#avery is drunk | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nadvs · 5 months ago

Text

　　💔　⊹　❀　︵　∘　 old wounds ⟢

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

summary you thought you left your ex-boyfriend in the past for good. but one night, when you need a ride home, you drunkenly text him to help you.

content warnings toxic relationship, smut

continuation of this alt ending, inspired by this ask!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Rafe is sitting in the sand after an evening at the beach with his friends, laughing under the night sky and knocking back a beer. He finally feels almost back to normal after the shitstorm that was your relationship.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he has no idea who it’d be. It’s nearing midnight and all of his friends are here.

His body goes cold when he sees that it’s a text from you. heyyyyy can hou give me a ride home??

He inhales sharply, staring at the screen. It’s been two long months since you last spoke, bitterly parting ways.

He doesn’t like to think about it, but the way he left you to walk home that night still fucks with his head. He was pissed off and heartbroken, head foggy from all the shit you said to him.

But as your boyfriend, he spent every day wanting to protect you, and even after he lost that title, he realized he still felt a responsibility to keep you safe.

His anger blinded him that night, though, and he regrets making you get home alone. He checked your social media over and over until he saw proof that you were alive.

Eventually, you blocked him on all your accounts. But apparently, you don’t have his number blocked.

It’s a twisted joke that you’re asking him, obviously drunkenly, for a ride now, considering you could have used one from him that day.

Rafe’s thumbs hover over the screen. He was sure he hated you. But the thought of you drunk and alone wherever the hell you are, so desperate that you’re asking for help from the man who called you a bitch the last time he saw you just because he knew how much the word hurts your feelings, makes his chest ache. And he feels like a pussy for it.

You text again: ill give you avery nice thank you lol

Your words ignite a fire in his core. He’s glad he’s barely buzzed from the beer, clearheaded enough to drive. He replies: Where are you?

Minutes later, he gets an address.

You’re standing outside the house, arms crossed as the wind whips around you. You’d be cold if you weren’t so drunk. Your friends are plastered, half of them passed out around different parts of the house, after celebrating a birthday.

You’re the only single one in your group of friends and hearing them gush about how happy they are with their amazing boyfriends got to you. It’s why you decided to text Rafe of all people to give you a lift home.

You miss him. Every time he crosses your mind, you hate that your heart twists with loss. You’re grieving and you feel like you shouldn’t because the only thing that died was a dysfunctional, painful, awful relationship with someone who didn’t love you enough to improve himself for you.

But enough time has passed that you can hook up with him without it messing with you. And if it hasn’t, you’ll deal with the consequences tomorrow. You’re sad and lonely and horny and he’s the only one who can make you feel the way you want to.

The car he pulls up in is new. It’s not the one you sat in together when you broke up.

Rafe had a penchant for losing himself in booze and drugs and impulsive purchases whenever things didn’t go his way, and you wonder if this car was an indirect result of losing you.

He pulls up beside you. You open the passenger door, your orientation off from all the booze you drank tonight.

“New car,” you say, climbing in and settling onto the cushioned seat.

You try to gain your bearings, finding the seatbelt, while Rafe takes the few seconds he gets to see you clearly before the interior light fades off.

He hates how beautiful you are, how goddamn short your dress is, how there are people who get to see you every day, people you love despite their flaws, meanwhile he was someone too broken for you to stay for.

“No shit,” he mutters. Beneath the rush of seeing you again, he feels nothing but pure agony right now.

“Someone’s grumpy,” you say with a giggle. You finally look up at him, meeting heavy-lidded blue eyes. It’s sobering to see the man who left such a painful crater in your heart.

The car light dims into darkness. You can still see the outline of his hard jaw. And you can still smell him. His cologne makes you feel sadly nostalgic, yearning for the early days of your relationship.

He looks ahead and accelerates.

“You still doing this shit with your stupid little friends?” he says. He picked you up from this house a few times before. He knows your best friend lives here.

“You still mad I have friends?” you say amusedly.

Rafe hated how you used to party. He never knew what you were doing and who you were talking to and if you were safe when you were with your friends.

But he didn’t hate that you always ended up drunk calling him, slurring that you love him. That you spent the next day so hungover that you said you’re never partying like that again.

