap your fingers around hers, “If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.”

The relief that washes over her is intense, her grip loosening and her shoulders dropping. She leans her head back against the metal wall of the trailer and exhales, her hands shaking. You feel your tension wash away; all you want to do is comfort her in that moment. 

You kiss her cheek, lean back and smile softly, “Go back a bag.”

She frowns again, “A bag?”

You nod, “I’m already packed up. Let’s get away for a bit. Somewhere we can talk and sort this out.”

She blinks slowly at you, mulling it over, then nods. You step back, and she releases her hold on your shirt, her eyes searching your face.

“If you leave while I’m in the house, so help me-“

You laugh, “I’m not gonna leave you here, Rainey. I’ll get Pearl and load her up. Go pack a bag.” 

——

The drive to Big Bend National Park is probably further than necessary, but 8 hours in the truck with Lorraine seems like the sensible thing to do. Your heart sings at the sight of her in your passenger seat, your bags in the truck bed, horses in the trailer. It feels like living out a dream. 

You glance over at her, absorbing as much of the vision as you can. Her feet up on the dashboard, wind whipping in her hair, the radio softly playing your favorite Queen song. You turn your eyes back to the road, tapping at the steering wheel, watching the desert and tumbleweeds roll by.

Around hour four, Lorraine gets restless. She fiddles with the radio, hand surfs the wind out her window, runs her hand up your thigh. 

“Let’s stop in Sonora, I’m tired of bein in the truck. And the horses need to get out.” 

You glance over at her, apprehensive, “They don’t need to get out, and you know it. We’re halfway there; we can set up camp by midnight.”

She shakes her head, “It’s late, I want to sleep in a bed.”

You chew your lip, torn between wanting to give her what she wants and pushing on until you get where you’re going. 

“Hotels round here ain’t exactly welcoming to two women in one room Raine.”

She shrugs, “We’ll get two rooms then.”

You sigh, rub your eyes. The setting sun is making you sleepy, and it has been a long day. You relent with no further pushing from Lorraine. You pull off the highway exit into the small town, and find the closest motel. 

The parking lot is nearly empty, a broken down Honda on cinder blocks rests near the front office, and a handful of trucks are parked outside sporadically spaced. You pull in sideways, taking up several empty parking stalls. 

“Stay here, I’ll get our rooms,” you grumble, and Lorraine nods sleepily.

The reception desk is vacant when you stroll inside, the dark wood walls and pictures of buffalo making the space feel long abandoned. The only sign of life is the quiet tinkling of a radio playing an old country song. You slap the bell on the counter and wait for a response. A few minutes go by, and none comes, so you hit it again.

You can hear shuffling from a back room, a smoky cough, and then a short old woman titters up to the desk, her hair and makeup bearing a striking resemblance to Dolly Parton. She clears her throat and stares at you, not speaking. 

You blink at her, waiting for her to speak, but she continues to stare. 

“Howdy,” you say, unsure, “You got two rooms available?”

She narrows her eyes at you, and speaks in a growling smoker's voice, “You dealin drugs?”

You jerk back, surprised, “Uh, no, ma’am. My friend and I are on a trip to Big Bend.”

She cranes her neck to see out the window, eyeing your trailer, “No cartel business at my hotel.”

You put your hands up, “No, ma’am I’m not involved in that. Just a ranch hand, takin a break is all.”

Her expression softens as she accepts your answer. She slides two keys over to you and takes your money. 

“Check out is 9 AM. No smoking in the room.”

You eye the burning cigarette in an ashtray behind her and raise your eyebrow at her. Not wanting to push your luck, you nod and sweep the keys off the counter. You tip your hat and back out the door.

Lorraine is asleep in the passenger seat when you round the truck. You open the door and rouse her gently, unlock her bedroom door, and guide her to bed. With her safely tucked in, you leave the keys on her bedside table and head back out to lock the horse trailer. 

When you finally settle into your bed, the exhaustion of the day presses into you. The water stains on the ceiling and the faint smell of cigarette smoke don’t deter you from crashing into a deep sleep.

——

Maxine’s laughter fills your mind, her high-pitched voice wrapping around your throat and suffocating you. RJ begins to laugh and then cries somewhere in the distance. The Days pass through your line of sight, waltzing over the dirt, kicking up dust in their wake. CB snorts and stomps next to you. Everything moves in a choppy, jumpy way. People appear and dissolve in your vision, and then Lorraine snaps into view. Everything else fades away, and suddenly you’re sitting on the hay bales in the barn, she’s in your lap, and she’s kissing your neck. Your heart races, and a jolt of electricity shoots through you. You’re not surprised to find yourself in your underwear and then suddenly naked. 

It occurs to you that you’re dreaming, but the thought is fleeting. Lorraine slides down your body and settles herself between your legs, her hands on your knees. Your chest heaving, your eyes wide, you run your fingers through her thick hair. When her mouth finds your center, you gasp.

