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I had 3 spicy dreams about the LADS men in one week, so I took it as a sign to write again 🥴
Disclaimer: This is my first true attempt at writing adult content, so please, please, please go easy on me 🥀
It was really important to get his voice + intimacy right, and after extensive research, I noticed a lot of similarities in the intimate parts of his Tipsy Tender Moments. But inspiration was drawn from several cards!
⤠ Art credit: feyspeaker [x]
⤠ Pairing: Rafayel x fem reader
⤠ Word Count: 3.9k (mostly proofread)
⤠ CW: 18+ mndi, moderate plot, early relationship, slight nipple play, lots of teasing, use of pet names, praise k!nk, oral sex [fem receiving], p in v sex, um…reader’s cup runneth over (ifyky), fluff/aftercare, music vocab; apologies in advanced to any music nerds if I’m using it wrong!
It’s the 5th Annual Patron’s Fundraising Gala for Mo Art Studio, and as usual, you're Rafayel's plus one. Two hours have already gone by, and the excitement fades alongside the glitz and glamour of the upper echelon. Knowing how much Rafayel hated going to such haughty events, you anticipated his standard routine of engagement: Curt conversations, dodging reporters, overindulging free champagne, and closing at least one deal to make up for leaving early. But tonight, he was uncharacteristically social making his rounds to mingle with guest. He was the charming, affable, and witty version of himself that's usually reserved for you.
You overestimated the kinds of stories and gossip expected to come from Linkon's elite, and felt your facade slipping one boring conversation after another. Once you finally managed to excuse yourself from the group, you let out a large involuntary yawn.
“That’s the fourth time you’ve done that, cutie.”
A familiar voice behind you approaches.
“I told you how boring these events are.” Though his tone was soft, you could still hear the amusement in Rafayel’s voice. He removes his suit jacket and carefully places it over your shoulders. "And I know how much those shoes must hurt. You keep shifting your weight and leaning against me." He saw right through you. You hated how observant he could be.
"Because you're always coming up behind me!" you retort, "It catches me off guard..." He narrows his eyes at you, tilting his head slightly to look pensive.
"A bodyguard caught off guard, huh?" He purses his lips and places a finger on his temple deep in thought.
"Shouldn't a brave, skilled hunter like yourself always be on high alert?"
"Don't start—"
"Want me to start wearing a bell so I don't startle you?" he quips.
"Ha ha. Very funny. Take the bell out of next week's pay." Crossing your arms, you let out a sigh of resignation.
Chuckling, he loops a hand through the space between your folded arms, linking you both as he leads you to the foyer.
“It’s getting late. As much as I want you here, I can’t expect you to seriously stick around for something like this. You should get going.” he nudges.
“Hey, don’t think I haven’t forgotten about our bet!"
"Honestly, I’m the one who forgot about it till just now. I thought we were only doing it to kill time." he admits.
"And miss the chance of being serenaded at my beck and call? Nice try. Either you forfeit or I stay here till the first fight breaks out— my money's still on Tamara." you say doubling down.
“Fiiine, fine. I officially forfeit.”
Given your shared competitive nature, it was odd seeing Rafayel back out so easily.
"You’re seriously going to quit just like that?" you asked in pure perplexity.
"Puh-lease, I already knew the culprit when you pitched the bet. I’ve had to attend these kind of events for years now, cutie. It’s always been Mr. Sorenson. The only reason he isn’t blacklisted from tonight’s gala is because of his “generous” donations to the studio." he explains.
"What makes you so sure he’ll do it again this year?"
Right on cue, commotion erupts from the parlor. Shouting voices grow louder as they approach. A team of security pass by, strenuously escorting a short, belligerent man, presumably Mr. Sorenson, out of the villa.
You don't dare look over at the smug expression on Rafayel's face. "Consider yourself lucky you won, and that I’m more musically inclined." he says with one hand on his hip, chest puffed out.
That's two for two. You exhale sharply and turn your head. "Suppose you won't mind coming up with a new song every time then, since you're so 'musically included!'" you mutter.
