lvve-talks

[lvve-talks]

TWO WRONGS...

pairings: ex!rafe cameron x reader && situationship!art donaldson x reader && pining!jj maybank x reader

summary: after a messy break up with rafe, your only option was to leave the band. east coast had barely managed to continue on without you, thanks to john b stepping up to continue vocals. you joined the other band from outer banks, challengers. both bands now battle for the number one spot, while half of them battle for your attention.

notes: 3rd update today, can u tell i had the day off work lol 🤭 anyway, ur gonna love and/or hate this one, enjoy <3

TWO WRONGS — 11. 12. 13.

next chapter

꒰ taglist ꒱ @bbyg4rl @girliism @lvve-talks @pittsick @shahabaqsa0310 @butchernat @khartalks @coolgrl111 @nozhdyved @justiceforfoxface @imperishablereverie @yardofbrunettes @plaidcowboy @hvneybuckin @sleepyjackets @pinkpantheressluver @notgirlsummerr @nymphetartie @vampshxde @dumbbandpoetic @cokewithcameron @delicatepointeofview @honeymarvel @v4mp1rr3 @railingsofsorrow @h3nt41sarchive @yolgart @xoxo-martina @tinas111 @celestial-cestlavie @emmaaas-posts @cherryzweig @kittydiarys @cestdommage @peachyparkerr @folklorelover888 @thecontrash ( to be added )

[lvve-talks]

[lvve-talks]

MISC BOT DROP ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

09/07/25

featuring characters from: challengers, panic, outer banks and arcane

ayyy thank u all for 2k on c.ai & 1 mill interactions that's crazy <33 insane number i adore u all. later than intended bc of holiday but get ur freak on :)) i Will be doing so with stepmommy tashi.

content warning for stepcest throughout this entire drop!! some of these felt very repetitive but oh well lol. also sorry jj bot is named test for now bc everything else shadowbans it??? idk why whatever

all bots are gender neutral unless specified otherwise.

enjoy!

CHALLENGERS

POWER OUTAGE

art donaldson x user

It's not normal. Most guys don't think about their stepsiblings like this. They don't dream about what your mouth would taste like. They don't time their mornings to 'accidentally' see you slipping out of the bathroom in a towel. Art knows it's sick. He knows it's wrong. But when the pair of you are left alone during a power outage... sparks have to fly somewhere, right?

MOVIE NIGHT

patrick zweig x user

Movie night is supposed to be harmless. Just popcorn, bad action flicks, and your stepbrother being his usual annoying self. Except it’s not harmless—not after last weekend, when things went too far and he made sure you’d never forget the sound of your name on his tongue. Now he’s lounging across from you and making eyes at you the entire movie. It's impossible to pretend things are normal. And Patrick, the little shithead that he is, isn't interested in pretending at all.

STEPMOMMY

tashi duncan x user

Your stepmom is young, rich, and way too interested in you. While your dad's away, Tashi starts pushing boundaries—offering wine, teasing, getting a little too close. It’s not just a game to her anymore. She’s bored, beautiful, and thinking about keeping you for herself.

ROADTRIP

patrick zweig x user

Patrick's always been on his best behaviour with you. Not exactly a model stepdad, but he mows the lawn and wags his finger at you sternly when you sneak in boys. When your mom encourages the pair of you to go on a trip together while she's out of town ('get to know each other better! We're family now!'), you're both forced to confront the attraction simmering between you both.

MISCELLANEOUS

TANNING

dodge mason x user (m4f)

Summer in Carp is slow, sticky, and unforgiving—and so is Dodge's patience. When his ditzy, bikini-clad stepsister asks him to lend a hand in putting on sunscreen, he tries to play it cool. Like your glossy lips and careless smile don't undo him on sight. He's one wrong move away from snapping.

CRACKS

vi x user (wlw)

Vi’s got a temper... and a hell of a soft spot for you. When someone in the Undercity talks shit, she’s not one to back down. She comes back battered and bruised, and just like always, her stepsister is there to patch her up.

