Smoke and Desire
***GIF IS NOT MINE***
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader
Summary: Years of suppressed longing between Dean Winchester and his best friend (Y/N) erupt during an undercover witch hunt when a mysterious spell traps them in a shared, intensely passionate dream.
Forced to confront their true feelings amidst supernatural influence, they must navigate the confusing aftermath back at the bunker and decide if their connection is real beyond the magic.
Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Strong Language, Magical Influence/Non-Con Elements (dream state induced by spell), Breeding Kink (subtle), Possessive Behavior, Mild Violence (supernatural context), Suggestive Themes, Emotional Vulnerability, Potential Pregnancy Implications.
Also any mistakes are my own, please do not repost my work anywhere however reblogs are fine and welcome :)
If you love it, please comment and/or reblog. Let me know your thoughts! :)
**IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT DON’T READ IT**
A/N: I’M BACK BITCHESSSSS! (Said with love… and def a nod to Charlie) So sorry for being MIA for awhile. Had a lot of life drama here recently but I have been writing! And have some ideas for future stories! Still working on the masterlist (it’s kicking my ass if anyone can give advice I’d appreciate it!) anywho hope you enjoy ;)!
The scents of patchouli and something cloyingly sweet hung heavy in the cramped waiting room of "Serenity Solutions." You shifted on the lumpy couch, acutely aware of Dean’s thigh pressed against yours. Undercover as a couple seeking counseling? It felt absurdly close to a truth you both desperately ignored.
"Relax, Princess," Dean muttered, his voice low, eyes scanning the cheap motivational posters. "Just in and out. Get the info on Madame Zelda, see what kinda mojo she’s peddlin’."
"I am relaxed," you lied, your knee bouncing nervously. His hand landed on it, warm and heavy, stilling it instantly. That simple touch, a constant in your complicated friendship, sent a familiar jolt through you. You remembered the drunken fumble months ago, the frantic heat quickly buried under layers of denial and whiskey. Since then? Shared beds on hunts, whispered confessions in the dark, him scaring off anyone who looked at you twice – all filed under ‘just friends’.
A woman in flowing purple robes appeared. "The Harmonys? Madame Zelda will see you now." She gestured towards a beaded curtain. Dean stood, offering his hand. His calloused palm engulfed yours, a solid anchor as you stepped through.
The beads clacked behind you, sealing you in a small, dimly lit chamber filled with more incense smoke. Zelda, an unnervingly serene woman with piercing eyes, smiled.
"Welcome. To truly unlock the harmony within your bond, we must first cleanse the air of pretense..." She waved a hand over a small brazier.
Thick, iridescent smoke erupted, not harsh, but dense and warm, flooding the tiny room instantly. You coughed, Dean’s grip tightening. "Dean...?"
Your voice sounded muffled. The world swam, colors blurring, Zelda’s form dissolving into the haze. Your last conscious thought was the panicked tightening of Dean’s fingers before darkness swallowed you whole.
Coolness. Softness. A gentle weight beside you. You blinked, disoriented. Fluffy white pillows, sunlight streaming through sheer curtains onto pristine white sheets... and skin. Your skin. Bare. Everywhere.
Panic seized you. You jerked upright, the silky sheet pooling at your waist. Beside you, Dean stirred. Equally naked. Every sculpted line of him, the familiar scars tracing his torso, the dusting of hair across his chest leading down... He woke with a start, green eyes wide with alarm, mirroring your own shock.
"Y/N? What the hell—?" His gaze swept the opulent, unfamiliar bedroom, then snapped back to you, lingering for a split second on your bare shoulders, your breasts, before jolting back to your face, cheeks flushing crimson. "Jesus! Are you okay?"
You clutched the sheet higher, heart hammering against your ribs. "I... I don't know. The smoke... Zelda..." Your words died as your eyes met his again.
Something shifted.
The alarm in his gaze didn't vanish, but it was suddenly drowned by something else. Something deeper, hotter, primal. An intensity you'd glimpsed in fleeting moments – when he thought you weren't looking, after a close call on a hunt – but never like this. Never so raw and unconcealed. It hit you like a physical blow, stealing your breath, igniting a responding fire deep in your belly. His pupils dilated, swallowing the green, fixed on you with a hunger that made your skin prickle.
