AU: Castiel shows his wings to Dean.

“I don’t understand why do you want to see them so much.
“Isn’t it obvious? Come on, Cas, you said it’s possible because of that… profound bond or whatever it’s called.”
“It is true.”
“So, why don’t you let me…?”
“My wings are not… as impressive as Michael’s or Raphael’s once were.”
“But I don’t care about their wings, Cas. I want to see yours.”
“Okay, then… And? I told you, they are not…”
“They’re perfect.”
Yeah. Can I touch them?”


dean and cas taking baths together

dean massaging soap into cas’ tense shoulders as he murmurs sweet nothings into his hair

cas shaving dean’s face with razor and leather strap as he grins unabashedly at his best friend

dean and cas having sex in a bath tub ಥ⌣ಥ



i’m just imagining Dean being an ass and singing ‘you’re my sunshine, my only sunshineee’ into Cas’ ear early in the morning just to wake him up pls just picture how GROUCHY Cas would be


Dean’s breath is hot and still whiskey-tainted from the night before when Castiel first hears him.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

The whisper starts out soft, not too close to the fallen angel’s ear as of yet. But with gentle strokes of fingertips, with the careful grazing of teeth,  Dean’s lips inch closer and closer to their destination. No, It is far too early in the morning for this. Dean of all people should know that mornings are not Castiel’s favorite time, are not Castiel’s preferred time to -

You make me happy, when skies are grey.

A groan hisses through Castiel’s lips as Dean’s fingers encircle his wrist, squeezing just hard enough to force the sleepy man’s eyes open. 

You’ll never know, Cas,

So close. Dean is barely breathing out now, but Castiel can still hear him. He can hear his heart beat, can hear the humor in the notes, can hear the shaky drawing of breath before the song continues.

How much I love you.

“Dean -” Castiel is trying to roll over, trying to escape the gaze that is pinning him down, making him acutely aware of the fact that it is still far too early for this kind of thing. There’s another groan trapped deep in Castiel’s chest, released only as Dean trails kisses down his throat, 


Another kiss and Castiel is frozen, waiting for the contact of mouth pressed to mouth, of smooth red pressed to chapped cuts -

don’t take my angel away.

Castiel doesn’t pull away from the kiss until he’s out of breath, head dancing with stars. It’s then, and only then, that his eyes slide over to notice the alarm clock.

4 am.

“Dean!” The hunter is laughing, pulling himself up off of the angel while Castiel writhes. “I hate you.”