Your eyes travel over the big dashboard and the darkened flat screen above the console, the time in small, white text. 12:16 AM.

You touch the screen, activating a myriad of apps and options to fade in.

“Fancy,” you say.

Rafe’s jaw tightens, watching your shadowed fingers over the screen. Within minutes, you’re here, in his life again, touching his things, acting like this isn’t hard for you at all.

“What are you listening to these days?” you ask, pressing the music app.

“Stop,” he says sternly, shoving his hand over the screen, powering it off.

You lean back and nuzzle against the headrest, staring at his profile as he drives. In your haze, you wonder how such a beautiful man can let his soul get so ugly.

He stops at a red light.

“What, am I gonna find something embarrassing?” you ask with a soft chuckle.

Rafe hates that you have him figured out. Because yes, he would be mortified if you saw what he’s been listening to. It’s none of the stuff he puts on when his friends are around.

It’s sad, corny shit that at least makes him feel sort of understood. Shit he listens to because of you.

“You should be embarrassed,” he replies. “Getting wasted. Wearing that. It’s so fucking trashy.”

Your gut reaction is to defend yourself, to say you’re not trashy and that he’s just an asshole. But it’d just be falling into old habits, fighting with someone who loves to get a rise out of you.

So, you don’t give in. You’re better than that.

“You used to love this dress,” you say evenly. “Now it’s trashy?”

You grip the hemline between your fingers and he takes in the sight of your thighs pressed against his seat. He always had an obsession for your thighs, loving to squeeze and kiss you there.

The light turns green. You gaze at him, his teeth dug into his bottom lip. He’s just as sexually frustrated as you are. You can tell.

“You can go,” you say. “If you’re done staring at my legs.”

Rafe wants to know if you were bluffing about thanking him. Maybe you even forgot about your flirty text.

But he’s not making a move. He’s not risking rejection from you again. If you want him to fuck you, he’s not the one initiating it.

So, he looks ahead again, pushing his foot down on the gas. There are barely any other cars on the street. He’s counted three pairs of headlights since he picked you up.

“Why are you mad?” you say with another laugh.

“You’re so drunk,” he says.

“I’m not that drunk,” you reply with a shrug. “Seriously, why are you so pissed off?”

His grip tightens on the steering wheel. His ring gleams in the passing streetlights. His profile is strong and concentrated, as if he’s never driven through this area before.

You realize you’re actually making him nervous.

“Is it because you miss me?” you ask, goading him. “I know you still think about me.”

“No, I don’t,” he snaps.

You thought you wouldn’t care, but his words hit you. He’s still so mean. This was a bad idea.

You shift your legs towards the window, looking out your side of the car. Rafe notices. You used to do that whenever you were mad at him.

“I hurt your feelings?” he scoffs mockingly, regaining some of his pride.

“Oh, yeah,” you reply sarcastically, your tone careless. “Like I expected you to be nice.”

“It’s pretty damn nice of me to drive you home,” he snaps.

“You just want to get laid,” you reply. By the way he doesn’t immediately snip back at you, you know the power is back in your hands. “You wouldn’t have come if I didn’t send that second text.”

You turn to look at him. You’re slipping into playing the game of wanting to make him feel like the loser. You thought were above this now. Fuck.

He sucks his teeth, shaking his head in irritation. It’s fucked up that you texted him that just to trick him into doing you a favor.

Rafe shoots you a hard look, but because he can’t help himself, he gazes down your body again, imagining using it the way he wants to.

You could see his lustful gaze a mile away. You lean closer, the coil of desire in you only tightening.

You impulsively rest your hand on his leg, your palm on the smooth nylon of his swim shorts and your fingers touching his bare knee. You can feel the soft hairs on his skin, sure he was enjoying a night at the beach with the guys like he always used to do.

You grip him a little tighter. He grits his teeth so hard it hurts. He realizes maybe you’re not playing a game. Maybe you really do want to do hook up.

“Admit it,” you taunt. “You think about me.”

“Not much to think about,” he scoffs, still trying to have the upper hand, to hurt you any way he can.

“Fine,” you say with a breathy laugh, pulling away.

