tacos-to-london asked: Prompt: Dean asks Cas, (his best friend since they were four) to prom because Cas was upset he didn’t get asked. But then they’re THERE and Cas is in a SUIT and they’re dancing to some dorky song that Cas likes because he pulled Dean onto the dance floor giggling with a “c'mon Dean!” and Cas looks REALLY GOOD under the lights of the gym and the moonlight and all of a sudden Dean feels like he’s been shot and he surges forward and kisses Cas right there in the middle of the dance floor. Fluff.

Dean’s heart was thumping wildly in his chest as he eyed his best friend, who was sitting on the porch steps, doodling something in a notebook. The sun was about to set, but the air was still heavy and warm. Cas loved to draw, and was actually quite good at it. He was absently running his free hand through the dark mess that was his hair, and the sight put Dean at ease, because it was so typically Cas. He’d known Cas for so long, yet the joy of being in Cas’ presence would never get old.  

Castiel didn’t even notice Dean as he cautiously approached, and even if he had, he couldn’t possibly suspect what was about to happen. In all honesty; Dean himself still couldn’t believe that he was actually going to do this. It wasn’t something that two guy friends did, and part of Dean worried that maybe this was weird, or inappropriate.

But then he remembered the sadness in Cas’ eyes the other day, when he’d subtly asked whether or not Cas was going to prom, and if he had found a date. The question hadn’t been an unreasonable one, considering that it was Cas who had helped organizing the whole thing, and who had been in charge of the decorations. Dean’s heart had shattered into a million tiny pieces when Castiel had informed him with a sad shake of his head that no one wanted to go with him, and that’s how he ended up here.

A friend date, that’s what it would be. Again, no reason to be this nervous. Man up, Winchester, Dean told himself for the umpteenth time that day.

He cleared his throat as he walked up to Castiel, and Cas’ head shot up when he realized that he had company. Blue eyes were clearly excited to see Dean, the deep orange of the fading sun reflected in them. Dean did a double take, not for the first time wondering why on earth Cas couldn’t get a date to begin with. Castiel was definitely not unfortunate looking if you asked Dean, and Dean found himself thinking that if he’d been a chick and Cas had asked him, there was no way he would’ve told Cas no. Seriously, who cared if Cas was a little shy, what the hell was wrong with the girls at Lawrence High?

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel greeted, putting down his unfinished sketch, flashing Dean a smile. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over tonight.”

Dean came to a stop, smiling back. Nothing new there; whenever Cas smiled, Dean smiled.

“Yeah, well… Call it a surprise visit.” Dean said, going for a casual tone.

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The Valentine

This is a late offering for Valentine’s day, a silly thing quickly done.

There is a card in her locker and she doesn’t know what to make of it. The mountain of such cards that tumbles out as her partner opens his own locker is common, expected even. But this? It is February 14th, Valentine’s Day, and the last thing in the world Maka expects is a large square envelope made of expensive looking pressed paper, her name on the front written in a hand so painstakingly neat it could pass for calligraphy.

“What’s that?” her partner asks with raised eyebrows as he leans against his own locker and eyes the paper in her hand. Soul has already unceremoniously dumped his own haul of perfumed envelopes, though she notices a few sealed boxes of chocolate under his arms. Candy always gets kept–waste not, want not.

“Not sure. Maybe a partner request.” She does get them sometimes. Most people don’t bother since she wields a deathscythe; why would she want another weapon? She does get some, though. Unlike Soul, she actually reads them all since someone took the time to write them, penning a polite refusal. It’s not like hers are the gross proposals he often gets. No one is throwing themselves at her, though she has been asked on a date or two in person. She refuses those as well. Why should she date? She is perfectly happy as she is, thank you very much.

Maka flips the envelope, running her nail under the seam. The envelope is so nice compared to what she normally gets, more like one of the letters meant for Soul, and it’s certainly odd it came today of all days. She might think someone put it in the wrong locker but for it being addressed to her, and as she pulls out a large, soft, heart shaped Valentine, she is even more convinced this must be a mistake. Soul clears his throat from her side and she glares at him.


“What is it?”

“A valentine.”

“Seriously?” he scoffs.

Her eyeroll is in place of the book she wants to bean him with. “Yes, seriously. What, just because you think I’ve got no sex appeal or whatever no one can find me attractive?” It’s her turn to scoff. “I get asked out–I’m not hideous. Not everyone subscribes to the Soul Evans school of big boobs or bust.”

“Wha–I never said–I mean–” His sputtering is admittedly gratifying. Sure it would be nice if he thought she was appealing, but she’ll take showing him not everyone is so shallow over nothing.

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