He gently tilts your chin to face him and cups your cheeks. He uses his finger to smooth out the lines between your knitted brows.
“I know you’re tired and we always leave together, buuut I still have to make nice with a few more patrons to appease Thomas. And unfortunately, it’s a wager I can’t back out of. Head back now, and I’ll figure out a way to ditch the party and join you soon.”
He grabs ahold of your shoulders and steers you towards the exit doors. Before you could turn around to protest, you see that annoying knowing smile on his face he knew you couldn’t refuse. He’s slightly leaned forward with a hand over his heart.
“I promise.”
You finish adding the final touches of lip gloss and setting spray, admiring your work in the mirror. You start tidying the pile of makeup back into the vanity drawers, when suddenly, you feel a pair of gentle hands glide across your back, making you flinch.
"Don't move. Your hair got stuck in your zipper again." he says lowly.
You should be used to this by now. Rafayel has always been there to help when wardrobe malfunctions arise. It’s not like he hasn't seen you in more compromising positions before. But there was something about this level of intimacy that always made you nervous.
“I should really look into slip on garments, I guess." you reply sheepishly.
"Ooor, you could just ask for my help since we always end up here anyway. Just saying."
Holding the fabric taut, he firmly pulls on the tab but the zipper opens more easily than he expected. Your dress unraveled a little too far down, leaving your mid back exposed and lace bra in plain sight. He freezes for a moment. You catch a glimpse of his flushed expression in the vanity mirror. He clears his throat as he brushes your hair aside in attempt to zip you up.
"Sorry." he murmurs.
He takes his time adjusting your zipper, his gaze fixated on your back. He brushes your hair aside again and feels the lacey material graze his fingertips.
"Is this the same lingerie set you were wearing in that picture you sent me?" he asks. His voice dips into a deep, husky timbre. A perfect cross between primal and playful.
His hand unhurriedly wanders across your back stopping at the bra hook. You felt a heat rushing to your face nearly as warm as the palm of his hands. It’s now his turn to peek at your flustered state in the mirror. Mirth in his eyes, he seizes the moment to tease you further.
He takes a step closer, one hand on your shoulder while the other traces the lace pattern with his fingers.
"I'll admit, I wasn't paying close attention to the design when you sent it. The rich, velvety mix of red and purple makes this Merlot colour on you as unforgettable as the wine itself." He leans closer, placing a soft kiss behind your ear. A chill travels down your spine. He speaks above a whisper. "But seeing it in person...the floral pattern. The mesh..."
He makes eye contact with you through the mirror, his gaze dark and unmoving. He slowly slides one strap down your shoulder to get a better view of the lacework. He drags his finger down the neckline and continues.
"The way it plunges juuust above a birthmark...here, yeah?" His finger slightly trembling as he toys with the centre gore.
"I remember you telling me we have the same birthmark. I think mine is a little higher than where yours might be. But I don’t remember."
The suspense mixed with the heat prodding at your core was enough to make your breath hitch.
"The gala starts in 30 minuets." you try to deflect.
"It's a 10 minuet walk from here." he rebuts.
"You haven't seen the shoes I'm wearing..." a lull.
A phone rings, breaking the silence and tension between you.
That familiar ringtone reemerges into the night. The persistent ringing stirs you from your sleep and you wake up to your phone's alarm.
1:30 AM - [No new messages]
You sit up and look at the empty space in bed next to you. Rafayel should've been back two hours ago. You set the alarm to check on him if he hadn't come back by now. You sigh in frustration, still feeling the warmth from your reminiscence beneath the covers. Slightly embarrassed, you rush over to the dresser to grab a change of clothes and head to the bathroom.
While undressing, you can't help but replay what almost took place before the gala. There's an heir of confidence and mischief that always made foreplay with Rafayel slightly intimidating. It didn't matter who initiated, he'd always outmanoeuvre the opposition and there you were, right underneath him. You could kick yourself for chickening out yet again. What if the nerves or intimidation you feel is actually excitement?
Bending over to change, you notice another silhouette on the wall by the doorway. Startled, you turn to Rafayel—cheeks flushed, eyes carrying the same dark intensity from before. With ragged breath, he stands before you slightly off balance.
