✨Beekeeper - 13/13✨
Summary: Four years after Dean disappeared, he comes back to find the life he left behind… waiting for him in the shape of a little girl with his eyes. Now it’s ghosts in the walls, love that never died and a second chance that might heal everything—or break it for good.
-requested-
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Warnings: Language
Word Count: 5353
DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes.
The door clicked open softly, the smell of greasy fries sneaking in ahead of Sam. He was balancing a tray of drinks in one hand, a crinkled bag of burgers in the other, looking like the world’s most overqualified delivery guy.
Behind him, Lilah burst in like a firework and her arms full of a bouquet so big she could barely see over the top. “Daddy!”, she whisper-shouted, which defeated the purpose, but at least she tried.
Dean was in the armchair by the window, Henry cradled against his chest in a bee-print onesie you hadn’t even known existed. He looked tiny. Three weeks early had left him all delicate wrists and scrunched-up nose, but his little fists were pumping like he already had demands.
“Hey, Buzz”, Dean whispered back, his grin blooming despite the dark circles under his eyes. He nodded toward your sleeping form on the bed. “Shhh. Mommy’s out”.
Lilah tiptoed in dramatically. She stopped dead when she saw Henry. Her bouquet slipped dangerously sideways until Sam caught it, rolling his eyes fondly.
“He’s so small”, Lilah breathed, climbing up onto Dean’s knee without asking. Her little hand reached out, hovering, not quite daring to touch. “And he’s got bees!”. She giggled, pointing at the onesie.
Dean huffed, pressing a kiss to her curls. “Yeah, figured it was only right”. He shifted Henry carefully, angling him so Lilah could peek without squishing him. Henry squawked, tiny and impatient. Dean sighed, already reaching for the bottle he’d half-prepped on the side table. “Yeah, yeah, I hear you, kid. Give your old man a second”. The baby squawked louder. Lilah gasped. “Daddy! He’s mad!”.
Sam set the flowers down on the counter with the food, shaking his head with a smile. “Guess impatience runs in the family”.
Dean muttered under his breath as he jiggled Henry gently, “Man’s three hours old and already yellin’ at me for bein’ too slow”.
Henry hiccupped, let out a high little cry, then latched onto the bottle the second Dean got it in place, still frowning even in his sleepiness.
Dean smirked, rocking him gently. “Attitude. Just like his uncle”.
Sam leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a faint grin. But the longer he watched, the more his brows crept up. “You’re… actually feeding him”, Sam said, surprised.
Dean shot him a look, adjusting the bottle with care as Henry suckled noisily. “No, genius, I’m playin’ poker with him”.
Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “I mean… you’ve got him swaddled right, you’re holding his head, the angle, hell, you look like you’ve done this before”.
Dean rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t stick. “The nurse showed me three times, Sammy. Three. I wasn’t about to screw it up in front of her and get that look”. He shifted Henry slightly, his palm cradling the tiny back of his son’s head, softer now. “Besides… not exactly rocket science”.
Henry let out a greedy little grunt, his eyes squeezed shut, fingers twitching like he was still arguing.
Sam grinned, unable to resist. “Still. Didn’t think I’d walk in and see my big brother like this”.
Dean glared at him, cheeks pinking as he instinctively slowed his rocking motion. “Shut up”.
Lilah giggled, leaning into Dean’s side and petting Henry’s blanket like it was a puppy. “Uncle Sam, Daddy’s the best bee daddy ever”.
Sam raised his hands in mock surrender, smile softening. “Yeah, Buzz. Looks like he is”.
Eventually you woke up slowly.
Dean caught your movement instantly. His eyes snapped up, that protective instinct kicking in before anything else, and when he saw you awake, his whole face softened. “Hey”, he murmured.
Lilah bounced once, careful not to jostle Henry. “Mommy! Daddy’s feeding him all by himself! And Uncle Sam brought fries!”. She beamed like it was the best news in the world.
Your lips curved, even through the heaviness weighing down your limbs. “I see that”.