You shoot up in your bed, the water stain above your head swimming into view. Your sleep-heavy brain takes a minute to register the hands on your hips and the lips pressing into your leg. The chain on your door is locked; nothing makes sense. You feel a tongue press between your legs, and you gasp again, throwing the blankets back. 

You blink hard, squeezing your eyes shut and opening them, disbelief flooding you. Lorraine fucking Day, snuck into your room, slid under your blankets, stripped you down, and woke you up with her mouth doing unholy things to your body. You push her hair away from her face, sighing at the feeling of her tongue on you. 

Your voice is breathy, low, “Baby, what-“

She sucks your clit between her lips and pushes her hand against your stomach. You drop back into the pillow, deciding to just let the moment be what it is. You’ll gather your senses later. Right now, you’re enjoying what she’s doing to you. Briefly, you wonder how she’s so good at this. You let the thought slip through your mind like sugar in a sieve. 

Her hand slides up your ribs, her thumb caressing your skin as she squeezes your side. Quiet, indulgent moans leave your throat as she runs her tongue through you, building you up. She hums into you, and it sends you into overdrive. Your hips tilt up gently, seeking more contact with her mouth. She continues, consistent and steady, sucking and licking until you’re rocked by your orgasm. Your body shudders under her, your legs squeezing her head. You fall limp around her, and she presses a last kiss to the inside of your knee. 

She crawls up your body, and you can see now she’s bare, naked as the day she came. She sits on your hips, hot against your skin, and leans down to kiss you languidly. Your hands run over her cheeks and back into her hair, anchoring you to her while you come down. She leans back, smiling down at you, and your heart skips a beat.

“Wha-what was that?” You ask, shivering under her.

She tucks her hair behind her ear, her skin illuminated by the strips of silver moonlight creeping in through the blinds, “A reminder.”

You frown, your hands reaching out to hold her hips, “A reminder of what?”

She leans over you, her voice gravelly, “Not to make jokes about running off with Maxine.”

You would laugh if this possessive side of her didn’t turn you on so much. The glint in her eyes makes you feel like you’re made of pure gold, something to be hoarded and guarded aggressively. It’s foreign on her, and it’s delicious. So delicious, you’re practically drooling at the thought of her taste. 

You pull her down into a kiss, running your tongue over her lips, your hands abandoning their post in her hair and making their way to her thighs. You want her in every way possible, all at once. You want to consume her, absorb her into yourself, and carry her around with you everywhere. 

You settle for slipping two fingers inside of her wet heat, your tongue in her mouth, her chest pressing into yours. It’s the closest you can get to becoming one with her, entangled as far as you can go. She sits up, holding her weight in her legs, and grinds into your fingers, one hand on your chest, the other on her own leg. She doesn’t give you room to move, instead taking what she wants from you, rolling her hips and biting her lip. 

You reach up with your free hand and pull her lip from her teeth, running your thumb over it. You don’t think your pupils could expand more than they do when takes your thumb in her mouth, rolls her tongue, and sucks on it, all while riding your other hand. It’s enough to send you into another orgasm. 

She releases your thumb with a pop and watches as you shiver under her. Her mouth slightly open, she begins to pant. Your hand goes straight to her nipple, you roll it between your fingers, and that’s what it takes for her. She moans your name out and drops over you, holding herself up with shaking arms. You lift your head and lick at her throat, your eyes rolling back at the vibration when she groans. She tightens around you, gripping your fingers until she cums around them and collapses. 

When you pull your hand away, your fingers sticky on her ribs, she’s back to herself. She curls around you, leaves soft kisses on your collarbone and under your jaw. She shivers, presses her face into your neck, and sighs. 

“I have half a mind to make you jealous more often if that’s the treatment I’m gonna get,” your voice breaks the silence, a soft chuckle escaping from your chest.

She pinches your side and sits up on her elbow.

“Ouch!” You yelp, trying to squirm away from her.

“That’s not funny,” she says, looking down at you, her hair falling over her shoulder. 

You shrug, grinning, “I mean, it’s a little funny.”

She tilts her head, “You make me jealous on purpose, and I’ll just hold out on you next time.”

You gasp, “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

You know, without a doubt she is serious. Not wanting to push your luck, you pull her down and kiss her softly, your thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. She pulls back to lay her head under your chin, her breathing even and slow across your skin. Suddenly you’re grateful for dingy motels and Lorraine’s knack for breaking and entering.

La Petite Mort - La Fin

Summary: We get closure

Word Count: 3.7K

Warnings: +18 NSFW, smut, language

A/N: Okay so this is the end of the story line for LPM. I will continue to write one shots and headcanons, though don't freak out! Also, there was a drabble I'll link here that happened between Part V and this one.