You let out a sight of relief. "You scared the shit out of me! Why didn't you text that you were heading back?"
He takes a step towards you. "I thought you'd be asleep by then." his speech is slow and raspy.
"I did fall asleep, but woke up to check on you."
Another step. "I didn't get any messages."
"Well, I was about to, but I got...distracted."
He pulls your wrist towards him, to closing the distance. Wrapped in his embrace, he rests his hands on your back finding your bra once again, softly fidgeting with the fabric.
"By planning to ambush me in lingerie?" His hand roams down the side of your arm to grab the unworn panties clenched in your fist.
"What's this?" His voice dips even lower. Placing his forehead on yours, you feel shaky breaths brush across your face.
"I—"
A scathing heat crashes onto your lips interrupting whatever lie you were about to tell him.
"Need me to make sure your hair won't get caught in this too?” he teases. Another kiss reaches your lips with more fervor, hands cradling your neck as the two of you move further into the bathroom.
Breaking free from your kiss. He nuzzles the side of your face.
"The exhibit is over. Sooo, there's no reason not to continue where we left off, yeah?" he coaxed.
"Where did we leave off?" you play along. And that was all the confirmation he needed to help free you of your inhibitions. He lifts you from your legs and sets you on the sink counter. Your noses touch, then he turns his head breathing harder down the side of your neck.
"I was admiring the lacework and we were about to compare birthmarks."
He starts to unbutton his shirt with one hand and unhooks your bra with the other. A fierce blush spreads from his ears, cheeks and neck. Eyes focused on your bare chest. His hand crawls up from your waist to caress your breast. He lowers himself to kiss the birthmark on the centre of your chest making you heave. He muffles a laugh through his nose.
"Hm. I was right. Mine is higher."
He returns to your lips as he brings both hands to knead your breats, sweeping his thumbs over its peaks. You tilt your head back head back in pleasure and he abandons your lips to leave a trail of very wet kisses down your body. From your neck, to the same spot between your breasts, to below your belly button. He loops his fingers around the waistband of your panties and pulls you closer to his face.
"I'm sorry I kept you waiting so long. How can I make it up to you, cutie?" Before you can respond, he spreads your legs apart and starts another trail of kisses from your knee to along your inner thigh. You’re reduced to a string of soft moans.
"Like this?" he coos.
More kisses travel up your inner thigh. Tongue swirling as he reaches closer and closer to the centre. You yelp in surprise and arch your back into the sink faucet.
"Right. I forgot you can't keep still. Hold on."
He carries you bridal style back into the bedroom and gently lays you on the edge of the bed. He hands you a pillow to rest your head as he kneels before you to place your legs over his shoulders.
"There. Are you comfortable?" he asks while rubbing circles on your knee. You smile softly and nod.
“Good. Now I can continue…”
Wet kisses trail even further up inner thigh, each dote travels from one leg to the other. Tongue swirling with a kiss as he reaches the inner most part where your hips and thighs meet. Sloppy kisses turn to slow deliberate licks on your outer folds. Panties already damp from the flashbacks and teasing before. He pulls the hem of your panties taut, giving your sensitive bud more sensation as it twitches against the fabric in anticipation. Another lick, then kiss is placed closer to your centre on either side of your lips. He pauses with half-lidded eyes to admire the state of you. The long wet stain of your mesh lace panties and your bud peaking through.
“You’re so needy for me” he murmurs, ghosting your entrance.
He bunches at your panties and pulls the fabric even tighter — almost fully exposing your soaked core, and with a flat tongue presses one slow, long lick up the center. You arch your back as you let out a long breathy moan.
“Mmm?” he taunts. “You sound so pretty. Speak up, cutie.”
Finally, sliding the string of fabric to the side, he collects the evidence of your arousal pooled at your entrance. He moans in satisfaction at the taste of you. Eyes closed, savouring the flavour, he laps you up again; encasing his lips on your clit with a gentle suck.
With shaky hands and trembling legs, you manage to lift yourself closer to his face to slide down your ruined panties, granting him full access to your aching core.