Lilah tugged on Dean´s sleeve. “Daddy”, she whispered. “Can I hold him now? Please? Please? I’m big enough. I’m five”.
Dean glanced at you, the kind of look that said you hearing this? before sighing like a man already defeated. “Buzz… you gotta sit real still, alright? No wiggling. No spinning. He’s not a doll”.
Lilah gasped. “I know that! He’s Henry!”.
Dean chuckled under his breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe his life these days. “Alright, Buzz. C’mere. Sit right there—”, he nodded toward the foot of your bed, tone all mock-sergeant—“and grab that pillow”.
Lilah scampered over and plopped herself down exactly where he told her, dragging the hospital pillow onto her lap like she was preparing for a mission. She looked up at Dean with the wide, serious eyes of someone about to be knighted. “Ready”, she whispered.
Dean’s mouth tugged into a grin he couldn’t fight. “Alright, big sis. Let’s do this”. He angled Henry carefully, cradling his tiny head with one big hand, and lowered him slowly onto the pillow in Lilah’s lap.
At the same time, you leaned back against the bedrail with your burger in one hand, fries in the other, and moaned around a mouthful. “Ohhh, Sammy, you’re a saint. Actual angel. Fries and a double cheeseburger? This is the real post-birth medicine”.
Sam smirked, flipping the top of the bag closed. “Glad to be useful”.
You swallowed down another bite and reached for a fry, your voice softer now, shy under the hum of machines and the quiet little family gathered around. “And… thanks for the flowers too, Sam”, you said, lifting your gaze to him with a small smile. “They’re beautiful”.
Sam ducked his head, ears tinged pink. “You deserve it”.
It hit you then how different this was. Lilah’s birth had been quiet and lonely, no one waiting outside, no warm food smuggled in, no laughter filling the air. Just you and a baby, scared. This time… this time you weren’t alone. And it felt like a weight had lifted you hadn’t even realized you were still carrying.
At the foot of the bed, Lilah leaned so close over Henry you were surprised her curls didn’t tickle his face. Her little hands stayed folded in her lap just like Dean had shown her, but her eyes were huge, drinking in every inch of her baby brother. “He’s moving!”, she squeaked suddenly, looking up at Dean. “Daddy, look—his hand, it moved!”.
Dean chuckled low, crouched beside her, one steady hand still hovering under the pillow. “He’s sayin’ hi”.
Lilah’s mouth dropped open in awe. “He’s sooooo small”, she whispered, her whole voice reverent. “I can be careful. I’ll always be careful”.
-
Four weeks later, the rhythms of your life had shifted into something you never quite believed you’d have: messy and loud, freaking exhausting, but steady. Dean was thriving. Daycare drop-offs? He handled them like a bro. He’d walk into Lilah’s classroom with her bee backpack slung over one broad shoulder, her little hand swinging from his, and somehow leave with half the staff giggling like teenagers. Lilah loved it. “Daddy’s the coolest”, she’d declare when you picked her up later, already covered in paint and glitter.
At home, Dean had claimed the laundry like it was a hunt. Sorting loads with military precision, even if he still occasionally shrank a sweater or dyed the socks pink. Dishes? Done. Counters? Wiped. Floors? Well, floors were negotiable, but damn it, he tried.
Cooking, though? That was another story. The first two times he’d attempted a “real” dinner, anything beyond pancakes or scrambled eggs, the smoke alarm went off so loud Henry startled awake and Lilah declared, very seriously, “Daddy’s banned from dinner forever”. Dean took it on the chin, grumbling about “ungrateful critics” while you rescued the kitchen. After that, he stuck to breakfast duty and left the rest to you.
But where he wasn’t perfect, he more than made up for it with the kids. Henry, barely a month old, was already used to Dean’s arms. He’d settle faster against his chest than anywhere else. You’d find them in the recliner, Dean humming under his breath, Henry’s tiny hand clutching his shirt in sleep. Lilah, meanwhile, had her dad wrapped around her finger. Swing pushes, coloring sessions, elaborate Lego castles, he was there for all of it.
