hannah

You smile, nose brushing his temple as you murmur, “Missed you.”

“Yeah?” His hand tightens on your arm, thumb brushing a lazy circle against your skin. “Was just sittin’ here hopin’ you’d find me.”

“I always do,” you whisper, leaning down to nuzzle your cheek against his.

And for a moment, there’s nothing else in the world but that—your arms around him, the soft creak of old wood, and the way his voice wraps around you like a warm blanket.

His hand slides from your arm down to your fingers, lacing them gently before he tugs.

“C’mere, sweetheart.”

You don’t hesitate. You move around the chair and let him guide you, settling sideways across his lap, your legs draped over his and your arms instinctively circling his shoulders again. His hand finds your thigh, grounding and slow, and the other settles at the small of your back like he never wants to let go.

Dean leans back just a little, eyes searching your face like he’s memorizing every inch. “You okay?” he asks softly, thumb brushing your hip through the soft fabric of your tee.

“Yeah,” you whisper, resting your forehead against his. “Better now.”

He smiles, that soft little grin that barely pulls at his mouth but lights up his whole face. “Been sittin’ in here tryin’ to focus, but… kept thinkin’ about you.”

You laugh under your breath, brushing your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck. “I always know where to find you, you know.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice low and steady, eyes still locked on yours. “Guess part of me’s always waitin’ for your footsteps. It’s like I breathe easier when you walk in.”

Your heart clenches, and you lean in to kiss him—just a soft press to his mouth, slow and unrushed. He kisses you back with the same tenderness, fingers tightening on your waist like he needs to feel every inch of you.

When you pull back, he exhales against your lips and murmurs, “God, you’re somethin’ else.”

You curl against his chest, letting the weight of the world melt away as he holds you. His chin rests on your head, and his hand strokes slow, lazy circles over your back.

No monsters tonight. No hunts, no danger, no noise.

Just the soft hush of the bunker’s library and Dean Winchester whispering sweet nothings into your hair like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held.

You don’t realize you’ve started to drift until the pages of the open book blur behind your eyelids. Dean’s warmth, the rhythm of his hand on your back, the low hum of his voice when he mumbles something soft—all of it wraps around you like a lullaby.

You shift slightly in his lap, and he feels it immediately. His arm tightens around you, and he glances down, brushing his lips to your hair.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice a quiet murmur against your temple. “You fallin’ asleep on me, pretty girl?”

You hum, half-smiling as you tuck your face into the curve of his neck. “Mm… maybe a little.”

Dean chuckles under his breath, that sound deep in his chest, and it rumbles right through you. “Knew I was too damn comfy,” he teases softly. “You curled up on me like this, no wonder.”

He strokes your back one more time, then shifts—careful and gentle, like he doesn’t want to wake you fully. One arm hooks under your legs, the other steady around your shoulders.

You blink sleepily as he stands, holding you against his chest like you weigh nothing. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his flannel, and you whisper, “You don’t have to carry me…”

Dean presses a kiss to your forehead, already walking you out of the library. “Yeah, I do,” he murmurs. “You think I’m gonna let my girl stumble to bed half-asleep when I’ve got arms made for this?”

You smile against his collarbone, heart fluttering. “Your girl, huh?”

He glances down at you, eyes soft and green and glowing even in the dim light of the hallway. “Damn right. Been mine since the first day you walked into my life.”

You don’t say anything—don’t have to. You just hold him tighter, letting yourself melt into him as he carries you down the hallway. Every step is steady, protective. Every breath from him is calm and sure.

He nudges open the bedroom door with his foot and brings you to the bed, sitting down with you still in his arms before gently laying you back against the pillows. You reach for him as he moves to pull away, and he catches your hand immediately.

“I’m not goin’ far, sweetheart,” he says softly. “Just grabbin’ the blanket.”

You watch him in the low light, the strong line of his shoulders, the way his expression softens as he pulls the blanket up and tucks it around you. He climbs in beside you a second later, sliding in close and wrapping his arm around your waist like he’s afraid the night might take you from him.