FIGURE EIGHT

jj maybank x user

Apparently, Luke Maybank is capable of performing miracles. To everyone on the island's surprise, he manages to snag himself a wife. A real posh one, too, and one that comes with you attached. JJ isn't sure whether to be miserable about his dad's newfound sobriety or woefully attracted to you.

taglist: @tacobacoyeet @blastzachilles @gracelynnx @femme-lusts @voidsuites @cha11engers @magicalmiserybore @m4lodr4ma @newrochellechallenger2019 @coolgrl111 @peachyparkerr @stanart4clearskin @misswrldd @kaalxpsia @downtwngrl @pittsick @strfallz @artspats @dazedandconfusedlvr @turnerrst @elsieblogs @imperishablereverie @lvve-talks @won-every-lottery @ellaynaonsaturn @xoxoeviee @cryinginanuncoolway @artaussi @shahabaqsa0310 @whokankathycancan @ashdaidiot @jesuistrestriste @florkt @matchpointfaist @hangels @lacelottie @iheartrosalia @sweetheartfaist @sleepyrps @bluestrd @freakyflora @chaosundcoffee — (join here)

[lvve-talks]

Art Donaldson at heart is a male manipulator - he'd never admit it, but deep down he knows it's true.

He knows his jealousy is bad "not every man is a threat." You'd chide whenever you'd get back from whatever party you'd both ended up at. "He was looking at you weird." He'd whine, actually pouting as he slumped onto his bed. He knew exactly what to do to get you back on his side.

Flowers? Sure, take out from your favourite place? He's already gotten it ready and is waiting for when you come back, mad that he'd spent more time with Tashi than you in the last week.

Tears come easily for him, like breathing. All it takes is one look at his sad eyes, lip pouting just enough, and you're letting him melt into your lap — whatever he did completely being disregarded.

It works best whenever he's between your thighs, fingers pumping gently while he murmurs apologies against the skin of your thigh. Eyes wet and adoring as you fall apart again and again and again until you can barely remember why you were so mad, why you'd told him you were breaking up.

You hardly remember it all when he pulls you into his chest, lips pressing to your head as you try and come back down from your peak.

His lips pulled into the smallest of smiles as he sniffled through another apology.

[lvve-talks]

if u get a ★ in ur inbox it means ur moot appreciates u, and ur efforts in the community. send this to 10 mutuals to continue the love !!

mika my pookie wookie bear thank u i LOVE u (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)

[lvve-talks]

── .✦ artie doesn't know

its a three way call and he knows nothing . . . tw: cheating, smut ahead; mdni !

you love art. you swear it up and down. but he's just so sweet and innocent and inexperienced. and the way patrick's massive dick is able to rearrange your guts is like nothing you've ever experienced.

you know how fucked up it is, giving your boyfriend every excuse in the book to hide how often you're fucking his best friend, but it somehow manages to work every time. so you just haven't thought to stop.

patrick's thrusting into you with that same punishing pace he always takes, your legs hooked over his shoulders so you can feel him bump your cervix every time he manages to bottom out in you. each thrust is met with a high pitched moan bullied out of your lips by his thick length. you're in heaven.

and then your phone rings. that jingling light ring tone that you assigned just for him. art.

you try to ignore it, gripping onto pat's neck even tighter, but it's clearly caught his attention. his pace slows as he leans over to look at the contact of whoever is interrupting him so deep inside you. you don't miss the way his face lights up with that smirk he gets when he thinks up a brand new way to have you flustered and begging for him.

"it's for you," he muses, grabbing your phone from the night stand and holding it out to you. you can see your favorite picture of him bright on the screen, celebrating his first national championship win at stanford. artie👼🏼 reads big and bold across the top.

all you can do is shake your head as his hips still lazily thrust forward to fill you up, hoping it will just ring out.

"pick. it. up," patrick demands, punctuating each word with his hips meeting yours.

reaching out a trembling hand, you take your phone from him, hesitating for one more second before accepting the call and lifting it to your ear. "hello?" you answer, voice shaky with no reprieve from the fullness of pat inside you.

"speaker," the dark haired man hovering over you mouths to you, raising his eyebrows expectantly. he wants to hear every moment of poor little clueless art unknowingly getting to listen to his girlfriend get fucked into his mattress.