“So impatient. All you had to do was ask.” he teases. Long featherlight licks to your clit, change to fast, firm flickering, then back to sloppy wet kisses.
“Be honest cutie…” a kiss. “You were wet for me, before I got back, weren’t you?” Another kiss. “The other set of panties?”
“Mmh— ah! Yes!” you cry shakily.
You can feel the smirk on his lips through his ministrations. “I knew it.” he replied. “I can still taste your yearning from before. It’s not as sweet as you are now though,” he continues, dragging your body closer.
“Let me taste more of you...”
His tongue, skillful and diligent, continues to focus on your sensitive bud, lapping you up and down repeatedly. Drooling over your nectar, he gathers more of the slick from your entrance just to slurp you up over and over. Never forgetting to suck your clit before sliding back down again.
He takes notice of how you clench after each suck. Your grip tightening on his hair and shoulders. Your moans once high pitched and breathy, now erupt deep from your diaphragm. He continues sucking while firm circles roll around your clit. Your eyes begin to mist as the all the tension in your body dissipates and recenters to your stomach.
Writhing underneath him, he steadies your hips to anchor you for your release. Gasping between each word, you try to push him away before the dam breaks.
“Wait— ! Raf! I thin—“
Your hips buck forward, unleashing a stream of your essence into his mouth. A squeal gets caught in your throat as he draws out a low moan. Like a fish unfazed by rough waters, he continues swimming upstream. You squeeze your thighs around his head and dig your nails into the back of his shoulders - your back arching and rounding in the euphoria of your climax.
He continues to eat you through your orgasm with languid swirls, cleaning up the evidence between your legs. He plants a final loving kiss on your overstimulated bud before forging a new trail of kisses up your body.
“So beautiful,” he says slowly, looking up at you in admiration. He grabs your hands and interlaces your fingers.
“Watching my dear, sweet hunter succumb to her needs by letting me help her. Drinking from her fountain…” he plants a kiss on your mons.
“I was a great help, yeah?” a kiss on your abdomen. “Don’t you think…” another on your birthmark “I deserve some praise?” One kiss to your breast “for being such…” one to the other “a good boy?” ending with the same searing wet kiss that got you into this mess.
“I haven’t finished making it up to you yet. Buuuut, some encouragement might help pay my debts quicker. Why don’t we help each other?” He stands up, grabbing your legs to wrap around him.
“Alright then. Where do we start, ‘good boy?’” you reply.
“Tell me how I make you feel.” There’s a new sense of sincerity in his voice. He pulls your hand and glides it down his chest. Taken back the sudden switch in power, you hesitate before committing yourself.
“…You make me feel so good, Raf.” He softly groans in response, eyes closed with knitted brows. You continue to caress his chest while guiding his free hand to feel your remaining damp heat. You gasp at the familiar sensation “No one makes me this wet. You always know just how I like it.” you whisper.
His breath hitches. He glides his hand downward, gathering the wetness to draw circles onto your clit. Your hips jerk forward leaning into his touch. “Ah! See?” you relish.
“Yeah, and what else?” he asks, carefully prodding his middle finger to your entrance. You lean your head back, humming in satisfaction.
“I need you. Need to feel you. All of you.”you whine. He grabs your face and pulls you into a long passionate kiss. The annoying trickster did it again. Had to you pliant under his touch and begging for him, despite the new advantage. You break from his kiss and hurriedly loosen his belt to unzip his pants. He presses his forehead on your shoulder, groaning as you steadily roll the latex down his length.
Adjusting the pillow, he lays you on your side, wrapping an arm around your waist as he comes from behind and rubs his length against your wet folds. Aligning himself, he enters slowly. You share an audible sigh at the stretch. “You fit me so perfectly.” he says, kissing your temple. He keeps his pace slow, hips rolling forward in search of your rhythm. Though it doesn’t take long to find that sweet spot, as he hits it with every pump. He slightly quickens his movements, his breath growing louder in attempt to hide his moans. The way he fills you so nicely paired with the pretty sounds he makes was enough to make your toes curl.