You settle into his chest, his heart steady against your cheek.

Dean breathes in slow, kisses the top of your head, and murmurs against your hair, “Sleep, pretty girl. I got you.”

And you do. Wrapped in his arms, held safe in the bunker and safer still in his love… you let go of the day and fall asleep with Dean beside you, exactly where you’re meant to be.

You wake slowly, drifting up from sleep like surfacing through warmth. The room is dim, lit only by the soft golden glow of the bedside lamp Dean must’ve left on. It’s quiet—no clanking pipes, no humming ventilation. Just the quiet, steady sound of breathing.

Dean’s breathing.

You’re wrapped in him—his arm heavy around your waist, legs tangled with yours, chest pressed to your back like he couldn’t bear to let you go even in sleep. His hand is splayed just under the hem of your shirt, palm warm against your bare skin, his thumb resting over your ribs like a promise.

You shift slightly, and he stirs.

A low, sleepy hum vibrates through his chest. He tightens his hold around you automatically, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His scruff grazes your skin, and you feel him breathe you in like he needs it just to stay grounded.

“Mm… what time is it?” you murmur, voice still scratchy from sleep.

Dean grunts softly, his lips brushing your skin. “Hell if I know,” he mumbles. “Too early for anything but this.”

You smile as you roll in his arms to face him. He adjusts without hesitation, pulling you even closer until your foreheads nearly touch. His eyes are barely open—green and heavy-lidded, his lashes still tangled from sleep.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he whispers, voice gravelly and low. “Mornin’.”

You tuck your hand under his jaw and kiss his cheek, just like last night, only slower now. Like you’ve got all the time in the world.

“Hey,” you whisper back, brushing your thumb over the edge of his stubble. “You sleep okay?”

“With you next to me?” He smirks, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Like a damn baby.”

You laugh softly, your nose bumping his. “You’re a sap in the mornings.”

Dean doesn’t even deny it. He leans in, lips brushing yours, lazy and unhurried. The kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for anything—just gives. Warmth. Affection. The quiet kind of love that doesn’t need words to be known.

When he finally pulls back, he stays close. “We don’t gotta get up yet,” he says, voice soft like a secret. “Just wanna hold you a little longer.”

You nod, pressing your forehead to his. “Okay.”

So he does. His hand runs slow down your back, your legs stay tangled, and the world outside stays forgotten for a while longer.

Wrapped up in Dean, the bunker quiet and still, it’s just you and him in the glow of the morning—no sun, no noise, just love.

You shift a little closer, your hand cupping Dean’s cheek as your thumb traces the faint line of stubble along his jaw. His eyes flutter closed under your touch, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. That look he gets when he’s letting himself feel safe. Letting himself be loved.

You lean in and press a kiss to his temple.

Then another, a little lower. His brow. His cheekbone. The tip of his nose. His other cheek. Each one light, slow, and full of everything in your chest.

“I love you,” you whisper, between kisses. “I love you so much, Dean.”

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tense or flinch, doesn’t shy away—but he doesn’t speak, either. You didn’t expect him to.

Dean’s always been more action than words. But you feel it in the way he exhales like he’s letting go of something heavy. In the way his hand slips up your back, fingers weaving into your hair, holding you close like he’s afraid if he lets go, he’ll lose the only good thing that’s ever felt real.

Your lips find his again, one more soft kiss to his mouth. Not asking, not taking. Just giving. Just being there.

His fingers press lightly against the back of your neck, holding you in place for a second longer as he kisses you back—deeper this time, still slow, but more certain. Like he needs you to feel it.

When he pulls back, he presses his forehead to yours again. Still silent.

But then he nudges his nose against yours, eyes locked on you, thumb brushing your cheek like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

He doesn’t say I love you.

But he doesn’t have to.

Because he’s looking at you like he’d burn down the world to keep you safe. Because his arms are wrapped around you like they’re built for it. Because the only thing he’s holding tighter than your body… is your heart.

And you know.

You’ve always known.