And watching him? Watching Dean Winchester turn fatherhood into second nature? It was enough to make your chest ache.
-
Today, Henry had been fussing all morning, the kind of colicky cry that made your nerves hum. Dean had scooped him up, one arm cradling the tiny bundle against his shoulder, bouncing gently while muttering under his breath about “how come I can take down a nest of vamps but one ten-pounder’s got me sweatin’”.
Meanwhile, Lilah had turned the kitchen table into a war zone of glitter, glue and construction paper. She was determined to make “welcome home banners” for Henry—never mind that Henry had been home for five weeks already. When the glue bottle clogged, she squeezed harder until the lid popped clean off. A geyser of sticky paste shot across the table. “Daddy!”, she wailed, throwing her hands up, now sparkly to the elbows. “It exploded!”.
Dean adjusted Henry with one practiced motion, the baby tucked into the crook of his elbow, bottle balanced in the same hand, while reaching for paper towels with the other. “Alright, Buzz, don’t panic. Nobody move. This is a Code Glitter”.
Henry suckled noisily, oblivious. Dean dabbed at the glue, grabbed the glitter jar before it tipped further, and tossed a fresh towel across the table toward Lilah. “Wipe what you can, and for the love of God, don’t sneeze”. She giggled at his mock-serious tone, smearing glue across her cheek in the process.
By the time you walked in from swapping laundry, Dean looked like he’d been through a small war. Dean glanced up at you, hair mussed, chest rising like he’d just finished a hunt. “Don’t. Say. A word”.
-
Lilah stood in front of the mirror with her brand-new backpack. Bee-yellow with black stripes and almost as big as she was. Her curls were neatly braided (Dean’s work, of course; he was faster at it than you. Way faster), and she clutched Henry’s soft bee rattle like it was battle gear.
Henry babbled from his play mat, hands slapping at the toys, drool soaking his onesie. At eight months, he was sturdy and curious, already trying to pull himself upright on anything in reach, including Dean’s jeans when Dean crouched to tie Lilah’s sneakers.
“You sure about this, Buzz?”, Dean asked, his voice caught somewhere between proud and worried. “We don’t have to rush. School’ll still be there next year.”
Lilah rolled her eyes, the exact same way you did when Dean was being dramatic. “Daddy, I’m six soon. I have to go. I’m gonna learn to read big books and paint, and I already know my numbers”.
Dean’s mouth pulled into a smile that cracked at the edges. He tied the last knot and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Alright. But you better not forget about us little people when you’re famous”.
You swallowed around the lump in your throat as you helped her into her jacket. “You’re gonna do amazing, baby girl”.
The drive to school was quiet and heavy with anticipation. Lilah sat shotgun like always, her backpack buckled beside her, Henry gurgling in his car seat, kicking his feet.
When you pulled up to the school, the sidewalk buzzed with other kids and other parents. Lilah bounced in her seat, suddenly shy but determined.
“C’mon, Buzz”, Dean said gently, lifting her out. He crouched, adjusting her straps, brushing a curl out of her face. His voice cracked just slightly when he added, “Go show ‘em what a Winchester can do”.
She threw her arms around his neck, squeezing hard. “I love you, Daddy”. Then she hugged you too, carefully kissed Henry’s forehead, and marched up the steps.
You and Dean stood there long after she vanished inside. He slid an arm around your waist, pulling you against his side. His eyes were damp, but his grin was boyish and so damn proud. “She’s really growing up”, Dean murmured, forehead resting against your temple. “And we… we made it here. All of us”.
And for the first time in years, you believed it.
-
It was late-August. Your hallway smelled like coffee and pancake syrup.
“Shoes!”, you called, tying your own laces by the door.
“I have shoes!”, Henry declared, skidding in socked feet around the corner. Six now, all big opinions, he wore a tiny flannel over a animal tee, his backpack already sticker-bombed with cars and a single, stubborn bee. He held up his sneakers triumphantly and then, because he was Henry, tried to put them on without sitting down.