LPM Part I LPM Part II LPM Part III LPM Part IV LPM Part V Drabble

The drive to Big Bend was like living in a dream. Between the motel stop and the scenic viewpoint stop, you’re beginning to wonder if Lorraine actually wants to get to where you’re going. You know she’s excited about her newfound freedom, and you are too, but a serious conversation needs to be had. 

You glance over at her and watch as she holds her hand out the window, catching the wind and then cutting through it like a surfboard. She looks content, grounded. You figure she should be; she just came in the backseat of your truck less than an hour ago. But you still need to make sure she’s happy. That she’s sure she made the right choice. For now, you choose to live in ignorant bliss, enjoy the drive and start the talk later. 

The gas gauge catches your attention, riding low over the E. 

“We gotta stop for gas, you seen any signs for a pump station?” 

She turns toward you, nodding, “Saw a sign a few miles back. There should be a few stations comin up.”

You smile as she reaches for you, taking your right hand and holding it between hers. She scoots closer to you, tracing her fingers up your forearm, giving you goosebumps. Her head rests against the seat, and you can feel her watching you, can see the small smile on her lips through the corner of your eye. 

“You’re gonna have to stop doin that, if you ever want to get out of this truck,” you say, your voice hoarse.

She smirks, “I’m not doin anything, I just want to be close to you is all.”

You lift your arm, inviting her to slide into the middle seat. When she does, you let your arm rest across her shoulders, pulling her in close to you. You kiss the top of her head, your eyes not leaving the road. She hums, lets her head rest on your chest. 

It’s so easy to find moments like this with her. Small pockets that exist outside of the world, no influence or judgment. Just you two. But it’s also easy for those moments to shatter when reality comes crashing in, loud and screaming. 

The gas station is a small one, a family operation from the looks of it. It has two gas pumps that look like they’ve seen better days and a store tucked under the awning. You pull the truck and the trailer under the sunshade and park it.

“I’ll get us the gas, run inside and grab some snacks, will ya?” 

Lorraine nods and slides out of the truck, stretching her arms over her head when her feet hit the ground. Your eyes follow her shirt when it rides up, and you laugh to yourself, shaking your head. You pump the gas and watch her walk into the store, her shorts even more distracting now than they were in the truck. 

“Oh buddy, you’ve got it bad,” you say to yourself, turning back to the truck. 

When the gas pump clicks, you return the hose and make your way into the station to pay. Lorraine has an armful of snacks, and you gesture with your head to the counter. She drops her loot there as you grab a case of beer and carry it over. The tv on the counter is blaring a church sermon, and the attendant is watching it with obligated interest. 

You slide the goods over and clear your throat, “Filled up on pump two.”

The woman behind the counter narrows her eyes, making it clear you are inconveniencing her by asking her to do her job. She slides the snacks and beer over with one hand, taking her time. She tells you your total, and you hand a bill over to her, trying not to take note of her attitude toward you. 

As you’re packing the snacks into a brown paper bag, two men walk into the store. They’re rugged cowboy types, and it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand straight up. You’d been around their type your whole life, working ranches and rodeos and everything in between. They can be trouble, or they can be extremely cordial. Unfortunately for you, these two are the trouble type.

They make a show of looking you up and down, letting their eyes take their time as they travel over you. Lorraine comes to your side, and both men raise their eyebrows at her. You flex your jaw, trying to find an easy way out of what you already know is going to be an uneasy interaction. 

One of the cowboys whistles around the tobacco in his lip, the other laughs.

“Ladies,” he says, “what’s got you so far out in the country?”

You hand Lorraine the bag of food and hoist the case of beer under your arm.

“Work,” you answer, moving toward the door.

The man on the tv starts yelling about sexual deviance. The cowboy with the dip in his mouth leans in the doorframe, blocking your exit. He takes his hat off his head, smirking at you. 

“What kind of work?” 

You watch him, aware of the other man making his way down one of the aisles to your right. Lorraine inches closer to your side. 

“Ranchin,” you say, keeping it as short as possible.

The man is still blocking the door, so you stop, look up at him. He grins down at you, his teeth yellow with flecks of tobacco stuck in his gums. 

“I don’t know of any lady ranchers round here,” he says, his eyes leaving you and moving on to Lorraine. “George, you know of any lady ranchers?”

The man at the back of the store laughs, “No I can’t say I do, Nate.”

Nate tilts his head, “So if you’re not ranchin, what’re you doin?”

“Did you miss the trailer with the horses in it on your way in?” Lorraine mumbles, and you close your eyes, inhaling deeply.

Nate laughs, “Okay, spitfire! What’s your name? You ladies look like you could use some company.”

You try to casually step in front of her, hiding her with your body as much as you can. “We need to get goin, you gentlemen have a nice day.”

You step toward the door, but he doesn’t move. You stare each other down for what feels like an eternity, sizing each other up. He’s tall, but he’s skinny. You could scrap with him if you needed to, but his friend would make it nearly impossible for you to win. Your revolver is in the truck, too far to be much use now. Plus, these two have guns of their own; there’s no doubt about that. 