"Dean..." Your voice was a whisper, husky and unrecognizable.
He didn't speak. He just looked.
Looked at you as if seeing you for the first time, stripping away every layer of friendship, every joke, every barrier. His gaze traveled slowly down your body, then back up to meet your eyes. The air crackled, thick with a tension that had simmered for years, now boiling over under the strange influence of this place. Was it the remnants of Zelda's spell? Or simply the terrifying, exhilarating truth finally unleashed?
His hand moved, not in panic now, but with deliberate slowness. He reached out, his fingertips brushing against your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw. The touch was electric, sending shivers cascading down your spine. His thumb brushed your lower lip, rough skin catching slightly.
"God, Y/N," he breathed, his voice a low rumble, thick with desire and something else... something possessive. "Look at you." He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away. You didn't move. Couldn't move. The magnetic pull was overwhelming. His lips hovered a breath from yours. "Always... wanted this," he confessed, the words rough, torn from him. "Wanted you."
That was all it took. The last thread of resistance snapped. You surged forward, closing the infinitesimal gap, capturing his lips with yours.
It wasn't gentle. It was desperate, hungry, years of suppressed longing exploding between you. His mouth was hot and demanding, tasting faintly of coffee and Dean. A low groan vibrated in his chest as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him. The feel of his bare skin against yours, hard muscle and radiating heat, was intoxicating. You tangled your hands in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.
He broke it only to trail searing kisses down your neck, his stubble scraping deliciously. "De..." you gasped, arching into him.
He growled against your skin, the sound sending another wave of heat straight to your core. "Say it again," he demanded, his hands roaming possessively down your back, over the curve of your hip.
"De," you moaned, shuddering as his lips found the sensitive spot beneath your ear. "Dean... please..."
He eased you back onto the soft pillows, his body covering yours, a solid, reassuring weight. His gaze locked with yours, intense, searching. "Tell me," he murmured, one hand cupping your face, the other sliding down your side, leaving trails of fire. "Tell me you want this."
"Want you," you breathed, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, feeling the hard length of him pressed against your stomach. "Always wanted you."
He kissed you again, deep and slow this time, a promise and a claiming. Then his mouth began a devastating journey south. He worshipped your body with lips and tongue – tracing the swell of your breasts, sucking a nipple into the heat of his mouth until you cried out, your fingers tightening in his hair. He moved lower, kissing a path across your belly, his large hand splayed possessively over your hipbone. For a heartbeat, his thumb brushed low on your abdomen, a fleeting touch laden with an unspoken, primal intent that made your inner muscles clench in anticipation. He didn't linger there, didn't make it obvious, but the echo of that touch resonated deep within you. Then he was between your thighs, tasting you, drinking in your essence.
The world narrowed to the feel of his tongue, hot and knowing, circling your clit, delving inside you. You arched off the bed, a high-pitched whimper escaping you. "Dean! Oh god... yes...!"
He lifted his head, his eyes dark with lust and something fiercely tender. "Love the sounds you make," he rasped. "Love knowing I'm the one making you feel like this." He kissed his way back up your body, settling his hips between your legs again, the head of his cock pressing against your slick entrance. He was big, thick, and the sensation of just that initial pressure made you gasp.
He paused, bracing himself on his forearms above you, muscles straining. Sweat beaded on his forehead. "Okay?" he asked, his voice tight with the effort of restraint. "Tell me if... if it's too much."
You reached up, tracing the tense line of his jaw. "No," you whispered, pulling him down for a kiss. "I need you. All of you." You shifted your hips, taking him deeper on that first, breathtaking stretch.
He groaned, a raw, guttural sound that vibrated through you as he sank in slowly, inch by inch, filling you completely. It was a tight fit, almost overwhelming, but exquisitely perfect.
He buried his face in your neck, breathing raggedly. "Christ... Y/N... so perfect... so tight..." His body trembled with the effort to hold back, to be gentle despite the urgency thrumming through both of you.
You wrapped yourself around him – legs locking at the small of his back, arms encircling his broad shoulders – anchoring him to you. "Move, De," you pleaded against his ear. "Please..."
