#I NEEDED TO THROW ALL THESE SOMEWHERE. especially considering i spent an embarrassingly long time trying to find one of htem. looks away

[venesicity]

assorted raikov scribbles because i have so many psychiatric problems

pls dont tag as kin. grins bigly

[imissjoongsmullet]

The Morning After The Fact

Pairing: Xiaojun x reader

Genre: fluff (tiiiiny bit of angst)

Summary: Part 2 of An Evening With The Boys.

After a fun evening with your little brother (Yang Yang) and his friends, you can’t stop thinking about certain things that happened between you and Xiaojun. You plan to ignore them but the next morning proves to make that a very difficult to do. 

Warnings: more chaotic WayV, awkward conversations, cuteness

Word Count: 3.5k

Author’s Note: thank you for the request @idontknowapil​  I really like this whole concept, it makes me feel all warm and fluffy inside. I hope it can be the same for people who read it. Much love!!

►

It was 3 am and you had yet to fall asleep. You’d spent the last couple of hours turning around in your sheets, helplessly trying to clear your head but it all seemed in vain under the current circumstances. After you’d turned down your lights, you’d laid in darkness, listening to the muffled voices coming from your brother’s room. It was astounding how him and his friends just did not seem to need sleep. You could hear Lucas’ monstrous cackles, Ten’s screeches and a lot of mysterious thumping noises. There was no sign of Xiaojun at all, which made you wonder whether he was still awake. He might be even more distracted by it all than you were.

With your hand beneath the bed sheet, you tried to relive the feel of his hand on yours from just a few moments ago. You’d barely been able to concentrate on the movie because of it. You’d been shoulder to shoulder with him under a nice, fluffy blanket, which had been reason enough for your cheeks to turn strawberry pink. When he’d reached for your hand and interlaced his fingers with yours, you’d felt chills all over your body. It had been such a gentle touch, so sweet, and in the moment it had overwhelmed you completely. Now, you were wondering what it had meant.

He’d felt so warm against your skin, almost too much so, but now you just felt cold. Would he ever do it again? Or was he already regretting his actions. He was your little brother’s friend, after all.

What would he want with you?

Your alarm woke you up at 7:30, as always. You enjoyed being the first person awake in the house (not a hard thing to do considering Yang usually didn’t leave his self-proclaimed ‘man cave’ ‘till the early afternoon). Not wanting to disturb the boys, you put in your earphones, put on a nice, soft morning playlist, and made your way down the stairs. You figured you could make your favorite breakfast and enjoy the piece and quiet in the house while it lasted.

The remnants from last night were still sprawled all across the living room. Playing cards, half-empty chips bags, stray video game controllers,… You shook your head, figuring you’d boss your idiot brother into cleaning it up later. First, breakfast.

Maybe it was the soft piano playing in your ears but you didn’t see it coming at all. Turning the corner into the morning-lit, white-tiled kitchen, was Xiaojun, putting a bunch of things out onto the counter.

You both jumped at the sight of one another. A very unflattering squeal escaped your lips as you instinctively wrapped your hands around yourself. You were still in your embarrassingly childish pajamas: a Hello Kitty top and shorts combo you’d never wanted to throw away for sentimental reasons. He, on the other hand, was handsome as always, in soft, white and gray striped pajamas that looked like they were brand new. His hair was messy but charmingly so, while yours probably looked more like a rat lived in it. He was staring at you with big, honey-brown eyes, lips parted, as if he was about to say something.

But you weren’t ready to hear his judgment. You yanked out your earphones and dashed to one of the kitchen chairs to wrap yourself in the long, white cardigan that hung over it, covering yourself up.

“Good morning,” he started, a little smile tugging at his lips.

You nodded at him, realizing at once how silly of a reaction that was but also unable to get any words out to save yourself. Looking at him now, all sleepy-faced and gorgeous, your mind flitted to last night, to the way he’d looked at you before parting ways in the hallway. There had been something in his eyes then; he’d wanted to say something, you were sure of it. Was it still there? Or were you simply over-thinking things?

“Sleep well?” he asked, continuing to grab things from the cupboards.

“Yeah,” you managed at last, forcing your focus to the present moment, “um, what are you doing?”