The tv on the counter goes quiet, and a woman’s voice breaks the tension.

“Leave them girls alone, Nate, or your momma will tan your hide.” The gas station clerk finally turns herself away from the tv, glaring daggers at Nate. 

He evaluates his choices, and his fear of his mother wins out. He leaves the door frame and pushes past you, grumbling as he goes, “I’s just bein friendly, Marge. No need to threaten anyone.”

As soon as he’s out of the way, you hustle out of the store, making sure Lorraine is on your heels. You jump in the truck, and as soon as she’s in, you’re driving off. 

“God, I fucking hate Texas,” you growl, your eyes flicking to the side view mirrors to see if anyone followed.

Lorraine sighs, resting her head against the window, “So let’s go. Let’s get out of here for good.”

“We can’t leave your parent's ranch, Raine. They need us there.”

“They really don’t, plus we could visit.”

“Do we tell them about us?”

She bites at her lip, thinking it over, “I think they already know, truth be told. But we probably should tell them.”

“I suppose we should figure out what we are before we go tellin them about it, though.” 

The statement is bait, a question for Lorraine to decide on. You think you’re sly, dropping it out there the way you had, but when you turn your head toward her, Lorraine’s expression is amused. 

“Is that you, askin what we are then y/n?”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. You can feel your face heating up, embarrassed that she saw through your veiled question. 

“I know it’s probably not the best time to ask. You just left your boyfriend yesterday.”

“I haven’t been in love with RJ for a long time. It just took being with you for me to accept it.”

You nod, gulp. You don’t take your eyes off the road. 

“I meant what I said to him, you know.” She reaches out, places her hand on your leg.

“What’s that?” You say, your voice cracking.

“I love you.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat, your heart racing. You can feel your hands want to tremble and squeeze the steering wheel tighter.

“Can you give me one hour to get us where we’re goin, set up camp, and say that to me again so I can respond appropriately?”

She giggles, her thumb sweeping over your leg, “Of course.”

Lorraine keeps her hands to herself, for the most part, for the rest of the drive. You think about the conversation to come, the interaction with the cowboys at the gas station, and everything that happened with RJ. It all brews in your mind, mixing and melding into a feeling of uneasiness in your belly. There’s a strong undercurrent of happiness tied in with it, pulling you back to Lorraine every time you freak out. 

The camp is isolated, large enough for your truck, trailer, tents, and horses. The daylight is quickly fading, so after the camp is set up, you let CB and Pearl out to wander the grounds. You drag a stack of hay from the trailer for them, but they both beeline to a patch of green grass at the edge of camp. 

You busy yourself with getting a fire going, listening to Lorraine hum as she finishes getting the tent set up. Just being out here with her is enough for you, but a small voice in your head is already screaming for more. An apartment that has two toothbrushes in it. Closets with clothes that are mostly not yours. A life intertwined even more than it already is. You know it’s a lot to ask for. 

“You’re thinkin' real hard on somethin,” Lorraine says, standing over you.

You turn up and grin at her, “Just how damn good I am at makin' fire.”

She smiles at you, her expression telling you she doesn’t believe that for a minute. She turns away from you and unrolls a blanket next to the now raging fire, and sits delicately. She pats the spot next to her.

“Let’s talk.”

Your stomach flips. You sit in the spot she’d invited you to, feeling a lot like a dog on a leash. 

“Right, okay.”

“So, I know it’s not the best look in the world, breaking up with RJ and running off with you,”

“It’s a look I’m growing pretty fond of,” you joke, smiling at her.

She shakes her head, but you can see the smile she’s fighting, “I just want to make sure we’re clear. Getting out of one relationship to jump into another is-“

“So we’re in a relationship?” You interrupt her.

“Oh, um, are we not?” She twists her fingers, anxiety washing over her. 

You scramble to make the situation more clear, taking one of her hands in yours.

“I was hoping so, but I wasn’t sure what you wanted. If you need time, I can give you time.”

She shakes her head, “I’ve had enough time. I love you, y/n. I think I have for longer than I realized.”

You feel giddy, lightheaded when you finally say, “I love you too, Raine. But I can’t promise an easy life. I can’t promise the suburbs or a family. What kind of life would that be?”

She leans over, taking your face in her hands, “It would be a life with you.” 

The fire crackles as she kisses you, soft and sweet, her thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. Her lips are slow, deliberate. She lies back, pulling you with her, your hands planted on either side of her body. 

Cicadas and crickets chirp in the dark around you, the air cool and still. The oak trees circling your campsite tower over you, rustling in the occasional breeze. Lorraine’s body envelops you, warm, welcoming. You’ve never felt more at home than you do in her arms. You figure you should thank her for it, now and every day in between. 

You sit up, pulling your shirt off, and she follows suit. You unbutton your pants, taking your time, each movement intentional. Having sex with her now feels heavier, in a good way. It carries more meaning than it ever has before. 

