I ship you with Castiel

I see him coming home and seeing you with splashes of oil paint in your hair or smudges of charcoal across your face and I can just picture the soft smile on his face as he takes in the chaos around you that signals another busy, creative day. I can see him look at your creations in absolute wonder because yes, he was probably present for the painting of the sistine chapel or the mona lisa, but he saw those masterpieces through the cold, detached eyes of an angel who hadn't yet fallen deeply in love with humanity. And your art.... well, your art he sees as a man moved by the most powerful force in the universe, so is it really any wonder that they make him feel dizzy, short of breath and utterly lost in the best kind of way? I see you taking a job as an art teacher in the high school where Cas is a gardener. And yeah, you're firm with your students (which they forgive you for because come on, you're the coolest teacher in the school) but then every lunch time you wander outside and find Castiel on his hands and knees in the flower beds, mud streaked across his face and caked under his finger nails and you sit on the grass together, leaning against a tree with your shoulders just touching - just enough to reassure yourselves constantly that the other is really there, that you haven't just imagined this perfect happiness - and you eat sandwiches spread with the honey from Castiel's bees.

I ship you with Castiel

Because first of all I seem to remember you telling me you liked baking? It was a while ago, I think you were making one of your grandmother's recipes for a German specialty and I can just picture you baking the Angel of Thursday something traditional, filling the kitchen with the warm smells of freshly baked spiced cakes and breads. I think of all of them, he's the most likely to appreciate your culture (you know Dean would only want you to bake pies, anything else is dirt to him) and, darling, you should be proud of your culture. Besides which, Castiel can probably already speak German because he's been around since before the Earth and he was in love with humanity from the beginning - you'd have loads to talk about with him. He is, primarily, a soldier of Heaven so I'm pretty sure he's mastered Judo - you'd never have to worry about not having a partner again. I'm sure he'd absolutely love to train and practice with you because it makes you happy, and anything that makes you happy is guaranteed to make him ecstatic. You're a sweet, caring and kind person, who is incredibly loyal and friendly. Honestly, that angel would be lucky to have you.

I ship you with Stiles

because you know he's the kind of kid who loves going to the movies and loves taking the girl of his dreams there even more. He clearly binge watches a lot of tv shows, so you'd probably get dragged into having regular tv marathons with him, accompanied with loads of junk food and more pizza than two humans should ever eat in one sitting. He'd make you laugh non-stop with his dry, sarcastic humour and you know that he'd always be loyal to you because that's the kind of wonderful person he is. He'd be your best friend, your constant companion, and you'd never get tired of having him around because he just kind of seems to make the air lighter when he enters a room. The only problem is, he'd probably take to hiding your glasses quite a bit once he figures out how hilarious it is to watch you grope your way around the room squinting at everything to try to focus the blurry images and ending up looking like you're really suspicious of the armchair.

I ship you with Steve (the cap)

because the idea of you knitting him an overlarge jumper with the design of his shield on it which he then refuses to take off, ever, is just adorable. I can picture you in a 50s dress and apron making jam in heels on a rare day when he has a moment away from saving the world. He'll be out in the garden mowing the lawn and you'll tap on the window and wave him inside so that he can try some of the jam made from the strawberries he picked in your garden, so hot that it burns his tongue as it darts out to taste the sweetness. He'll tell you it's delicious because that's what he always says when you present him with any dish you've made for him and then he'll pick you up in a great big hug and whirl you around the kitchen to an old tune he recognises from his youth. And when you come home from a night shift too exhausted to make the climb up to the bedroom he'll sneak downstairs (because you know he doesn't sleep until he's sure that you're home safe) and tuck one of your hand-knitted blankets around you. He'll buy you a beautiful pearl necklace for your birthday one year and while he slips it on around your neck he'll tell you that the pearls are dull and tarnished compared to you.

I'm sorry this is all so domestic but in my head you two have this really beautiful, cozy home together that's just full of comfort and love and happiness and I really want it to be real

I ship you with Dean

mostly because you sound like you have exactly the same personality. You two would get along like a house on fire and I feel like it would be hard to separate you. You could probably spend hours just talking and laughing with one another, stopping only to grab more pie from the kitchen. I can see you having a Back to the Future marathon together, flicking popcorn into Sam's mouth when he falls asleep and aggressively shushing Castiel whenever he tries to ask a question or point out an inaccuracy. The two of you would stay up the whole night watching classic movies back to back, wired on coffee and sugar. In the long summer evenings, he'd come to pick you up from school in the Impala and you'd go for a drive somewhere, anywhere (the location is never really important, it's more the act of driving), chasing after the sun as it slips beneath the horizon and blasting classic rock from the Impala's speakers with the windows rolled down and a breeze that tastes of summer whipping through your hair.

I ship you with Loki

I can totally picture you playing the piano rather than trying to make conversation with a bunch of people you don't know at some stuffy overcrowded party and no one's paying much attention because they're all too busy criticising everyone's outfits and hair cuts. You get caught up in a piece and carried away until you forget where you are and just relax and then you look up suddenly and he's standing there, watching you from across the room where he can't even hear what you're playing but he looks like he's just figured out the answer to life's most important question. And over time he'd coax you out of your shyness until you could speak to him openly, freely and he'd just sit and listen to what you were saying with a slight, private smile playing across his lips. He'd look at your drawings in awe when you decided that you trusted him enough to show them to him like you're the most talented person he's ever met. And he would never, ever hurt you. He'd be there when you needed him to be, and he would know when you just needed to be alone. He'd make you laugh and he'd hold you when you cried. And if anyone else ever hurt you, his eyes would fill with a terrifying, cool rage and his whole body would thrum with anger and you'd start to feel a little bit terrified - not of him, never of him, but for the idiots who'd hurt you.