His smile grew wider; the smile of a kid getting caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. “I’m making breakfast,” he said, shrugging, “I hope that’s okay. Yang usually lets us grab whatever we want.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” you were quick to answer this time, “you just startled me, is all.”

His eyes twinkled at yours for a moment before they shot down to the ingredients before him.

“Would you like some too?” he asked. He looked back up at you, a glimmer of timidness showing through his expression now, “pancakes are your favorite, right?”

You couldn’t stop a grin from overtaking your entire face. Embarrassed, you opened to fridge door to shield yourself from his gaze.

“How do you even know that?” you asked, pretending to grab a drink.

“It’s not my first sleepover at this house,” you heard him chuckle, “I’ve watched you eat pancakes for breakfast for years.”

Even in the icy cold of the fridge, his words managed to heat you up. You felt strangely exposed by his statement. I mean, it wasn’t as if he’d actually been observing you all these years. You did eat pancakes for breakfast at a ridiculous frequency, especially on your days off, which was often when Yang Yang’s friends would be over. It wasn’t strange for him to notice, you supposed.

You randomly grabbed for the apple juice and poured the both of you a glass, reminding yourself every second that none of this probably meant anything. He hadn’t mentioned anything about last night. He’d probably already forgotten about the whole thing. It was fine.

“Where do you keep the flour?” his voice called so near to your ear that you jumped again. He’d come up right behind you.

You twisted around, only to regret it immediately. He looked so heavenly in the morning light, looking down at you like he had no idea what he was doing to you.

“It’s in the back, hold on,” you said, scurrying off into the pantry.

You were starting to get frustrated with yourself. You weren’t like this. Sure, you’d had certain “feelings” when it came to Xiaojun, but you’d always managed to keep them under control pretty well. You’d been around him for many years. You’d pretty much gotten used to his presence and the idea that things would never lead anywhere with him.

But now, you couldn’t even look at him without flushing like a child; it was ridiculous. Things had happened last night, there was no denying that, but you didn’t want to fool yourself into thinking that had to mean anything. It might have been a spur of the moment thing for him, inspired by the film. Guys did unexplainable things more often... 

But, a timid, little voice in the back of your head came in, what about that look he gave you during poker? Or right before going to bed? There was something-

Those all led to nothing, your reason shot back monotonously, ergo, he didn’t mean for it to lead anywhere.

“Should I use butter or oil? What do you think?” Xiaojun’s voice called from the kitchen, and then, not much later, “also, how do you separate an egg?”

A tiny smile crept up onto your face. You snatched the flour from the shelf before you and went back out, locking your worries somewhere you wouldn’t be able to hear them for the time being.

“Why don’t we make the pancakes together?”

He frowned at the eggs in his hands and nodded.

It was a little surprising how clumsy he was in the kitchen. Xiaojun had always seemed like such a clean, put together kind of guy, so watching him fish eggshells out of a bowl as if his life depended on it (and failing) was very amusing. You showed him all the steps you knew by heart, and he followed gladly, keeping the full of his attention on you.

It didn’t make you as nervous anymore. Little by little, you eased into his presence, temporarily ignoring unhealthy thoughts and letting yourself enjoy the moment.

“You’ve got to be gentle with the stirring,” you said, standing next to him to oversee his actions, “or they won’t be fluffy.”

“I am gentle,” he chuckled, taking a quick look at you, “see.” He folded the wooden spoon through the batter ever-so-slowly. His sleeves rolled up, you found yourself staring at his tensed forearms as he worked. The idea of being wrapped up in them did cross your mind, but you forced yourself not to dwell on it.

“How’s this,” he asked, stepping aside to show you his process.

You took the bowl and ran the spoon through it, feeling the smooth consistency. Then you dipped in your ring finger and tried some.

“What are you doing?” he said, apprehension all over his voice.

“I’m tasting it,” you said simply, turning to him, “how else would you know if they’ll be any good?”

He somehow managed to look both amused and concerned at the same time.

“I heard raw batter is bad for you.”

“You have a point,” you laughed, “but it tastes so good.” You dipped a clean finger into the batter and held it up to him. “Try it,” you said, and just as the words dove off your lips, plummeting the conversation into dangerous territory, did you realize what you’d just suggested. You were about to pull back your finger but Xiaojun had already grabbed hold of your hand.