"hey, baby!" art's sweet, cheery voice sounds through the room as you put him on speaker and toss the phone down next to your head.

patrick's pace slows, each thrust deep and thorough. it wouldn't be as fun if art could hear the tell-tale sound of skin slapping against skin in the background.

"hi, artie," you answer after a moment of trying to gather yourself, your voice more strained than you hoped it would be. you have to immediately bite down on your hand after you get the words out to keep another whiny moan from escaping your lips.

"are you busy right now? i just got out of class i was thinking of grabbing food," he offers casually. you can hear the bustle of the main drag of campus on the other side of the line.

patrick has that frustratingly smug smirk painted on his lips above you, looking almost excited to hear what kind of excuse you'll come up with this time.

"y-yeah, i'm busy, sorry," you get out quickly, but he doesn't miss the way your voice wavers, your breath heavy in the air.

"you okay?" your boyfriend asks through the phone, clearly trying to think up why you would sound so winded.

"i'm.. at the gym," you explain, cringing at your own excuse and the way that patrick hides a laugh in the crook of your neck.

"oh, i'll come join you!" sweet artie, always wanting to spend time with you, "i need to keep up the conditioning in the off season anyway."

"no!" you shut him down a bit too quickly and bite your lip harshly as patrick feeds you a particularly rough thrust.

"oh.. um, okay, sorry?" art's voice sounds a bit insecure, confused where the suddenness was coming from:

"i mean i'm almost done here anyway so," you attempt to backtrack quickly, knowing you surely sound suspicious. "just.. i'll see you later?" you offer to try and appease him.

"yeah, sure, baby," he confirms, sounding just as chipper as before. "movie night tonight?"

"mhm--nng!" you hum in confirmation, which quickly turns into a whine as patrick's thumb circles your clit just to see the way your body reacts. asshole.

you reach a hand up to shove at his face petulantly, your face turning a bright red as you pray art didn't catch on to that little sound.

"okay, pretty, i'll see you later. don't hurt yourself, mkay?" you thank the heavens above that he's finally wrapping up, clearly thinking that little outburst had to do with a different kind of physical exertion.

"i'll be careful," you answer, your voice high and strained this time as your back arches up into patrick's touch against your will. "bye!" you quickly fumble to hang up the phone, not even giving him a chance to finish saying goodbye back.

"oh i'm sure you'll be sore later after such a hard workout, huh?" pat mocks you, nosing at your jaw as he lifts your hips snapping into you again to hear you cry out unguarded.

"shut up," you whine, turning into a squeal as he suddenly pulls out of you and flips you onto your stomach, hiking up your hips to shove back into you in one fluid movement.

"you have no idea what that does to me," he murmurs in your ear, voice low and rough. "artie all clueless that his perfect little girlfriend is my personal slut," he lets out a cruel little chuckle that fans over your skin.

the moan that escapes you when he says it is answer enough. he has no idea what it does to you either.

[lvve-talks]

── KILDARE’S CAMPUS KILL .ᐟ

PART I “THE GUEST LIST.”

summary: a masked killer is stalking students at Kildare University. the parties keep happening. the bodies keep showing up. Rafe Cameron? he throws the one that changes everything. people are dead. someone’s lying. and you? you might be kissing the killer.

pairing: rafe cameron x college!reader.

cw: murder, blood, trauma, stalking, manipulation, grief, unreliable narrator, implied sex, emotionally toxic dynamics, knife imagery, fear of death, survivor’s guilt, gaslighting, power imbalance.

join our newsletter for more information right now! @imperishablereverie @userhotd @lvve-talks @prismozo @bluestrd @shahabaqsa0310 @222col @yardofbrunettes @lexiiscorect @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @peachy-skully @nonbeliever1 @tinythebunni @cherryzweig

October.

They had warned everyone.

Flyers, emails, emergency alerts from the Dean’s office. A body had turned up just two nights ago, throat slit, left to bleed out in the second-floor communal bathroom of Oak Hall. No witnesses, no suspects. Only the blood, the open window, and the message scrawled across the mirror in red lipstick: "Let the party begin." And now, it was Natalie Harrow’s turn.