Strong fingers grip your wrist, roughly guiding your hand back to his lap.

“Okay,” Rafe mumbles. “Yeah. I do.”

“I knew it,” you say with a soft chuckle, stroking your thumb over his thigh. “What do you think about? Other than how good the sex was?”

He huffs another frustrated breath as you drag your hand higher.

“Just tell me,” you whisper.

He can’t. He won’t. He’s not going to open up that wound, not to the girl who gave it to him, not when he knows it’s not safe to do with her.

Impatiently, he grips your hand again to put it on his cock. He lets out a nearly silent exhale of relief once you make contact.

The feeling of how hard he is floods your body with the warmth of anticipation, a need so hard that you feel it in your bones. You bite your lip as you massage him, already desperate to feel him with no barriers.

Rafe comes to a stop sign. He meets your gaze in the dark car, his muscles tense. He doesn’t drive ahead.

“Use your mouth,” he orders, his voice heavy.

You part your lips to say something, to keep playing up the flirty and careless attitude all the booze you drank gave you, but you’re speechless.

You’ve done this before when you were dating, sucked him off while he drove, making him feel better since he usually found something to be pissed off about whenever you partied.

He’s so damn satisfied with how eagerly you pull down the band of his shorts. He shifts, his cock springing out once his shorts are low enough.

Seeing him so hard for you gives you a sense of conceit. You love that you can still do this to him even after months of silence that were brought on by vicious fights.

Every part of him is so irresistible. You haven’t tasted him in so long.

You kneel across the console and the second your hand wraps around the base of his cock, he groans. You flick your tongue against the tip and you feel him roughly pull up your dress, ripping a few stitches, his big hand landing on your ass and squeezing hard.

You dribble spit over his pre-cum and swirl your tongue over him. You feel the car move forward as you sink lower, taking more of him in his mouth, his cock twitching in your mouth.

“Like that,” he groans. His grip on your ass is rough and painful. “Take it all.”

You reach the base of his cock, feeling him deep in your mouth, trying not to gag. The way he groans again makes you want to keep deep-throating him and you hate that you care about his pleasure. About him loving it so much that he’ll realize how much he’s missing out on with you.

You won’t let him finish like this. He owes you pleasure, too. After everything he put you through, you deserve it.

This is unreal. Rafe can hardly focus on navigating down the street with your hot mouth tight around him. He jerks off to the memories of you giving him head while he drove. He never thought it’d happen again.

His fingers dig into your asscheek, stinging you with pain. You wince, inhaling sharply as you raise your head off of him.

“You’re hurting me,” you complain.

“Tough,” he mutters.

“No,” you say. “No. Fuck this.”

You start to sit up, but he stops you, his hand shifting up to rest on the back of your neck.

“Wait, wait,” he says desperately, his voice nearly whispered into a whine. “I’ll stop.”

Rafe pushes your head down, silently begging that you’ll continue. He moans in gratitude when your lips lock around him again. He grips the roots of your hair, his other hand on the steering wheel.

You bob up and down as he drives, your cheeks hollowing. All you can hear is the quiet purr of the engine and the sounds of your wet mouth on his cock.

It’s like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, like he needs to touch you everywhere because this is a goddamn dream he might wake up from.

He lifts his hand off of your head and feels your chest, kneading your breast over your dress.

He can’t drive you home. Not yet. He’s not done with you. He’s not losing this opportunity to see your tits, to feel your pussy squeezing around his cock. He’d hate himself even more than he already does for wasting this chance.

Rafe turns into the first empty parking lot he sees, heading towards the back, facing a fence. He slows the car to a stop once he reaches the back of the lot, all the while trying not to come.

His hips start to buck up and you know he’s close, but before you get a chance to sit up, he pulls you back by your hair.

He gazes down at you, your lips glistening in the dark.

“Get in the back,” he murmurs. “Take everything off.”

He puts the car in park as you scramble to the backseat, pulling your dress off over your head and slipping off your bra and panties.

Rafe watches, his mouth going dry when he sees you naked. He pulls his t-shirt and shorts off and has to duck low to maneuver his way to the back.