You needed to hear more of him. His thrusts grow deeper and you squeeze around him, welcoming the sensation. His face scrunches as he lets out his first audible whimper. You lean your head back to kiss him. He rolls another deep thrust into you and moans into your mouth, the sounds making you wetter.
“More. I need more, Raf. Please.” you beg.
He rolls you onto your back and pumps into you faster, no longer holding back his moans. You grip the sheets beneath you to brace yourself for your next orgasm. You feel warm hands grabbing yours to place them to his waist.
“Hold on to me instead, cutie.”
He lifts your legs, grabbing onto the back of your thighs and positions himself further into you. The tip now grazing your cervix, your vision starts to blur. He’s talented in every sense of the word. The stroke of his hips on par with the stroke of his paintbrush. So steady, so fluid, so delicious. Every motion hitting all the right buttons. Your whines and whimpers, quickly turn into slutty moans.
“Such a beautiful symphony.” He leans down to kiss your collarbone. “Keep going.”
And he's right. Like a conductor, the sounds you make are impacted by the tempo and vigor of his ministrations. Together you arrange a beautiful sound. Feeling yourself fall, you tilt your head back and hips forward, like you’re levitating. A deep guttural sound leaves your body.
“There she is.” he coos.“My cutie coming apart for me.” He slows down to a single deep thrust, scooping one hand to support your neck. Your body quivers beneath him, your legs involuntarily sprawled out.
“Just what my princess deserves. To feel like this every time. So pretty. So soft…” his pace quickening, not too far from his own release.
Hearing your steady climax, his rhythm —once fast and legato—stutters into staccato, each movement coaxing soft whines and whimpers as his movements dampen.
For a moment, the two of you are still. You feel him twitching inside you before he lazily collapses into your embrace. A moment passes, then he rolls over onto his back -hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat. You turn to your side staring at him lovingly. You reach forward to fix his bangs, but he catches your hand and gives it a kiss. He places your hand back on his head and pulls you into his embrace.
“You really see me.” you say hoarsely while coming through his hair.
He quirks his brow and chuckles softly. “Of course I do, cutie.”
“I mean it. Since we’ve been together, but especially tonight. From my clothing mishaps, to my discomfort, my restlessness…my needs.” you reply shyly, drawing patterns on his chest.
“Am I that obvious?” you ask. A gentle kiss presses your check.
“You’re obvious to me, because you always capture my attention. You saw how dull that party was. It was hard not to notice anything or anyone else.”
“Oh.” You were expecting some sort of joke before the sincerity. You’re left speechless for a second.
“Thank you for seeing me. And you’re right, that gala was pretty boring.”
“Hmm? I didn’t quite catch that?”Now that’s three for three. Bastard.
“You were right and I underestimated you. Happy now?” you deadpan.
“Very.” he chimed.
He tightens his arms around you and nuzzles into your neck. His bangs and the breaths from his nostrils tickle your skin and you burst into giggles. “Stop nuzzling me!” you yell, squirming to break free. He loosens his grip, not quite letting you go and holds you for a moment. Eyelashes brush against your cheek for a moment longer before he sits up and puts his arm around your shoulder. You hold hands leaning back against the headboard.
“Since you forfeited, how ‘bout that song?”
“As you wish. What kind of song do you want to hear?” he asks.
“How about a love song to commemorate the night?” you request.
He clears his throat, then theatrically hums an instrumental introduction, before earnestly singing lyrics in his native tongue.
“Wait, how do I know that’s not a real Lemurian song?” you question.
“You don’t.” he says plainly. You playfully nudge your shoulder into him. “Rafayel….” you warn.
“Okaaay, okay.” he concedes.
He continues in the same tune, now in English. The lyrics are somewhat clever, but mostly silly. The blended sounds of his singing and your laughter connected like music notes, composing another beautiful symphony.