You’re both naked under the stars when you lean back over her, your hands touching as much skin as they can. You kiss her lips, then move to her jaw, down her neck. She can feel the gravity of the moment, her hands gentle and her breathing soft. Your hands run up her ribs, and your mouth works your way down to her chest. You lick her nipple, bite it gently and suck it into your mouth when she gasps.

She pulls you back to her lips, her legs hooking around your waist and anchoring you in place. Your tongue slides across her lips, and you rock into her, your body applying pressure between her legs. She moans through her nose, her tongue running over yours, her hands around your jaw. 

You descend to her neck again, silently coaxing her grip around your waist to loosen. She gets the message and drops her legs from your hips, allowing you to kiss down her chest again. You kiss her stomach, avoiding the ticklish spot on her side that will make her laugh. The skin below her belly button is soft and sensitive; you take some time there teasing her. She lifts her hips, her eyes dark as she looks down at you. Her hand winds its way into your hair, and she bites her lip as you kiss her where she wants it most. 

She’s not used to you teasing, and for some reason, of all the times to start, you choose now to begin. You lick softly at her clit, not hard enough to be satisfying, just a ghost of pressure. Enough to make her moan and tighten her grip on your hair. You sink lower and tease at her entrance, tasting her on your tongue. She’s better than anything you’ve ever had, ever will have, and you know it. So you savor it, close your eyes and enjoy yourself.

You turn your head to kiss her thigh, and she whines. You look up at her to find her face full of want, almost to the point of tears.

“Please,” she whispers, making your heart race.

You consider toying with her, but you want it as bad as she does at this point. You run your tongue from the inside of her thigh all the way down to her slick folds. Done with teasing her, you wrap your lips around her clit and suck, earning the most delicious noises of approval from her. You alternate licking and sucking until she’s arching into your mouth, the muscles in the stomach rippling and flexing from the exertion. You lick her with a flat tongue while she cums, making it last even longer until she’s shivering and trying to stop you with her legs around your head. 

She sighs, and you slowly kiss your way up her body, taking extra time on the ascent. You forgot about the ticklish spot, and you accidentally make her laugh, which in turn makes your heart feel like it’s going to beat out of your chest. 

Your fingers are already inside of her when your mouth meets hers, the gasp of pleasure coming from her making your eyes roll back. You fuck her slow, each movement intentional in its goal. Every stroke playing the chords of her body, never out of tune. She doesn’t let you any lower than her throat, wanting to keep pulling you up to kiss you after she moans your name. 

She lasts longer than usual, hanging on to every move you make, her hands all over you. She doesn’t want to be done, you can tell, and it makes you smile.

“You have me for as long as you want me,” you tell her, “I love you.”

Like clockwork, she cums on your fingers, dripping onto the blanket and around your wrist. She holds your head to her chest as she gasps for air, her whole body shaking and rolling. You pull back, wanting to watch her ride her orgasm, see the shape her mouth takes when it’s open like this, the color on her cheeks, the sweat on her brow. When she’s done, she pulls you down, squeezing you around your shoulders. When you try to pull away, she squeezes you tighter, shaking her head.

“You said as long as I want,” her voice is low and quiet, her breathing beginning to shallow.

You chuckle into her chest, kiss her skin, resolve to become part of the earth there if she wishes it. 

——

Today is the day. The day you tell the Days about your intentions with Lorraine. A day with the Days, for your Day. You can do this. 

You look at yourself in the mirror, your apartment bathroom cramped but comfortable with Lorraine’s things making their migration. As if on cue, her hands slide around your waist, her head ducking under your arm.

“Are you freaking out?” She asks you.

“No,” you lie.

She grins, “Lie.”

You nod, “A big one.”

She looks at you in the mirror, a reassuring smile on her face, “You know you’re going to be fine. They love you. Plus, I’m pretty sure they know.”

Your eyes dart around the mirror, looking for anything to distract you, “I know. I know. I can do this.”

“We can do this,” she says, squeezing your waist.

You sweat through your button-up shirt on the drive over. Lorraine is at ease; she doesn’t seem worried in the slightest. You are terrified. Scared Mr. Day will throw you on your ass and tell you to never come back to his ranch again. Horrified at the thought of Mrs. Day looking disappointed, heartbroken because of you. 

They're on the couch in the living room when you get there. Lorraine called ahead to let them know you had something important to talk about so they were prepared. Mrs. Day sets a tall glass of sweet tea in front of you as you sit on the loveseat across from them. You clear your throat, and pull on the collar of your shirt. Lorraine sits close to you, closer than she usually would in front of her parents. If they notice, they don't mention it.

You pick up the glass of sweet tea and lift it, nodding your head at Mrs. Day, “Tha-thank you,” you say and gulp from the cup.

You wince; there's a hefty amount of liquor in the tea. She smiles at you and says, “Thought you might need it.”

