I hands-down have THE cutest girlfriend in the history of the known world. This beautiful woman puts up with my cooky ass on a near-daily basis. My significant other is my better half because she is a significantly better person than me. I couldn’t be more grateful because she makes me a better person by being a part of my life.
So blessed to be able to look at this beautiful girl and say “I’m yours.”
For @casmish, because both she and Cas deserve love and cuddles.
The thing is that even though Dean has now admitted to liking chick flicks, and become comfortable with the fact that he likes cooking and cleaning and homemaking, and is even less ashamed of enjoying things that would definitely have not been ‘100% John Winchester Approved’—he has a hard time with cuddling. Not that he doesn’t like it; he freaking loves it. Dean’ll cuddle with anyone, any time, any place… he just has a hard time accepting that about himself.
Sam would probably chalk it up to the fact that he was touch-starved as a kid, and go off on some psychological bullshit tangent about how Dad didn’t create a touch-positive environment, so now Dean has a hard time admitting that he’s a total slut for any and all physical affection blah blah blah. That’s not the point.
The point is that Cas… helps.
Dean thinks he and Cas are kinda perfect for each other; their crazy matches up, they both have daddy issues, they’re learning to love themselves—whatever. They make a good, if kinda touch-starved, pair.
This is probably why they’re always cuddling.
Like now, for example.
Now, Sam is watching TV, Mom is reading in her room, and both Dean and Cas have cited exhaustion and begged off for the night. They are currently in Dean’s room, (because he has the better mattress,) in their undies, holding each other and kissing like they’re at a middle school dance.
That is to say: it’s really not going anywhere.
Which Dean knows he should find weird—after all, what is the point of kissing unless it leads to sex—but he’s just kinda… basking in the attention. Cas is all warm skin and fluffy hair and miles of pliable, relaxed muscle. He kisses like they’ve got all the time in the world, so Dean follows his example; trails his hands up Cas’s bare back, nuzzles his cheek before depositing kisses up and down his jawline. They tangle their fingers together and hum and smile and sometimes they don’t kiss at all; they just hold each other, and talk or not talk, and sleep or not sleep, and just… exist in the same space.
It’s like freakishly nice.
Dean’s favourite moments are when Cas becomes like a human octopus, when they’re so into just holding each other that everything falls away and he can love on his angel without even feeling remotely weird about it. Dean really loves running his hands through Cas’s hair at times like these—his fingers work like an instant muscle relaxant—and he’s, oddly, a huge fan of talking. Dean has said some of the most embarrassing shit he’ll ever say cuddled up with Cas in one corner or another. Things like: “M’so glad I got you, Cas” and “Love you so much I don’t know what to do with it all” and “You’re so gorgeous. Got no words to describe how gorgeous you are.” But whatever, it’s just him and Cas, and while he’s going on about how blue the angels’s eyes are, Cas is making galaxies out of his freckles so. It’s kind of a win-win.
So, yeah, Dean may have a hard time admitting that to himself that he likes this… but it’s a work in progress. Laying down, with Cas draped over him all warm and beautiful and good and like an uncanny imitation of the perfect boyfriend, he thinks the whole thing is a lot less scary.