(I am new to this but hopefully this post will get nice and beefy over time (edit: you guyssss its getting beefy!! (edit: its getting toooo beefy!!)))
So far, we have got: poolverine and buddie and destiel (if anybody has suggestions I might consider writing more for different fandoms)
mangocheezitz on ao3
And it feels like home
Summary: poolverine adopts spider-man
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 4.5
Poolverine oneshots
Tomorrow
Walk
I am here
Summary: me coping with 8x15 by writing buddie if it happened after 8x15, basically a ton of fluff with tiny lil moments of angst as they find their way into a relationship
Link to ao3
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 5.5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
And you too, and a lot (wip)
summary: buddie college au lol
Link to ao3
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Goodnight, I love you
summary: you're born with the last thing your soulmates says to you before you die written on your skin
Link to ao3
Link on tumblr
I know what you are (gay)
summary: Buck is a vampire, buddie ensues
Link to ao3
Link on tumblr
W dzikie wino zaplątani (tangled in wild wine)
summary: castiel novak? nah kastiel nowak (polish!castiel au)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Links to work in progress drafts:
part 1
part 2
part 3
part 4
Give that man period cramps and an inconveniently bloody nose!
summary: ye you guys will neeeevvver guess what this one is about lol
this is a little something i wrote on a whim when i saw @shedarart's wonderful comic for @naughtystiel's slavicnatural. it turned out twice as long as i originally intended lol. hope y'all enjoy it!!
When they’re done with the bannik, the elderly Pani Nowakowa invites them in for some homemade tincture.
“Nie ma to jak czereśniówka, chłopcy,” she says, her frail hands surprisingly steady as she pours the ruby-colored alcohol into intricate crystal glasses.
Dean regards his glass suspiciously, turning it this way and that in his fingers before he shrugs and tosses it back all at once.
“Dean, no—” Castiel warns, all too late. Dean slams the glass back onto the lace tablecloth, coughing so hard his eyes fill with tears. Pani Nowakowa laughs, clapping him on the shoulder.
“Widać, żeś nie Polak,” she grins. His face red, Dean glares at her, then at Castiel, looking so thoroughly betrayed it’s almost amusing.
“It’s for sipping, not shots,” Castiel says, trying to sound apologetic.
“I think I need to lie down,” Dean grumbles. He pushes away from the table and heads off to the guest bedroom Pani Nowakowa had insisted they spend the night in. Nie będziecie się tułać w taką zimną noc, she’d said when Castiel tried to politely refuse her.
“Śliczny chłopak,” she says after Dean has closed the door after himself, even though he wouldn’t understand her anyway. “To twój kochaś?”
Castiel all but chokes on his mouthful. He sets his glass down carefully. “Proszę?”
She smiles. “Świetnie znam ten blask w twoich oczach.”
Castiel stares down at his hands, folded in his lap. He has loved Dean from the start, since he pulled him out of Hell, but he only realized it was the human sort of love, the kind that drives one to want to burrow under the other’s skin, months after Anna told him the fist clenching around his stomach bore the name of doubt.
He looks up again. Pani Nowakowa is watching him carefully.
Uncertain, he says, “Jestem Aniołem Pańskim. Ludzkie uczucia są mi obce.” It’s not entirely the truth. He doesn’t understand mortal emotions well; he tries, though. He learns them by observing Dean – the twists and furrows of his face, the ever-fluctuating lines of his body. Dean is his reference point for everything, it seems.
“Wiem,” Pani Nowakowa nods. “Ale czy ojciec nie nakazał ci kochać człowieka?”
Castiel hesitates. “Tak.”
“Więc kochasz. Nieważne, czy po swojemu, czy po naszemu. Ważne jest tylko, czy on o tym wie.”
“Nie. Przynajmniej nie ode mnie.”
“A powinien.”
“Czyżby?”
Pani Nowakowa laughs again. “Oj, chłopcze, żebyś ty tylko wiedział, jak on się na ciebie patrzy, kiedy myśli, że nikt tego nie widzi. Jakbyś do niego z Nieba na skrzydłach zleciał.” She seems to parse through what she just said, then only smiles brighter. “Cóż.”
They spend the next few hours drinking czereśniówka and talking idly about other things, unimportant things, until the roaring fire has turned to a sleepy glow in its hearth and Pani Nowakowa is rubbing at her eyes.
“Na mnie już pora,” she says, gathering their empty glasses and getting up from the table. “Dobranoc, Castielu.”
“Dobranoc,” he returns absent-mindedly. Gazing into the dying fire, he listens to her putter away, then turn in for the night. When she shuts the door to her room, the house is enveloped by a silence so profound Castiel can nearly hear it.
Does Dean love him back? It’s not impossible, but Castiel’s time on Earth must be affecting him more than he had thought, because he’s scared. Scared that Dean doesn’t return his affections, scared that if Castiel were to confess to him, Dean would cast him away. Dean is good right to the core of him – God’s righteous man – but Castiel knows that love is difficult for him, unfamiliar, like a foreign object in his hand.
Nevertheless, Castiel gets up. He has rebelled for this man, died for him; the three little words humans are so afraid of permeate everything he has ever done for Dean. The least Castiel can do is say them.
He moves to the guest bedroom. Dean is buried so deep under the lush white comforter that only his hair sticks out, but he must feel Castiel’s presence, because he turns towards him with a groan, peeking out of the sheets so Castiel can see his face. He’s flushed from the alcohol and the heat of the bed, and his eyes are heavy-lidded, like he’s been napping.
“Man,” he says emphatically. “They weren’t lying about Polish booze.”
“I love you,” Castiel says.
Dean gapes at him, lush mouth parted.
“What?” he rasps.
“I love you, Dean,” Castiel repeats. “I have always loved you.”
Dean doesn’t say anything for a long moment.
“Am I dreaming?” he finally asks. His voice has gone shaky, quiet, and Castiel doesn’t know what to think.
He shakes his head. “Not this time.”
Dean swallows hard as he sits up. The comforter falls from his shoulders, pooling around his hips. “Come here, Cas,” he rumbles.
Castiel complies, sitting down at the edge of the bed, and before he knows it, Dean is cupping his face in both hands and kissing him hotly, hungrily, tongue darting out to swipe at Castiel’s upper lip. Castiel moves in closer, his hands going automatically to Dean’s waist. It’s good, so good, Dean’s body warm and solid beneath his palms, the little sound Dean makes deep in his throat when Castiel slides one hand under his t-shirt and rests it over his ribs.
All too soon, Dean pulls back, resting his forehead against Castiel’s.
“I love you, too, you dumb son of a bitch,” he murmurs into the scant space between their mouths.
“I’m pleased to hear that,” Castiel says and kisses him again.
My contribution to what CAITH Cas looks like in my head.
(If you haven't already, check it ouuuuuttt https://archiveofourown.org/works/85078281/chapters/224638986)
Also proof that you should Trust The Process under the cut (and bonus Blue Cas because apparently I don't know how lighting works when taking pictures of my work lol but hey blue is his colourrrr)