But the thing about Kildare University—especially if you ran in the kind of circles where tequila outpaced therapy and reputation mattered more than GPA—was that danger didn’t deter people like Rafe Cameron. If anything, it turned him on.

Everyone knew his name. Trust fund royalty. A legacy student with a rap sheet longer than the student code of conduct and a smile that could melt logic. He was the kind of boy you didn’t trust with your secrets—but kissed anyway. You knew this because you had. Last semester. Multiple times. In his car, at the lake house, behind the bleachers after a tailgate.

But it never became anything. He pulled away before it got serious, and you told yourself you didn’t care. Except when you saw him—really saw him—something behind your ribs still tugged.

So when the invitation hit your Instagram inbox, with a subject line that read “Let’s Die Hot 💋🔥” and Rafe’s signature at the bottom, you didn’t even pretend to hesitate.

Your phone lit up as you pulled on your fishnets and retied the straps of your low-cut black dress. Something that wasn’t the typical aesthetic vibe you were going for but loved to wear at parties. You sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed in your shared dorm, the scent of hairspray and spiced rum thick in the air. Your roommate had already curled her hair twice and changed her outfit three times before leaving.

You tossed your phone on the comforter and met your own gaze in the mirror. Lip gloss perfect. Fake blood at the corner of your mouth, a nod to the theme. If Ghostface was going to come for someone tonight, you figured you might as well die looking expensive.

Your group was infamous on campus—maybe not in a good way, but never forgotten. Someone on TikTok had once called you “The Brat Pack from Hell,” and Jess had made it a group chat name instantly.

Jess, the queen bee with an attitude problem and six different drug dealers on speed dial. She knew every rumor two days before it became true and had a gift for wearing micro skirts like they were armor.

Sasha, pre-law with a sharp tongue and a Chanel purse she claimed was “duped,” but probably wasn’t. She ran a podcast on power and crime that had become suspiciously relevant this semester.

Mira, your wildcard—gothic, unreadable, quiet until she wasn’t. She dressed like a vampire and danced like she’d bite someone, and you’d all kind of loved her for that.

You? You were the one people underestimated. Smart enough to ghost toxic boys, soft-spoken until it mattered. You didn’t start drama, but you always finished it. Well, that’s what Sasha said.

The Kappa Delta Phi frat house was a monument to testosterone, wealth, and poor decision-making. Greek columns out front, an actual taxidermy bear in the living room, and the kind of yard where bonfires and blackouts happened in the same breath. The Halloween decorations were over-the-top in a way that made your stomach twist—caution tape wrapped around the staircases, mannequin limbs dangling from the ceiling, red bulbs casting eerie glows across the crowd. A fog machine wheezed from the porch, belching out mist that made every figure look like a shadow with teeth.

Inside, the bass thumped so hard you could feel it in your spine. Someone had stacked beer cans into a pyramid taller than you. Girls danced in devil horns, boys in bloody football jerseys. A few guests wore Ghostface masks, because of course they did. The house was packed—shoulder-to-shoulder, sweaty, hot, dangerous.

And then, at the top of the stairs, you saw him.

Rafe stood like he owned the night, one arm draped lazily around the bannister, a red solo cup in one hand and a cigarette tucked behind his ear. His dark dress shirt clung to him like it had been painted on, sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms, a silver ring catching the red light as he lifted his drink to you. His eyes lingered—slow, deliberate—and his lips curled into a smirk you’d once kissed while drunk off your ass and laughing in the middle of a storm.

You hated how he looked at you.

And how much you missed it.

He said something to one of his frat brothers, who turned to look at you, then whispered something back. Rafe’s gaze never left yours. You took a breath, squared your shoulders, and pushed through the crowd.

“Welcome to the safest unsafe party in the state,” he said as you reached the landing, leaning in close enough for his cologne—sandalwood, smoke, and some expensive sin—to fog your brain.

“You’re out of your mind,” you replied, brushing past him even as your heartbeat thumped harder.

“And yet, here you are.”

By midnight, the party had hit its peak. DJ D!e Young was spinning remixes of horror movie themes over trap beats. Someone had started a drinking game involving a fake Ouija board. A girl dressed like Carrie was covered in actual fake blood, and guys kept mistaking it for a kink.

