raewritesfiction
raewritesfiction
Rae Writes Fiction
15K posts
Wattpad || Horror Fiction Ask box always open and anon on. Mental Health Matters. BLM. LGBTQ+ Friendly. || Ask Me Things ||
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raewritesfiction · 3 hours ago
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Via
Anyone else just love the little heart patch in his beard??
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raewritesfiction · 4 hours ago
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[GIF Pack] Joey Batey
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Following this link you’ll find 40 gifs (245x150) of Joey Batey in Joey's Great Witcher Bake Off from 2020. Joey Batey is a British actor and was 31 at the time of filming.
Please reblog and/or like if you plan on using these. Do not claim as your own. Do not include in gif hunts. Thank you. For more Joey Batey gif packs click here
Trigger-warnings: alcohol
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raewritesfiction · 4 hours ago
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Pedro Pascal as Joel Miller - The Last Of Us 2.06 (Part 22)
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raewritesfiction · 4 hours ago
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occasionally I am struck dumb by the sublime beauty of the world in the small moments, you know?
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raewritesfiction · 5 hours ago
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Via
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raewritesfiction · 2 days ago
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My contribution to this meme
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raewritesfiction · 2 days ago
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raewritesfiction · 2 days ago
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Reblog to give prev the power to write their fanfiction
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raewritesfiction · 2 days ago
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raewritesfiction · 2 days ago
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Night Shift Romance: Private Lesson
Back to The Dean Winchester After Dark Collection
Home
Content Warning: explicit sexual content, NSFW, fluff/smut, sexual tension, alternative universe, canon divergence, power dynamics / dom/sub undertones, lap dance, pole dance (briefly)
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Bobby (mentioned), Reader
Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader
Summary: Your boyfriend, Dean, thinks your monthly workshop is some kind of book club. You've let him think that. It's more fun that way. But when the handsome hunter's curiosity finally boils over and he spies on your class, you decide it's time to teach him a lesson. You make him your 'volunteer' for a demonstration that leaves him breathless and begging for more. He came looking for answers, but he's about to get a private lesson instead.
Taglist: @jc-winchester @ladysparkles78 @kazsrm67 @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes @deans-baby-momma @hobby27 @kickingitwithkirk @lyarr24 @krazykelly @chriszgirl92 @barewithme02 @kjah97 @roseblue373 @bumbleb10 @spnheadbang @nancymcl @suckitands33 @emmily33 @denimoveralls (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list. Thank you.)
**Requests open. Send me your prompts/ideas!**
"Four whole days, Winchester. Can you believe it?" You stretch, arching your back like a contented cat as you sink into the bunker's worn-out armchair. "Four days of no bedpans, no trauma, and no cranky patients."
Dean looks up from cleaning his gun, a grin creeping on his face. "Four days of just you? Don't have to tell me twice. I've got a few ideas that don't involve claws or fangs." He winks.
You chuckle, walking over to him and draping your arms around his neck. "I’m sure you do," you tease, leaning over to steal a kiss. "But," you add, pulling back slightly, "It’s that time of the month."
Dean's face scrunched just a bit. "Ah. Right. That…time."
You let out another chuckle, shaking your head at the horror on his face. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.” You kiss the tip of his nose. “No, not that time, Trouble. My workshop, once or twice a month. Remember?”
His expression clears, replaced by relief. “Oh. Okay, got it. Workshop time.” He fixes you with a curious look. “Hm. So, this mystery workshop. You gonna finally spill, or do I have to follow you?"
You move closer, tracing a finger down his chest. “You could try to follow me, but are you sure you can handle what you’d find, Hunter Boy?”
His eyes on you held a challenge of their own. You met his look, refusing to back down. “Is that a dare?” he asks, losing its playful edge.
“Calm down, Trouble.” Your voice softened, placing a hand on his arm. “I promise it’s nothing dangerous. It’s just a safe space for people to get together, to empower each other. That’s it.” You gave him another kiss. “All right. I need to get ready."
Dean's curiosity is getting the best of him. He tried to get clues, but you weren’t letting up. You weren’t giving him anything. You pack your bag with... well, he wasn't sure what. He'd seen you pack something that looked a hell of a lot like handcuffs and some leather. But in your line of business as Hunters, it wasn’t farfetched.
You gently take the bag from his line of sight, giving him a butterfly kiss. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t get into too much trouble, Trouble.” A sweet smile is the last thing he sees before you disappear down the hallway.
——
(Dean and Sam)
Sam leaned against Dean's doorframe, book in hand. He had been pacing for the better part of an hour, and the repetitive thud of his boots was starting to get on Sam's nerves. "Dude, you're going to wear a hole in the floor," he said finally. "What's going on?"