Dean caught him mid-wobble by the back of the shirt. “Easy there, Hot Rod. Park it”. He dropped to a knee and laced Henry’s shoes. “You gonna show first grade who’s boss?”.
Henry grinned, missing-tooth wide. “Already am”.
“Attitude”, Dean muttered, but he was smiling so hard it softened the whole line of his jaw. He flicked a glance over his shoulder. “Buzz? You almost ready?”.
Lilah stepped out of the hallway. Eleven: taller, wearing ripped jeans and bee pendant on her neck. Dean had braided her hair in two neat plaits that made her look like the exact midpoint between little-kid and almost-teen. She posed, deadpan. “Voted least likely to cry today”.
Dean pressed a hand to his heart. “Least likely to cry? You wound me, Buzz. After all I’ve done for you. Braids, rides, endless glue refills…”.
Lilah smirked, tugging her jacket straight. “Yeah, yeah. You’re slipping, old man”.
Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Old man?”. He shot you a quick glance. “Did you hear that? She called me old”.
You bit down on a grin. “Well… you did make that dad noise when you sat down last night”.
“Traitor”, Dean muttered, then turned back to his daughter, squinting in exaggerated menace. “Slipping, huh? You think just ‘cause you’re all middle-school fancy now, I can’t still—”. Before Lilah could react, Dean swooped forward, scooping her up around the waist. She squealed, kicking her sneakers in the air, but he had her hoisted effortlessly. With one practiced flip, he had her upside down, legs dangling, hair flying like a curtain of curls. “—do this?”, Dean finished, grinning ear to ear.
“Dad!”, she shrieked, laughing so hard her voice cracked. “Put me down! My jeans!”.
“You sure about that?”, Dean teased, walking in a slow circle. “’Cause I can keep this up all day. Gotta prove to you I’m not that old”.
“Mom!”, Lilah tried to appeal, upside-down face red with laughter. “He’s embarrassing me!”.
You leaned on the doorframe. “First day of school and already upside down. Pretty sure that’s a record”.
Dean patted her calf with mock solemnity. “Say ‘Dad’s not old’, and maybe I’ll let you down”.
“Never!”, Lilah yelled, still laughing, trying to twist herself right side up.
Dean just chuckled, tightening his arm around her middle like it was the easiest thing in the world to carry an almost-teenager. “Stubborn. Definitely my kid”.
He held her upside down a few more beats, her laughter shaking his shoulder. He grinned, but in his chest it twisted, because her laughter wasn’t the same high-pitched squeal it used to be. It was older now. Not the sound of a toddler or a four-year-old climbing into his lap with sticky fingers and curling up like a kitten.
“You’re heavy, you know that?”, he teased, spinning her carefully until her sneakers tapped the floor again.
Lilah staggered upright, cheeks flushed, hair half out of its braids. She swatted at his chest with one skinny arm. “You’re just weak”.
Dean caught her wrist, tugged her in, and kissed the top of her head before she could wriggle away. “Nah. I’m strong as hell. Just—”. He paused, swallowing something thick. “You’re not little anymore, Buzz”.
Her grin softened, just for a second, before she rolled her eyes in the way only an eleven-year-old could. “Duh, Dad. That’s how time works”.
Dean huffed a laugh, ruffling her hair even though he’d just braided it. “Smartass”.
But when she turned toward the mirror to fix her jacket, Dean’s smile slipped. He remembered nights on your couch, her tiny body stretched across his chest, her fists tucked under her chin, legs no longer than his forearm. He remembered her head fitting under his jaw, her weight a feather compared to the heaviness in his heart back then.
And now? Now she was almost as tall as his chest. Quick wit, her own world beginning to spin separate from his. He loved it, loved watching her grow into herself, but God, it pinched too.
“Hey”, Lilah said suddenly, catching his reflection in the mirror. “Don’t look all sad. I’m still your favorite bee, right?”.
Dean cleared his throat, his voice rough. “Always, Buzz”.
She smiled, satisfied, before starting to bounce toward Henry. Dean reached out, hooked two fingers through the strap of Lilah’s backpack, and reeled her back in before she could escape down the hall.