Rafe was moving through the house like a storm, grinning at everyone, throwing shots into the air, hyping the crowd like he hadn’t just read about Natalie Harrow’s murder on Twitter less than 24 hours ago.

You were two drinks in when it happened.

A scream.

Not a playful shriek or someone reacting to a jump scare video on the flatscreen. No—this was real. High-pitched, gut-deep, and quickly drowned out by gasps. The music died mid-beat. Sasha’s voice rang out, sharp with panic. “Is this a prank? Someone better say right now if this is a prank—”

And then someone fell down the stairs.

It was Colton, Rafe’s roommate. He was still wearing his costume—a Ghostface robe that had been funny two hours ago. But it wasn’t funny now. His body bounced once, then again, blood soaking through the cheap polyester. A real knife was buried deep in his abdomen.

The crowd screamed as if on cue, a wave of panic rising. Someone dropped a cup. Another girl vomited. Someone else tried the door—only to find it locked. The main exit. The side ones. All deadbolted.

Someone had planned this.

You felt Jess’s nails dig into your wrist. Sasha was crying. Mira was gone. You looked around—frantic—and realized the staircase was covered in blood. And at the top, just where Rafe had stood earlier, there he was.

Ghostface.

The real one; not a costume, not a joke.

His robes were soaked. His knife glinted. And behind the mask, the blank stare of something not quite human.

The crowd surged. Panic bloomed. People screamed and shoved. You almost lost your balance. And then—Sasha. You hadn’t even seen her go up the stairs. But now she was back, stumbling down them. Her throat was torn open. A red slash carved deep. She fell forward, collapsed. Gone.

You screamed.

Rafe found you in the chaos but you were too disoriented to tell how many times had passed. His hand closed around your wrist with a strength you remembered.

“Upstairs,” he barked. “Now.”

“He’s upstairs—”

“Trust me!”

He dragged you through a side hallway you hadn’t even known existed. Past the second-floor guest bathroom, down a narrow corridor until you slipped into a small room—some kind of old guest bedroom with blackout curtains and a boarded window. He shut the door, locked it.

The sounds outside were a blur. Screaming, sirens, pounding feet. You pressed your back to the wall, chest heaving. Rafe looked at you like he’d just been pulled underwater. Pale, blood on his shirt and you supposed he had tried to help Colton. His hands shook. He ran them through his hair, breathing fast.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Colton’s dead. Sasha’s…”

You nodded. You couldn’t say it. He stared at you for a second, then softer, voice low, almost bitter: “Why’d you come tonight?”

You blinked at him. “What?”

“Everyone’s scared shitless. Campus curfew. Two murders. Dean’s canceling parties. But you—you came. Even after everything.”

Even after he’d ghosted you. Even after you’d told yourself he was a mistake. You looked at him. “Because I knew you’d be here,” you said finally. Something flickered behind his eyes.

The door rattled. What the fuck was happening?

[lvve-talks]

but i wanna hold ya

like it's june in the west end

back when you were my best friend

before love came to kill us

we're not supposed to

but i can't learn my lesson

i miss when you were my best friend (yes, i do)

before love came to kill us

taglist: @pittsick, @sincerelystarry, @artstennisracket, @museboos, @girliism, @cowboyfaists, @yardofbrunettes, @love-ella333, @ferventdisciple, @y08h, @lacelottie, @forgetmenotnympho, @aurorlia, @faiztheap, @sweetestfaiszts, @sweetheartfaist, @jesuistrestriste, @artdonaldsonbabygirl, @hayleygrrr, @elsieblogs, @hangels . click here to join !