You frown at her, confused as to why she would think you'd need liquor at noon. You gulp from the glass again. Mr. Day just watches you, his face impassive. 

“So, I’ve asked to talk to you both today because….” you clear your throat again, wipe your sweaty hands on your pants, “well, because I have something important to tell you.”

Mrs. Day nods encouragingly, Mr. Day smiles under his mustache, his eyes soft.

“See, the thing is, I…well…I uhm,”

Lorraine rubs your back, nodding at you. The intimacy in front of her parents is lost on you; you’re too far into your panic to notice.

“I’m in love with your daughter. And I would like for her to live with me.” You say, your words tumbling out of your lips.

Mrs. Day covers her mouth with her hands, but it's not horror she's hiding. It's a laugh. Mr. Day stands, extends his hand. You stand and take it.

“We know, kid. We’re happy for you both, sincerely. Just take care of her.” His gruff voice is as soft as its ever been, his eyes sparkling.

Your mouth drops open, and you fall back onto the couch when he releases your hand. You close your mouth, open it to speak, close it again. Take another gulp of the tea. Lorraine giggles at your side.

“I…how? How?” You stammer.

Mrs. Day drops her hand, her smile still stretching her cheeks, “Oh, honey. You know, when you were about nine, you told me you loved Rainey. You were very serious about it. And you had the same look today. I’ve always assumed it would end up this way.”

“Just took our ray of sunshine a bit longer to come around. Forced me to put up with that boy for years.” Mr. Day grumbles.

Mrs. Day smacks his shoulder with the back of his hand as Lorraine yelps out, “Hey!”

You laugh, fully agreeing with him. Lorraine pulls your arm over her shoulder, and it takes you a moment to ease the tension that automatically shoots up your spine in front of her parents. You relax, smile at the Days.

“I do need you to do me one favor though, y/n, if you could.” Mr. Day says, leaning back on the couch, his leg crossed over his knee.

“Whats that sir?”

“Stop havin sex in my barn. It spooks the animals, and if I nearly walk in on you one more time, I may have to shoot you in the ass.”

Lorraine cringes and hides her face in your arm, and you gulp back a laugh. Mrs. Day lets hers rip, and you can feel Lorraine giggle into your side.

“Yes sir, I promise.” You say, your fingers crossed behind your back.

La Petite Mort - Bonus Content 1

Summary: A new girl at the ice cream shop makes Lorraine jealous

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: +18 NSFW, smut, language

A/N: This is shameless, plotless smut. Fuck writer's block, for real. Hopefully this get's me kick-started again. Also, who decided to end LPM? What an idiot...

There's a new girl working at the ice cream shop. You’ve noticed, and Lorraine has too. She’s also noticed the way the new girl bats her eyelashes at you and the way that she hands over your ice cream cone with a grip that forces you to brush your fingers when you take it. It’s gotten so bad that Lorraine outright refuses she ever liked ice cream, the way she adamantly debuffs your invitations to go to the shop anymore.

It’s a sweltering day, the kind that makes heat waves roll off the asphalt and bakes into your clothes. You’d been in the barn for the majority of the day, tending to the animals and trying to keep your mind off the heat. It’s so hot, even the pond doesn’t sound like relief. What you really want is an excuse to get out of work, and to see Lorraine. You know she’s only yards away, in the kitchen with her mother.

Ever since she moved in with you, she’d been spending time with her parents while you worked, taking the opportunity to enjoy their company. Mr. Day is working you harder than ever. Lorraine is convinced he’s training you to take over the ranch when he inevitably retires. It’s the sole thing keeping you moored to Texas, knowing her family was there and that you'd have a future together despite what society expected of you.  

You wipe the sweat from your brow, reminiscing on the first day you’d kissed Lorraine. Today was even hotter than that one, and usually, she’d be outside begging you to take her for ice cream. 

You remember the way the strawberry treat dripped down her wrist and the way her tongue worked between her fingers to clean it off, and you decide the unspoken strike against the ice cream shop had to come to an end. You wanted the frozen sweet to cool off, but you wanted to see Lorraine in that state of bliss just as badly. 

You pack up your tools, abandoning the old tractor for another day. You stroll over to the house, the smell of apple pie wafting out of the open windows making your mouth water. When you open the kitchen door, you can’t help yourself but pause and grin at the scene.

Mrs. Day is fussing over the pie crust, laying it in delicate and intricate patterns over the cinnamon apples. Lorraine is sitting on the counter, clearly bored. Her eyes light up when she sees you, and she slides off her perch to kiss your cheek. 

Mrs. Day glances up at you and smiles, “Done sweatin’ buckets for the day?”

You chuckle, “Ma’am if there was any sweat left in me, it’d evaporate out there.”

She snaps you with her hand towel, making you yelp and jump backward, “How many times I have to tell you to quit callin’ me ma’am?”

Lorraine snorts, “Momma, that’ll be a fight you're fightin' for the rest of your life.”