Eyes like tennis balls, you stared as he started bringing your finger towards his lips. Everything inside you was short-circuiting: the cogs in your body jamming, sparks flying all around, fog filling up your brain.

“No,” you gasped out suddenly, yanking back your hand at the same time he’d decided to let go. Your hand recoiled into your own face, your battered finger hitting you sharp in the eyeball.

“Are you alright?” you heard him sputter, as his two hands grabbed your shoulders. Your eyes were closed shut in shock and pain but you nodded anyways.

“Hold on,” he said and he started leading you towards what you could only imagine was the sink. To add to your shock, he positioned himself flush behind you so as to guide your hands towards the stream of the faucet.

“I’m fine!” you muttered, heart like a ticking time bomb. Once he’d removed himself from your backside, allowing your body to calm down, you wiped your eyes and tentatively opened them.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, turning back around to face him.

He leaned in, examining your face, asking, “You sure?”

You couldn’t stand all this closeness. Somehow his eyes were the worst of it.

“Stop looking at me,” you said in a near whisper, positive your cheeks resembled actual tomatoes by this point.

“Wait,” he answered, reaching out to softly wipe the space under your eye, “you just had a little bit,” he grinned, showing you the batter on his thumb before putting it past his lips and licking it clean.

That was it: the last of your sanity flying out the window. You turned away from him, mortified.

You heard him move before you felt it: his hand on yours. It sent the hairs on your arms up, all the way to your neck.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked in a quiet murmur, squeezing your hand gently.

You looked into his eyes and swore your could see it again; that same thing you’d noticed in his eyes the previous night, the thing that made you wonder whether maybe…

“I-” you started, knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to ever finish the sentence. You wished he would just say something instead. But he was still staring at you with those big eyes of his, sunlit brown gazing from beneath long eyelashes, searching you.

“Sorry,” he said at last. The words punctured the silence like a needle to a balloon. They seemed to echo in your head, adding to the confusion already dominating your thoughts. Sorry for what?! You wanted to yell but he was still holding onto your hand and standing so close and there was just nothing you could do about it and you thought you might explode when suddenly-

“Something smells good!” a voice like a trumpet called from the living room.

Xiaojun released you and you both turned around to find Lucas, Ten and Yang Yang sauntering into the kitchen with sleepy faces and messy hair.

“Pancakes!” Ten gasped.

“Sweet!” Lucas nodded.

“Did I hear pancakes?!” Hendery’s voice came in from far away, followed by heavy thumping.

Yang Yang shot you and Xiao a strange, up-and-down glare before shaking his head in amusement. “You know what? I don’t even wanna know,” he exhaled, turning around and walking off.

Things got a bit easier from then on because at least you weren’t alone. Xiaojun was busy trying to create the perfectly shaped pancake, while Ten and Lucas provided enough of a distraction for you not to worry about what had just happened between the two of you. The air soon filled with the sweet aroma of baked goods, feeding your appetite. You offered Xiaojun your help but he seemed to have gotten really into it, declining and promising you nothing short of perfection once he was finished.

So you allowed yourself to watch him. It was a lot less scary now that he had his back turned to you. The sunlight was pouring heavily into the room, making him look like some sort of breakfast-making God.

“Like what you’re seeing?” a sly voice whispered in your ear.

You slapped Ten on the shoulder, hissing a desperate shut up.

Ten smirked in response, “What,” he said, poking you in the side, “you know I’m right.”

It was another five-or-so minutes before the pancakes were done and you could all move around the breakfast table together. They were delightfully tasty and surprisingly soft. Everyone had several helpings and, aside from things nearly escalating into a food fight when Lucas started playing with the chocolate sauce, it was truly one of the nicest breakfasts you’d had in a while.

“Well, I guess we’ll finally get out of your hair then,” Hendery yawned as he stretched his arms wide above his head, “Lovely pancakes, by the way, man.” He clapped Xiaojun on the shoulder and got up.  

The others followed suit, picking up their plates and disappearing into the kitchen. You supposed they had some manners after all. You watched as Xiaojun returned to clear off the rest of the table.