[lvve-talks]

[lvve-talks]

[lvve-talks]

TWO WRONGS...

pairings: ex!rafe cameron x reader && situationship!art donaldson x reader && pining!jj maybank x reader

summary: after a messy break up with rafe, your only option was to leave the band. east coast had barely managed to continue on without you, thanks to john b stepping up to continue vocals. you joined the other band from outer banks, challengers. both bands now battle for the number one spot, while half of them battle for your attention.

notes: sorry it's been awhile babies <33!! just working at my own pace, enjoy the next part! feedback is always welcomed in my inbox <3

TWO WRONGS — 05. 06. 07.

next chapter

꒰ taglist ꒱ @bbyg4rl @girliism @lvve-talks @pittsick @shahabaqsa0310 @butchernat @khartalks @coolgrl111 @nozhdyved @justiceforfoxface @imperishablereverie @yardofbrunettes @plaidcowboy @hvneybuckin @sleepyjackets @pinkpantheressluver @notgirlsummerr @nymphetartie @defaist @vampshxde @dumbbandpoetic @cokewithcameron @delicatepointeofview @honeymarvel @v4mp1rr3 @railingsofsorrow @h3nt41sarchive  ( to be added )

[lvve-talks]

TASHI DUNCAN BOT RELEASE !!! (7/1/25) ⌢ 🎾 .ᐟ

TASHI DUNCAN ・゜゜・．bid day. wlw. getting this far into the recruitment process for xi omicron upsilon’s no easy feat; even though you might as well be a regular pledge considering your legacy status holds little weight with the sisters. however, it looks like you’ve bitten off more than you can chew when a midnight meeting turns into some stereotypical college hazing trope where the sorority president’s interest in you is more personal than you’d first thought. sure, xi girls have a strict set of rules to follow— but where’s the fun if they can’t put the hell in hell week? (sorority sister!au)

TASHI DUNCAN ・゜゜・．manEATER. while tashi may be your closest friend at stanford, you should have been more careful about who you let into your circle. this isn't her flirting openly with your boyfriend across the cafeteria table, making bedroom eyes at art and denying it when you catch her, it's worse. god, you wish you never, ever met her at all. (bones and all/eater!au)(based off of “maneater” by nelly furtado!)(tw: blood + cannibalism)

TASHI DUNCAN ・゜゜・．she gets the job done. wlw. tashi’s never been selfish, nor has she been one to hold her tongue when others dance around the truth. it’s what’s earned her the title of lead ranch hand on your father’s ranch and the #1 spot in your heart for the biggest ego. she can’t just stand by and watch you languish in a relationship where your boyfriend can’t give you what you need even if you tell her otherwise. she’s a giver, baby— it's just in her nature. (cowgirl!au)(based off “the giver” by chappell roan!)

TASHI DUNCAN ・゜゜・．under the sea. the human world above the surface has always called to you and tashi, even with growing up hearing your father’s stern warnings about mankind. you’ll evade your guards as many times as necessary if it means scavenging another shipwreck or catching a glimpse of a human along the coast— though the latter possibility better include her lest you run into trouble. the life of mermaid royalty may not be for the faint of heart, but tashi alone makes the risk of being caught worth the reward of human treasure. (mermaid!au)

got a request? go ahead and leave em here :) THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 18.5K! my girl deserves the world, but i think that goes without saying. challengers doesn’t happen without tashi duncan so let’s keep that in mind before we try and brush off her role or whatever. argue with the wall… tashi duncan hive rise tf up!!!!! anyways join my community if u want to… or don’t. we are very close to hitting a big milestone so stay tuned… keep your eyes peeled! love you all!

[lvve-talks]

── KILDARE'S CAMPUS KILL .ᐟ

(COMING SOON)

KILDARE UNIVERSITY. @campuskills everything you need to know on the Kildare's campus kill! 107K followers | 549 following 📍Kildare University | horror mystery AU 📓 pairing: rafe cameron x college!reader (afab)

follow us for updates on mondays at 11pm (CEST) | 5pm (EDT).

📌 pinned post a masked killer is stalking students at Kildare University. the parties keep happening. the bodies keep showing up. Rafe Cameron? he throws the one that changes everything. people are dead. someone’s lying. and reader? she might be kissing the killer.