You shrug wordlessly, your brows rising in agreement with Lorraine. Mrs. Day tsk’s at you and shakes her head.

“Do me a favor, y/n, and get this girl out of my house. All she’s doin is takin up counter space.”

Lorraine scoffs, slapping your belly when you laugh.

“I intend to. We’ve got a date,” you tell her, wrapping your arm around Lorraine’s waist.

Mrs. Day wipes her forehead with the back of her wrist and leans into the counter, “Good, she needs it.”

“Momma!” Lorraine exclaims at your side.

“What? You do. All you’ve done since you’ve got here is gripe at me. Go on and have a good time. Smile a little. You’re in love, honey. Enjoy it.”

You smirk down at Lorraine, kiss the top of your head, “What’s she gripin’ about?”

Lorraine pushes you toward the door shaking her head, “None of your business. This is mother-daughter confidentiality. It’s sacred.”

Mrs. Day calls out to you as you're being pushed back out the door, “Why don't you tell that old man out there I’d like to go on a date sometime soon too!”

You tip your hat as you step down the stairs, “I’ll be sure to let him know!”

“Don’t encourage her,” Lorraine mutters as the door swings shut behind her.

You climb in the truck and head off the ranch, bracing yourself for the protests to come once she figures out where you’re headed to. By the time you reach town, you can tell she knows just by the fiery look in her eye and her clenched jaw. You park the truck outside the ice cream shop and rest your hand on her leg.

“Baby, you love ice cream. I love ice cream. It’s hotter’n a firecracker lit at both ends out here, and we’re gonna enjoy this sweet treat, and then I’ll take you home.” 

She sighs and gazes longingly at the shop. You know damn well she wants the ice cream. She knows it too.

She relents and nods, opening the door and jumping out onto the sidewalk. You grin in triumph and follow her inside. 

The new girl is there, chatting up a cowboy in dirty coveralls, and you think maybe you’ll be safe this visit.

No such luck. The second the bell chimes over the door, she has her eyes on you, and Lorraine’s spine stiffens. She slows her pace, wrapping her arm around your waist in a clear show of possession. You roll your eyes, knowing full well you don't have any interest in anyone else, but if it’s what she needs, then she shall have it.

The girl behind the counter bats her eyelashes at you, ignoring Lorraine completely. You rest your chin on the top of her head, trying to give the girl the hint that you’re only interested in the one currently wrapped around you like a koala, but she doesn’t pay it any mind.

“Two strawberry cones, please, ma’am,” you tell her, your jaw pressing into Lorraine’s hair as you speak.

“Oh, honey, I’m not no ma’am,” she replies, turning to grab the cones.

“That's pretty apparent,” Lorraine mutters under her breath.

You snort, pinching her side. She pulls back to glare up at you and then into the back of the ice cream girl’s head.

When she hands you the cones, you hand one down to Lorraine and pay. You turn to head out the door, only to be dragged back by Lorraine.

“What’s up?” You ask her, confused.

“Let’s eat them here, I don't wanna eat in the truck,” she says, almost whining.

You frown; she’s never had a problem eating in the truck before. But she's pulling you over to the little table in the window, and you go along with it. You mourn the loss of watching her ice cream melt between her fingers, but you’re happy she’s actually there with you either way. She giggles at your jokes and runs her foot up your leg under the table, and you don’t think anything of it.

Until a drop of ice cream falls into your lap. Then it becomes apparent what her ploy is. 

You reach across the table for a napkin, but by the time you’ve sat back, Lorraine is between your legs, dabbing at the light pink stain on your jeans. It’s beyond inappropriate, edging into exhibitionism the way her hand is stroking your thigh. You blush, leaning back in your chair.

You’re not stupid, you know what this is. You want to push her back, tell her to wait until you’re home. But you know that’ll put you in hotter water than you were in before, so you let her do it. You glance toward the counter, and your face is redder than a tomato. A teenage boy is goggling the scene, along with ice cream girl. They both have their jaws unhinged, watching Lorraine sit between your knees, cleaning your pants. It’s too much, far too much for a small Texas ice cream shop.

You gulp as she stands, extending her hand down for you to take.

“Take me home now, baby.”

As if you could do anything other than leap out of the chair. You consider apologizing on your way out, but you’re being pulled through the door with such aggression you don’t even get the chance.

Your face is still burning when you get into the truck. Lorraine sits in the middle seat, abandoning her window with clear intent. You’ll be lucky to make it home at the rate she’s going.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” you say through gritted teeth.

She shrugs, her tone innocent, “I know.”

The sun is making its way below the horizon as you start the long drive back to your apartment. Sometimes you question why you chose to live in the next town over, but when Lorraine is under your arm in the truck, it makes the decision seem more sound.

When she slides her hand up your thigh as you’re driving, it seems less sound. 

When she crawls into your lap, it seems even less sound.

“Baby girl, you can't be in my lap, I’m driving.”