The second he’s close enough, his mouth is on yours, kissing you hard as he pushes you to lie on your back. His tongue moves slowly as he takes your head in his hands and it makes you ache for him even more.

This is the type of lover he was, so rough and passionate and making you feel like he’d lose his mind if he didn’t fuck you. The sex was always good, no matter how much you fought.

You wish he wasn’t kissing you. This gesture is too sweet, and you don’t need the reminder than he has it in him to be sweet sometimes.

His cock is pressed against your stomach, wet from your spit. He pulls back, his thumbs on your cheeks as he stares down at you, barely steady on his knees.

It’s a look he’s never given you before. You’re sure you’re giving him the same one. Disgusted in yourselves that you both want this, but so in awe of each other at the same time.

Both of you are panting. You shouldn’t be here. But it’s the only place you want to exist right now.

Rafe’s eyes flit to your chest. You can see him swallow hard. He lowers to squeeze your tits, burying his head into your cleavage, kissing you wherever his lips land.

His fingers dig into your breasts, his mouth is hot on your skin, and when his grip tightens and his teeth start to graze against you, you know he’s getting close to hurting you like he did in the front seat. But your impulse is to try to withstand the pain, to just let him hurt you.

Because at least he wants you, and the way he’s breathing and touching you right now is the definition of a man unstable with desire, and you wish you didn’t care if he wanted you, but you do and he does.

His mouth closes around your nipple and you tip your head back, shuddering at how good he is with his tongue.

Rafe is in a haze. He was sitting on the beach minutes ago, thinking what a good thing it was that he spent most of the evening without you popping up in his mind, but now he’s naked with you in his backseat.

Your smell, your taste, your sounds, they’re all even better than he remembers and he hates that he can’t hate you, not all the way.

You look up at the ceiling of his car through half-closed eyes, desperate for an answer from him. You’re drunk enough to give into the gnawing curiosity of his thoughts of you. You’ve been thinking about it every day for two straight months.

“You didn’t answer me. What do you think about?” you urge again through a strained breath. “Tell me or I won’t let you fuck me.”

“Goddamn it,” Rafe mutters. He straightens his arms, hovering over you. You take in his features. His face is creased in anger, his chest bare and broad and heaving. “Why?”

“Tell me.”

“You’re ruining this,” he says.

“Tell me.”

He lowers a hand between your legs, making you shudder when he drags up your slit. You arch your back as he spreads your lips apart with his fingers, dragging over your wetness.

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” he says, tone low.

He brings his hand up to your mouth, tapping his fingertips against your lips so you’ll open wider.

“Taste how wet you are for me,” he says. You oblige, eyes locked on his as he dips two fingers into your mouth, watching you with so much desire that it looks like it’s hurting him. “You’ll let me fuck you either way. I know you will.”

You gaze at him longingly as he pulls his fingers out of your mouth just to put his hand between your legs again, rubbing your slick folds.

It’s intoxicating how unapologetically depraved he can be, how hard he fights to be the boss of you, but you persist.

“Tell me or I’m leaving,” you say. “I have no problem walking home. You left me to do it before, remember?”

His jaw tightens with frustration. He loathes that you gave him the reminder. He lowers over you, his cock pushing against your thigh as he plunges a finger into you.

Rafe’s body rushes with heat at how you clench around his finger. The feeling of that tightness around his cock will be unbelievable like it was every time he fucked you. He needs this. He hates that you’re winning, but he needs to be inside you.

He leans over, his nose nudging against yours, sliding in and out of you, curling his finger every time.

“I think about how batshit crazy you always were,” he says.

You gasp when he adds a second finger, going knuckle-deep, your body rolling with pleasure.

“I think about how I much I fucking hate…” He groans, hip jutting against your leg, his cock aching. “I hate that you can do this to me, alright? I hate that I was having fun tonight and I still dropped everything to drive you home.”

You bite your lip, frowning with downturned brows as the mix of lust and sadness fill your body. You cup his lower back with both hands, urging him to finally sink into you.

“Fuck me,” you whisper. He pulls his fingers out of you.

“Beg,” Rafe says. He’s so pissed that you pulled those words out of him, so he’ll take whatever power he can have.