He began to move. Slow, deep thrusts at first, withdrawing almost completely before surging back in, hitting depths that made stars burst behind your eyelids. Every slide was deliberate, intense, a relentless claiming. The sound of skin on skin, mingled with your ragged breaths and desperate moans, filled the sunlit room. He watched your face, mesmerized by every gasp, every flutter of your eyelids.
"Look at me," he commanded softly when your eyes drifted shut in ecstasy. You opened them, drowning in the sea of green fire staring down at you. "That's it, baby," he murmured, his thrusts gaining a fraction more speed, a fraction more power. "Let me see you." He slid a hand between your bodies, finding your clit with practiced ease, rubbing firm circles that sent shockwaves through you.
The dual sensation – the deep, filling thrusts and the insistent pressure on your clit – was too much. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, an unbearable tension building low in your belly. Your moans turned into breathless cries, punctuating each of his powerful strokes. "De... I'm... oh god..."
"I know, baby," he growled, his own rhythm faltering as he felt your inner walls start to clench around him. "Come for me. Let me feel you..." He leaned down, capturing a nipple in his mouth again, sucking hard just as his thumb pressed firmly on your clit.
It shattered you. A raw scream tore from your throat as the orgasm detonated, washing over you in blinding waves of pure ecstasy. Your body arched wildly under his, clamping down on him with incredible force as pleasure rippled through every nerve ending.
The feel of you pulsing around him snapped Dean's control. A guttural roar ripped from his chest as he drove into you one final time, deep, impossibly deep, grinding his hips against yours as he spilled himself inside you with powerful surges. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, his body shuddering violently as the last pulses left him. His release felt primal, possessive, a deep-seated need fulfilled that went beyond simple pleasure – a claiming that resonated with that fleeting touch on your belly earlier.
He collapsed onto his forearms above you, both of you gasping for air, slick with sweat, hearts pounding against each other. He didn't pull away immediately; instead, he lowered himself gently, gathering you close against his chest. His strong arms enveloped you completely as he rolled onto his side, keeping you tucked safely within the curve of his body, still intimately joined.
For long moments, there was only the sound of ragged breathing and the frantic drumming of hearts slowing down. Sunlight streamed over tangled limbs and flushed skin. You nuzzled into the hollow of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent – leather, gunpowder, sweat, and now... you. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you almost protectively.
His voice was rough but soft when he finally spoke, breaking the peaceful silence. "Y/N..." He paused, searching for words. "That... wasn't just the spell." It wasn't a question.
You tilted your head back to look at him. His green eyes were clear now, the haze of pure lust replaced by an intensity that was pure Dean – fierce, protective, and filled with a dawning realization that mirrored your own. You shook your head slightly. "No," you whispered, tracing the line of his collarbone. "No, De. It wasn't."
A soft smile touched his lips, genuine and warm. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheekbone. Before he could say anything else, a faint, sweet scent tickled your nose. Not incense this time. Something colder.
Dean’s eyes widened slightly as he noticed the first tendrils of iridescent smoke beginning to seep under the doorframe and curl from the vents.
Instinct took over. "Y/N!" he rasped, his arms locking around you like steel bands, pulling you even tighter against him, shielding your body with his own. He buried his face in your hair. "Hold on to me!" His voice was urgent, laced with fear but also an unwavering determination to protect.
You clung to him, pressing your face against his chest, inhaling the scent that meant safety – Dean. The smoke thickened rapidly, swirling around the bed like a living thing, its cloying sweetness filling your lungs. The last thing you felt was the desperate strength of Dean’s embrace and the frantic beat of his heart against your cheek before the world dissolved once more into swirling color and then... nothing.
The cold linoleum floor pressed against your cheek. You groaned, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights of Madame Zelda’s back room. Disorientation slammed into you – the fluffy bed, the sunlight, Dean’s skin… gone. Replaced by the smell of cheap cleaning products and dust.
You were back in your jeans and t-shirt. And you were still wrapped in Dean’s arms. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath you, his grip unconsciously tight even in unconsciousness. He stirred as you shifted, his eyes snapping open, instantly alert, hunter-mode engaged.
