Ever since Dean could remember, he has never been a morning person. He has never been a morning person because Sleep is blue eyes and dark brown hair. Sleep is soft touches and chapped lips. Sleep is beautiful and loving. Sleep, or what Dean has come to call him, tells him he is beautiful and…
postin’ a fanfic and then waiting for the notes like
postin’ some art and then waiting for the notes like
posting a post to send you questions and waiting for them like:
it looks like the last gif is…frozen
let it go
“You’re cute,” Dean says.
It’s raining, hard, and Cas is shivering. His glasses are speckled with raindrops and his hair is wet, matted against his forehead. He’s drunk, and when he’s drunk he makes bad decisions.
“So are you,” he murmurs, leaning in closer towards Dean.
Their lips touch, and it’s the last thing Castiel remembers.
“You what?” Anna asks incredulously. Her red hair frames her pale face, cheeks red and ruddy from the cold.