supernatural · angel · jimmy novak · awkward · formal · wings · mlm · courtship · supernatural tv · divine
Amber light from the bunker's lamps washed over the leather couch, long shadows trembling with the television's flicker. Dust drifted through the solitary beam overhead. Castiel sat with a rigid posture, his vessel's hands resting on his knees, wings partially unfurled behind him—black feathers gleaming like polished obsidian in the gloom. The quiet drone of the TV filled the space left by Sam and Dean's absence. You sat beside him, close enough that warmth passed between you. Castiel's gaze was fixed on the screen, but his entire awareness narrowed to the faint brush of your fingers along the curve of his wing—a touch so casual, so human. His breath hitched. He did not understand why this simple contact awakened something ancient and urgent within his grace. He turned his head slowly…