"What the—?" He looked around wildly, taking in the drab room, the beaded curtain swaying gently. Then his gaze dropped to you, cradled against him. A flicker of something unreadable – confusion, panic, maybe tenderness? – crossed his face before hardening into concern. "Y/N? You okay? You hurt?" His hands moved over your arms, checking for injuries, his touch sending shivers that had nothing to do with the cold floor. It felt too familiar, echoing the possessive caresses from… wherever they’d been.
You pushed yourself up slowly, shaking your head. "I… I don't think so. Just… disoriented." Your voice felt thick. Your body felt… different. Sore in places, humming with a strange awareness, and utterly confused.
Madame Zelda stood near the doorway, watching you both with a serene, knowing smile that made your skin crawl. "There we are," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "The cleansing was quite… intense. But effective. Any lingering issues within your bond should be thoroughly resolved." Her eyes lingered, holding a spark of unnerving certainty. "And I believe a delightful surprise is on its way to you both. Soon."
"Resolved?" Dean was already scrambling to his feet, pulling you up with him protectively, his body shielding yours instinctively. "Lady, what the hell did you—"
But before he could finish, or lunge, she gave a small, dismissive wave. A puff of the same iridescent smoke that had started this whole nightmare erupted around her, and when it cleared seconds later, she was gone. Only the faint scent of patchouli remained.
Dean cursed vehemently, scanning the empty space where she’d been. "Son of a bitch!" He turned back to you, his eyes scanning your face again. "You sure you're alright? No weird tingles? No sudden urge to start knitting doilies?"
You managed a shaky laugh. "No doily urges, De. Just… really need some air." And space. Space to process the phantom feel of his skin, the echo of his groans, the shocking intimacy that felt more real than the linoleum beneath your boots.
He nodded curtly, his jaw tight. "Yeah. Let's blow this popsicle stand." He kept a hand lightly on your lower back as you both stumbled slightly, your legs feeling strangely weak, guiding you out through the empty shop and into the blessedly normal afternoon sunlight.
———
The drive back to the bunker in Baby was… thick. Thick with everything unsaid. The rumble of the engine couldn't drown out the memory of other sounds – gasps, moans, the slick slide of skin on skin. Dean gripped the wheel like he was strangling it, his knuckles white. You stared out the window, watching the landscape blur, feeling his sidelong glances like physical touches. Neither of you spoke. What could you say? 'So, about that naked dream where we… and you said… and then you…' The awkwardness was a living thing in the car.
Sam was waiting in the library when you got back, looking up from a thick tome. "Hey! How'd it go? Get anything useful? Was she a witch?"
You and Dean froze in the doorway like startled deer caught in headlights. Your eyes met for a split second – a shared moment of pure panic.
"Uh," you started, your voice sounding unnaturally high. "It was… weird. Definitely magic. Weird smoke. Didn't get much info." You gestured vaguely towards the corridor. "I'm… gonna go wash up. Feel kinda grimy after that place." You didn't wait for a response, practically fleeing towards your room, feeling Dean’s eyes boring into your back.
Sam raised an eyebrow, turning to Dean. "Weird smoke? That's it? Did she do anything? Say anything?"
Dean rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Sam’s perceptive gaze. He walked over to the map table, pretending to study it intently. "Yeah, smoke. Filled the room. Knocked us out for a bit. Woke up on the floor. She spouted some crap about… resolving bonds or whatever. Then poofed." He shrugged, a gesture too forced to be casual. "Place gave me the creeps. No clear signs of active hexing or ritual space beyond the waiting room. Probably just a scam artist."
Sam leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He didn't buy it for a second. Dean Winchester, master of snark and detail, giving a vague, evasive report? "Knocked you both out? You guys alright? Y/N looked… flustered."
"We're fine, Sam," Dean said, a little too sharply. He pushed off the table. "Just tired. Gonna hit the shower too."
He started walking away, then paused, glancing down the corridor towards your room. "Don't… don't bother her, okay? She's just shaken up." He didn't wait for Sam's nod, striding purposefully towards his own room first, then stopping outside yours a few minutes later after a quick detour.
The knock on your door was soft at first, then firmer.
"Come in," you called, your voice barely above a whisper. You were sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at your hands. You’d changed into soft sweatpants and a hoodie, trying to erase the phantom feeling of silk sheets and bare skin.
Dean opened the door slowly, filling the frame for a moment before stepping inside and closing it behind him. He looked… lost.