ꨄ︎ A/N: Thanks for reading! I still don't love how this is written, but I had to just accept that first attempts are always flawed. I tend to get good feedback on Rafayel posts, so I truly hope I was able to do him justice. I kept thinking of Venus as a Boy by Bjork when writing this, and I think that song suits him well despite him being more Poseidon than male Venus but whatever. THIS WAS SO HARD TO WRITE. And it took an embarrassingly long time to finish so any interaction/comments/feedback is greatly appreciated!
⤠ dividers: strangergraphics, kaitsawamura, and diviniyae
Shane and Ilya’s relationship is just about the most complicated situation you could possibly dream up within the constraints of the Game Changers universe. First, they’re The Rivals, the league and the media are adamant that they are mortal enemies from before they even reached the NHL, every single person in their lives believes they hate each other on a personal level or would rather run them over with a zamboni than give them a smile. Next, their public images are polar opposites and they actively work to sustain them because it’s beneficial to both of their brands. Shane is the Princess Diana of professional hockey, and Ilya is the caricature of a modern day villain in hockey pads. Nobody thinks they have anything in common, not even the fact that they’re together at the top because everyone thinks they despise each other, and most of the people they care about hate the other on their behalf. On top of that, they’re in a league that hates gay people more than women (probably), and at the very least, the team Shane was drafted to would sooner be caught at the scene of a hate crime rather than Pride. Also, Ilya is Russian at a time when being a queer Russian likely means fleeing your country to live (and love) safely and in peace. They arguably could’ve had more misunderstandings and repression, and it still would’ve made sense. Even with the Irina Foundation, they had their work cut out for them when it comes to changing the narrative.
We say it sometimes, but I don’t think we say it enough: Hollanov making it is an absolute miracle beyond anything I’ve really seen from another queer relationship in fiction. I definitely have a love-hate relationship with this line of thinking because it’s painful to think about what they had to overcome to get where they end up, but it also means a lot that they did make it out, that they’re free and in love and together.
My original point for posting this was to say that I have no doubt there would be more relationships between players in the league after Hollanov are outed, if there weren’t already preexisting ones (not unlikely since there are hundreds of players!), but anyone trying to follow up The first husbands of hockey would be hard-pressed to find a more difficult and insane narrative that they need to change. Shane and Ilya already hit the wildest options possible. Not only were they the first players in a relationship to be out, but it happened in one of the worst ways possible. Nobody, nobody is doing it like them ever again. At risk of sounding like Ilya (and, arguably, Shane): they did it the best.
Just saw that one post you reblogged from 3 days ago, Jane Racism I don't really think we should be joking about a guy who drew a suspicious amount of neo Nazi art, made suggestive and downright deplorable depictions of minors, and was very VERY gross about child actors...
Is Gooseworx actually going to apologize for this as well, is she actually going to solve the fire? Or is she going to keep ignoring the problem until her career burns? (<- If that ever happens, I'm afraid she's too big to fail at this point plus she has an army of parasocial fans to defend her...)
I want goose to actually make a good apology (none of that fake, guilt trippy bullshit) and acknowledge the problem instead of reblogging Fanart and silly UwU wholesome memes
(Context)
Yeah she like. REALLY needs to address what SHE (and her friends/the cast) did wrong instead of only focusing on the fans' wrongs and/or ignoring things entirely.
But, at the same time, I'm not sure if I have much hope that she will. It's been over 2 weeks at this point, and it took her 3 days to even acknowledge that some of her fans were being racist at all.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Seeing everyone talk about how this was the only universe stone and robotnik fell in love, has made me want to throw my own hat in the ring.
So hear me out here: yes, stone and robotnik were only destined to meet in this one universe. Only given this one chance. But what if, from that one universe, their love was so strong that it rippled out into others?
What if theyre compelled to meet in other universes. What if theyre pushed together; drawn to the other not because the universe wills it, but because theyve entangled eachothers fates together so much that not even the universe can seperate them now.
They were never destined to be, but theyve chosen to be, and by god they arnt going to let the universe hold them back from that now.
Because while the universe never wanted them to have a happy ending, to get that second chance, they did. And maybe that was enough.
(Tldr: they meet in every universe not because theyre meant to, but because theyre love for one another was so strong that the universe simply couldnt hold them back this time.)