“We’re not gonna be home for so long, I just wanted to be close to you. Is that a crime?” She whines in your ear, and you decide safety is not the number one priority in your life right now.

You press your foot into the gas, accelerating the truck to a speed you should absolutely not be going while Lorraine is straddling your legs. You hope, beyond hope, that she stays still until you get home.

No such luck. Her nose presses under your jaw, and her lips leave scorching kisses on your neck. Her hips push forward into your belly, and even the iron grip you have on the steering wheel isn’t enough. The sun has made it’s descent, plunging you into the kind of darkness you can only find in the country between towns. 

“You have to stop, Raine,” you gasp, “or neither of us is gonna make it home.”

You can feel her smile into the skin of your neck, and it tells you everything you need to know. She isn’t going to stop, has no intention of granting you any kind of mercy. So you do the next best thing and pull over onto the dirt shoulder with a racing heart and itching hands.

The moment the truck is in park, you shift back, your fingers pressing firmly into your waist. She’ll probably have dotted bruises above her hip bones, but if she has no patience for mercy, then neither do you.

She leans back, her arms anchored around your neck, her lower back pressing into the steering wheel, “You think that girl knows better now?”

You tilt your head, your lips pursed, “You know you don’t have to do that. I’m not paying her any mind, Rainey.”

She leans forward, her lips only inches from yours, “I don't care. I want her to know.”

For a moment, you stare at her, wondering just when this church mouse of a girl turned feral. Probably somewhere in between the last time she kissed RJ, and the first time her lips met yours after. Once she realized what she’d been missing out on, she knew she’d never look back. And she knew that no one could have what she found in you, ever again. You were hers, and she was yours. That was that.

She accentuated her point with her lips on yours and her fingers in your hair. There was no way in hell she was comfortable, but this wasn’t about comfort. She was proving a point. One that you believed didn’t need to be made, but you weren’t going to protest too much. Especially when she’s unzipping your pants with one hand and running the other up your shirt.

Your shock renders you still, letting her slip her fingers into your underwear. The hand she has under your shirt retreats, she grabs your wrist and guides it to her own pants, finally spurring you into action.

“You know,” you mumble into her lips, “we have a perfectly good bed at home.”

She grins, her teeth brushing your bottom lip, “Mhm, we can use it in about thirty minutes.”

You mentally do the math; you’re only ten minutes from home, where you’re currently parked. The next twenty minutes are up in the air.

Her tongue is in your mouth when her fingers find your center, making you gasp through your nose. You mimic her, your hand like a puppet she controls between her panties and her skin. She groans into your mouth, realizing what you’re doing, and picks up her pace. You can feel how wet she is, and you know that you must be, too, judging by the enthusiasm of her lips on yours.

Her free hand wraps around the side of your neck, her fingers playing with the baby hairs there, giving you goosebumps. Yours snakes up her shirt, slipping under her bra to palm at her breast. Her hips jerk forward, pushing your fingers lower. You shift your wrist, dipping lower until you’re inside of her. She bites at your neck and follows suit, making you gulp for more air with your head pressed back into the seat.

You can’t help yourself but admire her when she leans back, looking down on you with dark eyes. The freckles she used to be so embarrassed about, scattered across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks, are so absolutely perfect in their haphazard pattern. Her dark, honey-brown eyes, so comforting and sweet you could lose yourself in them. Her nails, now scratching at your ribs under your shirt, keeping you grounded. The weight of her body, pressing into yours, her hips rolling in time with your hand, light an eternal flame inside of your belly that you know will rage for years to come.

Speaking of coming, your mind returns to your own body as you realize you're close to it. She’s learned a lot in your time together and has become a savant of sorts in the ways your body works. Almost as much as you are with hers.

Your breathy sigh catches in your throat, taking her by surprise, making her jump. Her back hits the horn on the steering wheel, and you both freeze. Irrationally alert from the unexpected noise. When you realize it’s your own horn that sounded, she rests her forehead on yours, and you both laugh, breathing heavily. 

She looks down at you now, her eyes infinitely softer than before. Her lips curl up at the sides, and her brows gently come together.

“What?” You whisper, still breathing heavily.

She shakes her head and kisses you deeply, moving her fingers again. Her actions say everything she doesn’t.

She’s slower now, more gentle. It doesn’t take much at this point to finish you off, grasping at her back, our head on her collarbone. At the sight of you, she only takes a few more seconds before she's gasping into your hair, her hand around the back of your neck pulling you closer.

You stay like that a while, breathing heavily, fogging the windows of the truck. 

A pair of headlights rounding the corner has you both scrambling. Lorraine slides off your lap into the middle seat, giggling as they pass you by, honking at you. She rests her head on your shoulder, her hand on your leg, smiling ear to ear.

You open your mouth to speak, but she interrupts you, “I know, I know. You’re not interested in ice cream wench. Now take me home and prove it to me again.”