Uncharacteristically unsure. He walked over and sat on the edge of your bed too, leaving a careful foot of space between you. He rested his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
Silence stretched, heavy and charged.
"Sam's suspicious," he finally grunted, breaking the quiet.
"Can't blame him," you murmured, picking at a thread on your sweatpants. "We weren't exactly convincing."
Another beat of silence. You could hear his breathing, a little faster than usual.
"That…" he started, then stopped, clearing his throat roughly. "Back there. At Zelda's… after."
"Yeah?" you prompted softly, your heart hammering against your ribs.
He finally turned his head to look at you. His green eyes were wide, searching yours with a vulnerability you rarely saw. "Was that… did that…" He faltered again, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Dammit, Y/N. Was it real?"
The question hung in the air. The million-dollar question. The question that held everything – the years of longing, the drunken mistake buried deep, the easy intimacy, the bone-deep ache you both carried.
You met his gaze, letting him see the confusion, the echo of desire, the sheer intensity of what you’d experienced reflected in your own eyes. "It felt real," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "Every second of it. The… the bed. The sunlight. How you looked at me…" You swallowed hard. "How you touched me. What you said."
He sucked in a sharp breath at your words, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fleeting moment before snapping back to your eyes. A flush crept up his neck. "What I said?" he echoed hoarsely.
"You said you always wanted me," you reminded him softly, holding his gaze. "And I told you… I always wanted you too." The admission, spoken aloud in the stark reality of your bunker room, felt terrifyingly bold.
He looked stunned for a second, then a slow, genuine smile – small and tentative – touched his lips. It transformed his face, softening the usual hard lines. "Yeah," he breathed. "I remember." He shifted slightly closer on the bed, closing that small gap between you. His hand lifted, hesitated in the air for a heartbeat, then gently brushed a stray strand of hair back from your face. His touch was warm, deliberate, mirroring the gesture from the dreamscape. "Felt more real than anything has in a long damn time," he admitted gruffly.
"It felt right," you added, leaning almost imperceptibly into his touch. "Scary as hell, but… right."
He nodded slowly, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. "Yeah. Right." His gaze intensified. "And what she said… about a surprise?"
A shiver went through you that wasn't entirely unpleasant, mixed with a healthy dose of apprehension. "I heard it."
"We'll deal with that," he said, his voice dropping lower, taking on that protective edge that always made your heart skip. "Whatever it is. Together." His hand slid down to cradle your jaw. "But first… this." He gestured vaguely between you two with his other hand. "This ain't… just because of some witch's smoke bomb, is it?"
You shook your head, placing your hand over the one he had on your jaw. His skin was warm, familiar, yet electrifying. "No, De. It wasn't just the smoke then, and it's not just confusion now. It's… us."
He searched your eyes for a long moment, the vulnerability back, mixed with a dawning hope that made your breath catch. "Been stupid," he muttered, his thumb stroking your cheek again. "Both of us. Dancing around this… thing… for years." He leaned in slowly, closing the remaining distance until his forehead rested gently against yours. His breath mingled with yours. "Don't wanna dance anymore."
"Me neither," you whispered.
He didn't kiss you then. Not yet. But the closeness, the shared breath, the weight of everything finally acknowledged between you – the years of friendship, the suppressed desire, the mind-blowing intimacy forced upon them and now willingly embraced – felt more profound than any kiss could in that moment. It was a promise. A beginning forged in the bizarre crucible of a witch's spell, finally stepping into the sunlight of their own truth.
His other arm came up, wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you carefully against him in a tight, grounding hug – different from the protective clutch after the spell, but just as powerful. You buried your face in the familiar leather and cotton scent of his jacket (he hadn't taken it off), holding him just as tightly.
"Okay," he murmured into your hair, his voice rough with emotion. "Okay. We'll figure it out. The witch crap. The… surprise." He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his eyes serious but softer than you'd ever seen them. "But this? You and me? That's real. That's happening."
A wave of pure relief and joy washed over you, momentarily eclipsing the lingering confusion and fear. You smiled up at him, truly smiled. "Yeah, De," you agreed softly. "That's happening." The journey back might have started with magic, but the path ahead was theirs to walk, together.