“Dad!”, she squeaked, half-laughing, half-exasperated.
He ignored her protest, wrapping both arms around her in one of those bear hugs that pinned her arms. He buried his face in the crown of her hair, breathing her in like he had when she was tiny, when her curls still smelled like baby shampoo and syrup.
“Daaad”, she complained again, though there was no real fight in it. “You’re crushing me!”.
“Good”, he muttered into her hair. “Keeps you from growing too fast”.
She rolled her eyes, but after a beat, she softened in his arms. She let her head tip against his chest, her hands tugging lightly at his shirt instead of wriggling free. Sassy, yes, but still sweet. Still his little girl.
“I’m not little anymore”, she reminded him gently, like she knew exactly what he was thinking.
Dean pulled back just enough to look at her. “Don’t matter, Buzz. You’ll always be my kid. My first bee”.
That earned him a small, real smile. She squeezed him once, quick but strong, before stepping back and shrugging her straps into place.
Dean’s hand lingered in the air a second after Lilah slipped out of his grasp, the absence of her weight hitting harder than he’d admit. He cleared his throat, blinking once, and turned toward Henry. The kid was already standing with his backpack zipped. There was no hesitation in his stance, no glance back for reassurance.
Where Lilah had always curled into Dean’s lap, Henry had been different from the start. He’d cry when he needed to, Dean had made damn sure both kids knew tears weren’t weakness, but even then, Henry cried like he had a point to prove. Quick, fiery bursts, then jaw set, fists balled, moving on before anyone could coddle him.
Dean saw so much of himself in the kid it hurt sometimes. That stubborn tilt of his mouth, the way his eyes flicked over a room like he was cataloguing exits, the quiet determination that made him seem older than six. It wasn’t that Henry wasn’t soft, he could be, especially with you, and sometimes when Lilah coaxed him into her games, but his softness was earned, deliberate. He didn’t give it away easily.
Dean rubbed the back of his neck, watching Henry check his jacket pockets. “You good, Champ?”.
Henry gave him a thumbs-up, no hesitation. “Yeah. I’m gonna sit in the front row so the teacher knows I’m serious”.
Dean huffed a laugh. “That’s my boy”.
Lilah snorted, rolling her eyes but hiding her smile. “Of course you’re sitting in the front”.
“Where else am I supposed to sit?”, Henry shot back, all righteous indignation. “The back’s too far from the board”.
Dean grinned despite himself, heart squeezing tight. Lilah: soft edges, open heart, always reaching out. Henry: all Winchester grit, jaw set even when nobody asked it of him. Dean loved them both so fiercely it scared him, but in different ways. One reminded him what he’d almost lost. The other reminded him who he’d been and who he wanted to be better for.
A few minutes later, Dean pulled onto the road.
After a while, Dean drummed his fingers on the wheel, glanced at the rearview, then at you. His grin tugged up slow, dangerous. “You know”, he drawled, “Buzz’s got middle school now. Champ’s already takin’ over first grade. Feels like I blinked and they stopped bein’ little. Might be time we—”. He lifted his brows, eyes twinkling. “—made ourselves another one”.
You groaned, pressing a hand to your face. “Dean”.
Lilah snapped her head around, horrified. “Oh my God, Dad, ew! Don’t even say that! You’re ancient”. Dean barked a laugh, one hand thumping the wheel. “Ancient? That’s cold, Buzz”.
Henry, without looking up from tracing the stitching on his lunchbox, chimed in matter-of-factly: “Babies cry too much. Don’t do it”.
You bit your lip to keep from laughing, shaking your head. “See? Even your son’s voting against you”.
Dean flicked a look at Henry in the mirror, mock-offended. “Traitor”. Then, softer, his hand reached over to squeeze your knee where it rested between the seats. “Don’t care how big they get, though. Always gonna be ours”.
Lilah slumped deeper into her seat with a dramatic groan. “Can you not be gross before school?”.
