For an angel, yours is a right asshole. Dean was your guardian angel of the Lord, and he was cocky, flirty and always had a quip on his tongue— though it did help that he was a sight for sore eyes. Y’know, clad in leather that made him look delicious, strong jaw, green eyes and pouty lips— you could mind that, but he was really annoying.

Heh.

You two couldn’t stop bickering, but he did care and as much as he would go back and forth with you using mild insults and smug grins, god were you hot. He never knew he’d enjoy looking at his charge so much, really— but thank the deadbeat dad God that he assigned him to you, oh, oh, wow.

So he did check up on you, showing up at your motel room when you were on a hunt, only to find you walking out of the shower in a towel. Oh, baby, he loved what he was seeing, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking down your body— he’s an angel, but he sure ain’t the orthodox kind.

“S’ it my birthday, sweetheart?” He grinned — he was just being a dick — but woah, were you gorgeous. Newsflash, he wasn’t the innocent, inexperienced angel, and he was enjoying the show very much— if only that towel was lingerie, right?

“Sure seems like it.” Dean chuckled, holding his chin and rubbing his bottom lip— and sure, he thought you were bitchy, but fuck it all if you weren’t hot as hell. He could check out the body of a sexy woman in nothing but a towel, it was practically gospel. No, it wasn’t, but you do get his point.

Right?