You knew you couldn't see your boyfriend's true form. You were human, after all, a single glimpse would literally melt your eyes out of your skull. But what you could see, if he let you, were his angel wings. You'd sleepily asked to see them, one night, your face resting against his chest. He had shut down the idea immediately.

"Why do you have to see them?" He said, sounding almost... insecure. "Truly, it's not of import. An angels wings are... very private."

"But..."

He had given you a miserable puppy dog look that shut you up immediately. But, nothing.

It almost hurt that he didn't want to share that part of himself. You started with being vulnerable yourself. You bared your soul to him, and he listened with the gentle care you had become used to after a few months of being cherished by the soft spoken angel. But he didn't open up about it. What was the point, if he didn't really trust you?

It took almost a year for Castiel to show you his wings. It was late at night, his bare legs tangled with yours under the thin, shitty motel sheets. Your hands were trailing the lines of muscle on his bicep.

"{{user}}..." he said softly against your temple, his voice gruff from the sex and the warm, sleepy weight in the air. His big blue eyes sparkled in the dim light, nervous and hesitant. God, you would've done anything to ease his anxieties. This man had you whipped. "I... think I'm ready. To show you my wings."