🕯️ genre: college horror, slow-burn tension, scream-core. 💌 format: multi-part fic + social media integration. 🎬 content warnings: murder, blood, trauma, stalking, manipulation, grief, unreliable narrator, implied sex / description of sex scenes, emotionally toxic dynamics, weapon imagery, fear of death, survivor’s guilt, gaslighting, power imbalance.

or subscribe to our newsletter with: @imperishablereverie, @userhotd, @lvve-talks, @prismozo, @bluestrd, @shahabaqsa0310, @222col, @yardofbrunettes, @lexiiscorect, @rafesgreasycurtainbangs

#ghostfaceisback #kildarekillings #rafeedit #screamau #thekillswethrowpartiesfor #israfecameronthekiller? #kildareuniversity #follow4follow #readthenews

[lvve-talks]

Mars, Jupiter, Venus, Saturn, 25.01.25, by Manusia dan Langit (composite picture of the alignment also called “planet parade”)

[lvve-talks]

god please

[lvve-talks]

he’s my baby and i love him and i want to tuck him in my pocket and dangle him from my bag or put him on my phone case like a sonny angel

[lvve-talks]

— AM I MAKING YOU FEEL SICK?

fawn!reader x rafe cameron

summary: the camerons were new to town, but your father had sworn you away from rafe. only when your compulsions grow to hard to ignore during your father's service one sunday, do you finally meet the real rafe cameron

cw .ᐟ cannibalism, blood, gore, mentions of murder, religious themes, mentions of vomit

02. — AM I MAKING YOU FEEL SICK?

he scared you more than anything ever had. more than your own compulsions, more than your own terrible acts. you'd been scared your whole life, of being caught, being discovered as you lived. but nothing could have prepared you for the fear you felt of him.

from the day you fed on him, unaware of the terror you were putting yourself in. a quiet girl forced to teach him the ways of eating, a lonely girl put into a position of want. but despite his desperate kisses, you were still unsure of his true desires.

rafe wanted an escape, a reason to be the way he was. you were giving him that. you were giving him an excuse to kill. if he could become like you, an eater, he could live with his want. he could learn to feel no guilt, though it was rare he ever did.

your true compulsions weren't to be learnt, impossible to be taught. to you, they were a birthright. a behaviour you could not unlearn or go without. you were unable to go hungry, couldn't live without feeding. it was more than an addiction, more than life itself. your life was ran by god, and your compulsions. like food and water.

it became an almost partnership. rafe did the dirty work, and you ate. in some ways, it worked. you fed without guilt of murder, like a child being given it's meal without work. he provided for you in that way, and asked your teaching in return.

you tried, to teach him. but how do you teach something that comes so natural? how do you teach a bird without wings to fly?

rafe was more committed than you. he ate, and ate, until he made himself sick. sometimes he couldn't even watch you, sometimes instinct kicked in and he'd puke at just the sight of you feeding. those days were hardest on you.

he let you continue your rituals, lay your wildflowers, bathe in the lake. started driving you out of town of a night, when the need became too strong. found victims worth killing, by his standards.

rafe never cried when he killed. but he sobbed every time he ate.

like a child, he sobbed. into your blood stained clothes, inhaling the scent of you and the blood of whom you just ate. clutching at the fabric around your body like he'd die if you let go of him.

you grew to like rafe. in those moments. when he was vulnerable. you laid in bed at night, after praying for forgiveness, dreaming of a life with him. thinking how it would look, without your compulsions, without his perversions.

within a few months, rafe's kill count had jumped from three to seven. the amount you were eating was increasing, only forcing your hunger to grow stronger between meals.

he could tell somehow, when you were. always knew to pick you up that night and drive you out of town. he was learning not only your compulsions, but you. how to be you, how to know you, how to love you.

the metallic smell lingers on your clothes, the white dress stained from the chest down. the droplets sticking to his mouth, cigarette between his teeth as he continues the drive back to town. the radio on low, the tension louder than anything else.

"am i making you feel sick?"

his heartbeat races at your question. he wants to lie. wants to make you feel better. he doesn't want you to tell him that you have to stop. he can't tell you the truth, you'll leave.

"no." he whispers, hand draping out the window as he flicks the ash from the cigarette. the lie creeps in the air, bites at you more than the cold wind. the scar on his shoulder peaks out below his tank, the constant reminder of who you are. how this started. what you could do. "you're not."

© 222col. do not steal or repost my work without permission.

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