Dean chuckled while his gaze flicked to the mirror and caught your eyes and… winked—slow, deliberate and freaking shameless. Heat crawled up your neck instantly, and you had to look out the window before Lilah caught you turning red. Of course, she caught enough.
“Ew! Mom, are you blushing?!”, Lilah groaned, burying her face in her hands. “No. Nope. I don’t wanna know. I know how babies are made now and—ugh—I’m never forgiving health class”.
Dean nearly choked on his own laugh, coughing into his fist. “Health class beat me to it, huh?”.
Lilah shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel. “Don’t. Don’t say another word. If you even think about talking about it, I’ll walk to school”.
Henry perked up in the backseat, curiosity written all over his little face. “What’s health class?”.
“Nothing!”, Lilah yelped, spinning back around so fast her braids slapped her shoulders. “It’s nothing, Henry. Don’t ask. Ever”.
Dean snorted so hard the wheel wobbled in his grip for a second but he recovered quickly with that boyish grin. “Relax, Buzz. I’m not gonna—”, He leaned back more. “I’m just sayin’, me and your mom… „.
“DAD!”, Lilah shrieked, smacking the dash with her palm. “Stop! Oh my God, stop! I’m getting out right now!”.
Henry cackled from beside you, no clue what he was laughing at but thrilled by the chaos. “Buzz is mad”, he sing-songed.
Dean chuckled, but his smirk softened as he peeked back at Lilah, who had now yanked her jacket over her head like a makeshift shield. “Alright, alright. I’ll cool it”. He paused just long enough to make it suspicious. “But, you know, you’re gettin’ older. Sooner or later, we’re gonna have to have that talk”.
Lilah groaned dramatically, muffled by denim. “No. No talks. Ever”.
-
Two weeks later, the house felt too quiet.
Lilah was at Mia’s for a Friday-night sleepover with movies and nail polish, and the kind of giggle-storm that always ended with Sam texting you both “send help (kidding) (maybe)”. Henry had finally fallen asleep upstairs, warm and heavy with a little flu, the humidifier purring and the baby monitor whispering white noise through its tinny speaker on your dresser.
You were already in bed, propped on pillows, scrolling just to keep your eyes open. The bathroom door opened and Dean padded out in nothing but a towel slung dangerously low on his hips. He let himself plop onto the mattress beside you with an exaggerated groan, like he’d just hauled salt bags across three states. Then he flopped onto his back with all the theatrics of a man begging for attention. The mattress dipped, bouncing you a little.
You didn’t look up from your phone. Not once.
Dean cracked one eye at you, then huffed. “Seriously? My wife can’t even appreciate the effort? I showered”. He sniffed his shoulder pointedly. “Smell pretty damn good, if I say so myself”.
Still nothing.
“Unbelievable”, he went on, rolling onto his side to face you, towel gaping a little too conveniently. “I even shaved”.
That made you flick a glance up. His jaw was exactly as scruffy as it had been this morning. Your brows arched. “Uh-huh”.
Dean grinned. “Not here”.
Your phone slipped a little in your grip as you bit down hard on a laugh. He looked so goddamn pleased with himself, with his green eyes gleaming, waiting for you to take the bait. When he saw you fighting that laugh, he smirked and propped himself up on one elbow. The towel slid a dangerous inch lower, his voice dropping into that husky, drawling tone you remembered from years ago. The one that used to make your knees weak back when you were too young to know what the hell to do with it. “Y’know…”, he murmured, tracing one finger lazily up your shin, under the blanket, “all those years ago, you couldn’t keep your eyes off me either. Don’t think I didn’t notice”.
You tried to scoff, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.
Dean leaned in, close enough for his breath to brush your ear. “Hell, I remember you lookin’ at me like I was already in your bed—”, his grin widened“—and we both know what happened when I finally got you there”.
Your breath hitched despite yourself.
He chuckled, low and satisfied, nipping at your earlobe before dragging his lips down your throat. “You were so sweet, so easy to ruin… And damn if you didn’t make me work to keep up after. I swear, you were tryin’ to kill me”. His hand slid higher up your thigh, warm and.. so heavy. “Still are”.