“Please,” you say. “Please, Rafe. I need it.”

You feel his fingers wrap around your neck, squeezing at the sides as he pulls back to look at you.

“You need me,” he mutters. “Say you need me.”

“I need you.”

He buries into you with one rough, swift moment, making you quiver with the impact.

“Fuck,” you whisper. You only have the space to wrap one leg around his hips, squeezing tight as he thrusts with fast strokes.

His breath is hot on your cheek. His chest is warm against yours. The pressure of him stretching you, hitting deep inside you, is incredible.

“You think about this all the time, don’t you?” he murmurs into your ear.

You moan in agreement, draping an arm over his firm shoulders, but it’s not enough for him.

“Don’t you?” he repeats.

“Yes,” you say.

“You touch yourself thinking about me?” he whispers.

You sigh, your hand running over the back of his neck, tugging hard at his roots just to punish him in some way, any way you can.

“Yes,” you admit.

You feel him smirk against your cheek, the car gently shaking.

“Bet you can’t even come without thinking about me,” he mutters. He only says it because that’s how he is with you.

It’s such a burden. No matter what he watches, no matter who he hooks up with, he imagines you every time he’s on the cusp of his orgasm, wishing it was you he was coming in.

You can’t admit it, so you turn your head to kiss him just to shut him up. The kiss is so slow and gentle, the complete opposite of how hard he’s driving into you.

Maybe it’s because of all the alcohol you drank, but you’re fighting the urge to cry as your lips join. You two were a catastrophe together. You can never be happy and fulfilled with the man on top of you, kissing you, yet it feels good, self-destructive but good, to spend this moment pretending like you can.

Rafe is going nowhere in life. He’s known that for a long time. But when he’s with you, even when you’re screaming at each other, at least he’s somewhere that matters.

But you took that away. You took away the only thing that meant something in his life. And he pulls back. He won’t kiss you anymore. You broke his heart.

And he fucks you harder and faster, listening to your gasps and your moans, wishing he could just finally get enough of you to not want you anymore.

The friction of his skin against your clit and the power of his thrusts makes you go numb before the orgasm hits you, pushing you into full-body trembles, moaning so loud that you almost can’t believe it’s your own voice coming out of you.

Nobody else gets you to make sounds like that.

You crumble, weakening as he continues to push into you. He nuzzles his head into your neck when he feels his peak coming, smelling you and squeezing his eyes shut as his hips stutter against yours.

You feel him fill you with a rush of heat, holding his breath as he comes. He heaves against you, his thrusts sloppy as he gives you everything he can offer.

All of Rafe’s weight is on you now. He can feel that your breaths are strained but he’s so fucking weak. He has no actual power around you. Not really.

He knows this is doomed. You won’t be together after this. This was just a fuck. And he hates that he’ll drive this car tomorrow knowing what happened in his backseat, allowing you to taint yet another thing in his life with a memory he wishes he didn’t have.

He feels your soft hands tap his shoulders, urging him to get off of you. His thighs ache as he shifts to sit in the driver’s seat.

He doesn’t bother putting his shirt on. He slides on his shorts and then starts the car. He waits for a moment, looking back but refusing to turn enough to look at you.

“Just go,” you say quietly, exhausted.

You get dressed in the back as he drives. Neither of you say anything else.

When he pulls up in front of your house, you grab your purse from the passenger seat and get out of his car, your legs wobbly as you walk up to your door.

Rafe watches you disappear into your home. He needs to watch you disappear from his life, too. Because while you hate each other, tonight, you fucked like people who don’t.

And now he has a fresh wound. Something else to think about. To regret. Nothing good ever came from knowing you. The high you give him is never worth the crash.

You don’t cry while you get ready for bed. Not when you look in the mirror while you brush your teeth. Not when you clean the night off of you in the shower.

But once you’re under your covers, alone in the dark, a hot tear runs out of the corner of your eye and onto your pillow.

You were so sure sex with Rafe would just be sex. And you feel ridiculous for the misguided self-confidence. He still has you in a vice.

You wish you were drunk enough to forget what you just did. But you’re not. You’ll remember and regret every part of it.

(continuation)

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n #rafe cameron fanfiction #boblurb

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