“Oh that’s okay,” you said, getting up as well, “I’ll clean up. You can go grab your things with the others.”  

You thought that’d be for the best. Maybe, if you were fast enough, you could finish cleaning and sneak into your room before the boys left. That way you could at least avoid any more awkward moments. You shoved the dirty dishes and bowls into the sink, hurriedly returned ingredients to their rightful place and haphazardly wiped the table and counters. Passable, you judged your work, before sprinting up the stairs and into the narrow hallway, only to run headfirst into someone’s chest.

“Woah!” he exclaimed and you knew you’d fucked up once again.

“Sorry,” you muttered, not even looking up. You swerved past him and the other boys, making your way to your room. You were too caught up in your own thoughts to hear Xiaojun tell the others to go on ahead of him cause he’d forgotten something. Only when he jogged over to you with a breathy “wait,” did you realize. Your turned to him, keeping your hand on your doorknob.

“I, um,” he started, and for the first time, you noticed a slight unsteadiness in his voice. He was looking down at the ground, thinking. “I think I haven’t been handling this so well,” he sighed out at last, “I’m not that good at this.”

This was it, you groaned inwardly, the moment he’d tell you yesterday was a mistake and to please leave him alone. You were about ready to tell him to save the speech because you got it. The whole thing was stupid and you acting like a baby about it was making things awkward for everyone.

Electricity jolted up your arm when his hand brushed yours, tentatively for a few seconds, but then wrapping it around yours firmly, squeezing. Looking from your entangled hands, up into his kind eyes, you realized you’d forgotten, in all your anxiousness, that Xiaojun was naturally quite a shy person as well, and that him holding your hand could not be as easy for him as you’d thought it may have been.

But he didn’t stop there. His free hand came up and brushed the hair from your face, locking lightly behind your ear. Then he smiled and you felt your heart start to race. He was so close and looking at you with a face that bore such sincerity, you couldn’t understand why you’d doubted him before. He leaned in and you were far from ready.

When his lips touched yours your mind went blank for the first time in forever. He kissed you softly, cupping your face and caressing your hand with his thumb. It was gentle and soothing and more than you’d ever dared to hope for. You felt so light. You found the urge to move closer; to fall into his warm chest where you belonged but something still held you back.

Xiaojun broke the kiss but kept his face close, resting his forehead on yours and smiling. Now you weren’t the only one blushing.

“I’m not good with words,” he murmured.

You smiled up at him. “You’ve said plenty just now.”

He returned the smile and squeezed your hand again; a gesture you were growing very fond of very quickly.

“Sneaky, I like it,” a voice said in a tone that could only come from one person.

“Ten,” you gasped, looking behind Xiaojun to find him at the top of the stairs, a single eyebrow cocked in triumph.

He snickered, “listen, I’m very happy you two finally decided to cut the crap and make out already but Yang Yang is this close to coming up here to ask what’s keeping you so long and I’m sure you both don’t wanna find out what will happen when he finds out so you better get your ass down the stairs right now lover boy.”

You both stared at the smug boy for a moment, before Xiaojun finally broke the daze. “Right,” he said, nodding. He looked to you, then to his friend and back to you.

“Fine!” Ten sighed with the dramatic wave of a hand, “Have your moment. Just make sure you’re down in five seconds or I might not be able to keep my mouth shut.” And with that, he descended the stairs.

Xiaojun turned to you again, looking a bit embarrassed.

“Maybe we should get coffee sometime?”

You nodded pressing your lips together tight in an attempt to control your glee.

He nodded to and came in once more, pecking you sweetly on the nose.

“Okay,” he said, and finally, he walked off towards the stairs, but keeping his eyes on you. Only upon reaching the stairs, did he turn around.

“There you are, you lazy piece of shit,” Lucas’ voice bellowed from below, “I’m gonna miss my train because of you!”

And so you stood there, in front of your bedroom door, listening to the sounds of your brother and his friends once again: Yang Yang ordering people around despite being the youngest, Hendery and Lucas’ signature laughter, Ten’s unnecessary comments on it all and Xiaojun’s silence. He was probably just thinking and, for the first time, you had a pretty good idea what he was thinking of. You put your hands to your cheeks in an attempt to cool them.