He stopped pacing and looked at Sam, his expression serious. "Nurse Nightingale. She's being all cloak-and-dagger about something, and I don't like it. That's all."
“Well, I could use her help with this lore. Where’d she go?” Sam asked. “I thought she was off today.”
"She's at that 'workshop' thing."
Sam’s eyes moved from his book, a realization he quickly hid. “Oh. Right.” He glances at his watch. “You know, that reminds me, I need to go cross-reference something. I’ll be at Bobby’s.” He quickly leaves the room, cutting off the conversation entirely.
Dean’s eyes narrowed. The quick exit, the fake excuse… Sam knew. He totally knew. "What the hell, Sam?" he muttered under his breath, before yelling down the hall, "Sammy!"
Finally, unable to take it anymore, Dean grabbed his keys. Fine. If no one was going to tell him what was going on, he'd find out himself.
——
(The Workshop)
"Okay, from the top. Hands on the back of the chair, swing that hip around... yes, just like that! Feel the stretch." Your voice is clear and confident over the music. "Now, arch your back, look over your shoulder... give me some attitude. Five, six, seven, eight!"
The movements are sharp, practiced, a world away from the careful, measured steps of your day job. This is where you shed that skin. For the past few months, this has been your side hustle: a sexuality instructor, teaching everything from sensual dance to intimate communication, helping others feel as free and unstoppable as you do in this moment. And you enjoy every minute of it.
"Yes! Now hold that pose. Feel the music in your hips. From here, we're going to roll up, one vertebra at a time. Let your head be the last thing to rise. Slow and controlled.
“That’s it! Own that moment. Give them a look that says ‘I know you’re watching.’ Then, slowly, unwind, and stand. Beautiful!”
He finds the address. A dance studio? Now he's really confused. He’s about to peek through the window when the door swings open. “Dean, hey!” A woman he vaguely recognizes is smiling at him. It’s one of your friends who just recently got married. Another story for another time. “She’s just finishing up. C’mon in, you can watch.” He stumbles in after her, and the sight that greets him stops him dead.
There, in the center of the room, is you. You're wearing a tiny pair of shorts, a sports bra, and a thigh-high leather boots, defying gravity. You spin around a chrome pole, your body a serpentine line of grace and strength. Your hair flies around you as you move, a confident smile on your face. You feel magnificent.
He must have made a sound, because you look up and your eyes meet his. Your smile widens as you shake your head, amused and in disbelief. This wasn't the time and place for an argument. You beckon him with a flick of your finger.
He stumbles into the room, his face embarrassed, his ears a shade of red you find absolutely adorable. The other women in the class giggle.
"Dean, ladies," you say, taking in a slow, deep breath. "My boyfriend, the spy." A teasing smile touches your lips as your eyes stay locked on Dean’s.
“Actually, since we have a volunteer audience member, this is the perfect opportunity to demonstrate our new routine for next week.” You flicked your finger one more time, and when he got closer, you sat him on the chair in the middle of the room.
"You wanted to see what I do," you whisper, your lips brushing his ear as you settle onto his lap. "Here's your front-row seat." As if on cue, "I See Red" begins to play through the studio, and you feel every eye in the room land on the two of you.
As the first words, Did you really think? hang in the air, you’re a picture of relaxed confidence on his lap. But as the music continues with I’d forgive and forget, your body tells a different story. One leg extends in a slow, sensual line, your arm wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him into you.
———
(Dean’s internal monologue)
He was going to kill Sam. That was his first coherent thought. His second thought was that he might die right here in this chair. Holy…The word died in his throat. This was the love of his life. Not the nurse who patched him up or the woman who drooled on his shoulder asleep while watching movies. This was a different creature entirely. And she was his. Aching desire surged through him, so potent it nearly choked him. The rest of the world faded away. There was only her, the music, and the sudden realization that he hadn’t known the first thing about the woman he loved.
———
On your blood should run cold, the mood shifts. You rise in one fluid motion, planting a booted foot on the chair in between his legs, a vision of power. You don't stay there long. The accusation in the lyrics, You, you two-timing, cheap-lying wannabe, brings you back to him, straddling his lap, your hands on his shoulders as you execute a slow, deep arch of your back right before his eyes, your hair sweeping the floor. You can feel his gaze locked on your breasts, his erection rubbing against your sensitive thighs. A satisfied smile can be seen on your face.
You slide off his lap, your eyes never leaving his. You circle him, slowly, watching the way his jaw clench, the rise and fall of his chest. His hands closed, trying to stop himself from reaching for you. On the final, explosive words, I see red, you drop into a split, your hands gripping his thighs, and you see his eyes widen in shock. On the echo of Red, oh red, you rise with control, gathering yourself onto your heels opening your legs in front of him, an invitation he can’t accept. You turned from him, finishing a split for the class, leaving him hypnotized.