“Dean—”.
He pulled back just enough to catch your gaze. “Don´t Dean me like that. I put two kids in you, and I’m not done yet”.
Your pulse jumped.
He grinned and kissed the corner of your mouth before whispering against your lips, “Now, tell me again you don’t wanna find out how smooth I shaved”.
You tipped your head back against the pillow, glaring at him even as your lips twitched. “You’re insufferable”.
Dean grinned wider, his hand inching higher under the blanket. “Insufferable? Please. You were climbing me like a tree when you were barely legal. I’ve still got the scratch marks”.
You smacked his chest lightly, but he just caught your wrist, pressing your palm flat against his warm skin. His heart thundered beneath your hand. “C’mon”, he drawled, his lips brushing down your throat again. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember the way I used to make you cry for it. Beggin’ me. Neighbors probably thought I was killin’ you”. He chuckled. “Turns out I was just teachin’ you how good it could feel”.
You sucked in a sharp breath, and he smiled like he’d won. “Still teachin’ you, baby. And you still can’t keep quiet”.
Aaand… you broke. You always did with him. Your phone slid to the side, forgotten, as you grabbed the knot of his towel and yanked. It fell open and Dean’s smug laugh turned into a groan as you wrapped your hand around him. “Geez, sweetheart—”. His hips bucked into your palm before he caught himself, biting back a curse. “Fuck, I missed your hands on me”.
You smirked, kissing down his chest, and he tangled a hand in your hair, guiding you, half desperate, half reverent. “Yeah—yeah, that’s it. Damn, you’re gonna kill me tonight”.
The towel hit the floor. Dean hauled you under him, mouth hot and messy against yours, grinding into you through your thin sleep shorts. His cock pressed hard and insistent against you, making you gasp into his kiss.
“Tell me you want it”, he rasped. “Tell me you want me to put another one in you”.
Your answer was a broken moan, your hips arching into him, and that was all the permission Dean Winchester ever needed.
But when he hovered over you, one arm braced on the mattress, the other tracing down your side, from your ribs to your hip, his grin softened. His eyes roaming your face like he couldn’t quite believe he still got to be here, with you, after everything. “You know”, he murmured, brushing his lips along your jaw, “I could’ve had a lot of lives. None of ‘em would’ve been worth a damn if I didn’t end up right here”.
You swallowed, your fingers curling in his wet hair. “You’re only saying that ‘cause I let you in my bed”.
He chuckled before pressing his mouth to your collarbone. “You were way too good for me back then. Still are”. His lips trailed lower, lingering at the top of your breasts. “Guess I just got lucky”.
You shook your head at him, shy smile tugging at your mouth. “Shut up”, you whispered, and leaned up to catch his lips before he could say something else that would make your heart ache in that helpless way.
Dean kissed you back without hurry, like he had all the time in the world. His palm slid up to cradle the back of your head, thumb brushing behind your ear. When he finally pulled back just enough to look at you, his grin faded into something softer, something that lived only in the lines around his eyes.
“Not gonna shut up”, he said quietly. “Not about this”. He shifted so his forehead rested against yours. “I ain’t ever been good at the whole ‘big speech’ thing”, he murmured. “But I’ve spent most of my life running head-first into stuff that didn’t matter near as much as I thought it did. This—”, he gave a small, crooked nod toward you, the bed, the closed door, the whole life the two of you had built—“this is the best damn thing I’ve ever been part of. You. The kids. I love you, and I’m not gonna stop sayin’ it just ’cause I sound like a sap”.
Your eyes stung, but you laughed anyway, brushing your nose against his. “You really do talk too much”.
“Yeah”, he said with a huff of a laugh, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Lucky for you, I mean every word”.
"I know", you whispered, the sound catching against his mouth as you kissed him again. “But stop talking for now”, you whispered, “and help me make another one”.
Dean’s laugh rumbled deep in his chest, warm against your skin. He brushed another kiss to your forehead, softer this time. “Yes, ma’am”.
———————————
A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰
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