After hearing the door click shut, you entered you own room, realizing you wouldn’t get anymore work done for the rest of the day and, for the first time, not even caring one bit.

[gottanerdout]

Based on this post.

Stuck

GA, 1790 words

Summary:  An attempt to make Crowley comfortable while in his snake form goes embarrassingly awry.

(AO3 link)

After the dust settled and their relationship inevitably shifted into more, the idea of moving in together had been a bit of a given for Aziraphale and Crowley. Months and months after settling down, Aziraphale had long since gotten used to the quirks of sharing a home with the demon, chief of which was what he termed his snake periods. Crowley had desperately attempted to hide the fact he needed some time to recharge himself in a form closer to his demonic nature at first, making excuses as to why he would suddenly disappear a few days every so often. It took finding the then-serpent hidden away in their backyard sleeping instead of ‘out on a trip’ for the angel to finally understand what was happening and realize, distressingly, that Crowley had been keeping it quiet out of fear of how he’d react to it. The shame he seemed to associate with it broke his heart to see and Aziraphale wouldn't stand for it.

From that moment on, he never passed up the opportunity to normalize it. The first month after finding out, Aziraphale spent a good amount of time dotting their cottage with spots intended to be comfortable areas for him to hide or sun himself, depending on his moods. When Crowley finally started to opt to being around him more openly while he was a serpent, he never rebuffed him being nearby, no matter what he was doing at the time. He would even occasionally find the demon had turned sometime in his sleep and their usual tangle of arms and legs were replaced by his lithe, long body wrapped protectively around him and even that he barely batted an eye at. After all, the choice to stay in bed and run his fingers gently along his scales was always an easy one, especially with how contented Crowley seemed to be when he did it. Hiding it away became a distant memory soon enough, which was exactly what Aziraphale wanted to happen.

The idea of getting silk sheets had been born of knowing what Crowley’s preference in sleeping attire was. Surely, he surmised, if he enjoyed the feel of silk against his skin, the same could be said against his scales. It would be a nice surprise, he decided, and knew he'd have to wait for the right moment to spring it. Biding his time, the angel’s chance finally came a month or so after the idea had crossed his mind. He’d been sitting in the reading room engrossed in one of his books when he suddenly felt the familiar sensation of the demon slithering up his pant leg. It didn’t take him long before he had coiled himself up in his lap, a sensation that wasn’t much different than having a weighted blanket placed on him. It was pleasant, just like all the quiet moments he had with him were.

“Taking a nap, dear?” he guessed, not looking up from the page. He did lift the book a bit so the sunshine that was coming out of the window near them bathed him in warmth a bit more, though.

“Yesss,” Crowley hissed out, the sound coming out like a contented sigh.

“Alright. Sleep well,” he replied, reaching down to gently scratch under his chin. He smiled when he felt his forked tongue tickle his wrist as he did.

Moving him wasn’t an immediate thing. Instead, Aziraphale waited until the sun had long moved on from the window he was sitting in front of, only then putting the book aside. He looked down at the serpent fondly before snapping his fingers - a miracle to change the sheets was more than a little frivolous, but he barely gave it a second thought as he gathered Crowley into his arms.

The one thing he’d certainly learned about Crowley – as a snake and in his more human form as well – was when he slept deeply, nothing short of another apocalypse could wake him (if that). There was no reaction at all to being jostled about, even when he went so far as to loop him a bit around his shoulders for easier transportation. Walking through the cottage with his carefully carried bundle, he eventually made it into the bedroom a few minutes later. Unsurprisingly, their bed now sported inviting silk sheets, black as the ones Crowley considered his favorite pair. It took another few minutes to properly unwind him from his body - he’d started to unconsciously cling to him in the new position he’d had him in already – but he finally was able to set him down on a sunny spot in the middle of the bed.

It didn’t take long for Crowley to curl up again in his sleep, and after being sure he was alright, the angel left him to rest. The afternoon passed by lazily afterward, the day eventually easing into a pleasant dusk. Aziraphale was sitting at their kitchen table, sipping the tea he’d just made for himself and deciding what he’d like to eat for dinner.

He was snapped out of his thoughts abruptly by an unexpected source.