You take a deep breath as applause fills the room, pulling you back to reality. You’d almost forgotten your audience, lost in the intensity of performing for him. You’d never done it before because you aren’t sure how he is going to react. You are a confident woman, but you also know that Dean has been around the block before you met him. You push yourself to your feet, turning to face your students with professional grace. You stole a quick glance at the man sitting on the chair, and you are both trying desperately to fight the urge to finish what you'd started right there on the studio floor.
"Amazing work today, everyone! You all pushed yourselves, and it shows. For next week, keep practicing the new routine, and don't forget to review the videos for this one. I'll see you then!"
“Videos?” His voice rumbling right by your ear, so close you can feel his erection pressing into your lower back. "You're telling me there are videos of... that?" You turn to face him, crossing your arms over your chest.
A flustered Dean tries to explain himself. "I was just... I was curious. And a little worried. I mean…It was Sam’s fault.”
You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close. "And what do you think?"
He looks at you hungrily. “I…” he swallows. His thumb brushing against your sweaty and hot skin. His voice that was filled with humor earlier was completely gone, replaced by something low and breathy. “You, me, private lesson. Now."
Your smile is pure sin. "I think that can be arranged.”
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raewritesfiction · 2 days ago
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Please help us!!
We are trying to start a Mishapocalypse 2.0 on all social media platforms on Misha's birthday (August 20). The image used is the one in this post.
The idea is the same as the first Mishapocalypse; just spam the picture, make edits, make memes, put it as your pfp etc. If you post it, make sure to use #mishapocalypse2 :))
Please spread the word so we can get as many people in on this as possible!!!
Join the community: @misha-pocalypse-2-0-army
Follow @/mishapocalypse2.0 and @/mishapocalyps2.0 on tiktok and/or @/mishapocalypse2_0 on instagram for updates!
Thanks in advance for joining! Let's show the world some Mishamigo power!!
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raewritesfiction · 2 days ago
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That moment when your vibrator dies literally seconds before you cum.
God fucking DAMNIT.
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raewritesfiction · 4 days ago
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By far, my favorite poster.
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raewritesfiction · 4 days ago
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NICHOLAS HOULT 'This or That — Hero vs Villain' | GQ Germany
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raewritesfiction · 4 days ago
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Happy birthday to Sebastian Stan! ❤️
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raewritesfiction · 5 days ago
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obituary
@jumpingjacktrash, aka Jesse, formerly of Northfield MN, died of complications from a stroke on June 18th, 2025, age 52. He was born in the Twin Cities on August 23rd, 1972, to Sandy and David. He is survived by his spouse Seebs, daughter Katarzyna, father David, brother Matthew, nibling Mika, adoptive sister Leslie, frequent collaborator Rah, many other friends and family, and his cat, Wen Ning, The Doom That Was Foretold, A Surprise Guest. He is predeceased by his first husband Jj, his mother Sandra, and his cat Hermes, He Who Must Smell The Night. He was best known for his writing, with his novel The God Eaters and webcomic Metanoia being his most famous works, but also a bewildering variety of fan fiction spanning genres and fandoms. His active participation in various communities, both in-person and later online, was notable for his thoughtful and patient advice, especially on queer activism, one of the major focuses of his adult life. In addition to more structured activism, he participated in a number of heists which moved queer people from unsafe environments to safer environments, which is how he ended up with his daughter (who met him through his Homestuck fanfiction), his nemesis Luka (whom he smuggled out of Nebraska), his friend Aud (smuggled out of Washington), and many of his other friends and associates. He was cremated, according to his wishes. His memorial service will be on his 53rd birthday (August 23rd, 2025), in Northfield. Given Jesse's many friendships and connections, we ask that those wishing to attend contact Seebs beforehand. All who knew him are welcome to reach out. In lieu of flowers or other gifts, please consider donations or other support (such as volunteering) to help protect those in need. If you want a specific charity suggestion, he was particularly fond of The Bridge For Youth. Feel free to contact Seebs directly if you have questions or comments. We plan to make more of his writing available online as permanently as possible in the future. (I'm probably gonna spin up his laptop to reblog this there for the benefit of people who followed him but not me.)
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raewritesfiction · 5 days ago
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Let's do Sleepover Saturday!
So send me asks about:
fuck, marry, kill
ask my top 3 of anything
make me choose between two things
send me celebrities for hot or not
would I ship _______ with _______ ? 
headcanons
who you ship me with
tell me stories about you or your day
ask me for advice
ask me questions about things you want to know
literally whatever you want!
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