“Azzziraphale!” came a strained cry from their bedroom, the sound edged with something too close to panic. Clattering the teacup he’d been holding to its plate, he didn’t even think before he was rushing toward the noise, heart leaping into his throat. He burst into the room, half expecting him to be under attack, and instead found something altogether different.

In all the planning he’d made to surprise him, he hadn’t considered the fact they, by design, were slick to the point of slippery. Had he thought about it, he may have realized the surface likely wasn’t one a snake could easily move on. Instead, it took him seeing Crowley desperately attempting to get off the bed and not finding any way to propel himself forward for it to dawn on him that a mistake had been made.

“What isss thisss?” the demon demanded, looking as irritated and frazzled as he’d ever seen a snake before.

The angel would insist later that he tried valiantly not to react to the sight. There was no stopping it when it happened, however, the laughter that immediately bubbled out of him so forceful he ended up bent over with them. By the time he pulled himself together long enough to take the situation seriously, he was breathless with tears in the corner of his eyes. Crowley had given up by then and was curled on the sheets, looking absolutely miserable.

“Oh dear, darling, I’m so sorry -“ he attempted out, words undermined by the fact he still hadn’t gotten himself quite under control as he approached the bed. The serpent glared daggers at him when he tried to reach out, and while he knew he wouldn’t snap at him, Aziraphale did treat it as him not consenting to being touched and withdrew his hand. “Please, let me help you.”

“Go away,” came a grumpy, sharp reply, Crowley's head now partially hidden by a coil of his own body. He knew the serpent well enough that he would stubbornly wait until he was human-shaped again before asking for help after the fit Aziraphale just had, and the guilt that came after that realization dried up his laughter far faster than anything else could.

“You must understand, I was simply trying to surprise you with something nice. I hadn’t even considered it might be difficult for you to move on,” he explained himself, hoping context would soothe his frayed pride. It did not. Shoulders slumping a little, he added, a little more quietly, “I shouldn’t have laughed. That was cruel of me.”

Aziraphale climbed onto the bed then, offering his arms out in a motion to show he was willing and able to help him. Crowley didn’t look interested in taking it at all.

“It’sss not funny,” he muttered, crossly.

“You’re right. Won’t happen again, I promise,” he agreed, contrite. He watched the serpent size him up and though still looking rightfully unamused, he seemed to relax his stance a bit. Aziraphale didn’t quite make a move to lift him yet. “May I?”

The demon considered the offer, eyes narrowed into slits. After a long moment, he finally let out a glum, “Yesss.”

It wasn’t much work gathering him up again. He put him on the ground carefully right after, having a feeling he didn’t much want to be held longer than he had to be. Sure enough, without a word, the snake slithered out of the room, disappearing into the house and Aziraphale let him leave, deciding to give him the space he clearly wanted. He did, however, take the offending sheet off the bed and replaced it with one of their usual ones, not wanting it to be an issue for him any longer. Discarding it to the side, he continued to leave Crowley be, knowing he was hiding somewhere and would come out when he wanted to. Despite not being tired in the least, he opted to go to bed alone for once a few hours later, hoping it’d tempt him to come out.

It took a little while, but the temptation proved successful. Not long after he started dozing, he woke up to the sensation of something flicking against his cheek. Opening his eyes, he found two yellow eyes staring back, glinting a little in the moonlight that was illuminating their room.

“There you are,” the angel realized, looking at him with a hopeful expression. “Am I to assume I’m forgiven?”

Crowley said nothing, though he did butt his large head against his forehead affectionately, then lowered it to rest on his chest. It was as close to a yes as he was going to get.

--

Aziraphale was nothing if not persistent. The next morning, instead of throwing the offending sheets out and never speaking of what happened again, he instead realized he had perhaps gone about it all in the wrong way. There was, after all, more than enough of the sheet to create bedding for one of his baskets. It didn't take long for him to complete the project once he set out to do it, replacing a far inferior sheet he had had in it beforehand. Not making a big deal of it, he left it out for Crowley to try – or not – at his leisure, then went about his business for the day. It was only a few hours later that he happened past it and found the serpent curled up in it and soundly passed out, soaking in the noonday sun.

He watched him sleep for a moment, a smile growing on his face at the sight of it, then quietly continued onward into the next room.