#spring requests

[defences-down]

What if we were penguins?

Harry/Louis Niall/Zayn/Liam | 1.4 K unrated

A late night question turns into the strangest dream... or is it?

requested by @allwaswell16

[what-the-stories-have-foretold]

"Ah! the heaven bends over me already; a star glimmers in the distance; the forest with its dark trees in the moonlight rushes past" - Nikolai Gogol

With the New Year having begun and the sun showing her face more often again we await patiently the coming of spring.

For this, I have decided to open requests again. Feel free to choose any of the characters found here. Remember the rules, but beside that, please send in your asks. These can range from a vague feeling to an elaborated idea of a day spent with your fave. However, for this event I will have to ask you not to specify the reader's personality or hobbies. Of course, I don't mind writing stories involving e.g. cooking with Amamiya or gaming with Kenma, but nothing specifying the reader please. Send in prompts, poetry and lines of authors you enjoy, or ideas and vibes and I'll see what my mind will come up with.

Lots of Love,

El 🌺

[brighteststar707]

Hi, can I request for Baking Together and Jumin? Thank you! <3

Hi anon!! Thank you for the request, I LOVED this combination! It was so fun and domestic, and I really enjoyed writing this piece <3

#21: Baking together

It’s a dreary Saturday afternoon and you and Jumin are enjoying a quiet day. You sit on opposite ends of the sofa with your feet on his lap and Elizabeth curled up asleep on your legs.

You’ve been trying to read a book for the past hour, but you can’t make yourself focus for long enough to make sense of the words on the page. You’re itching to do something with Jumin on a rare day off like this. You rest the book on your lap and nudge him with your foot to get his attention.

“Jumin, darling, have you ever had homemade cookies?”

He looks up at you from his embroidery, curious. “The chef at home must have made them for me once or twice when I was small, though I preferred pancakes.”

You suppress a giggle. Sometimes you forget that this - the luxury of food at his fingertips - has always been his normal. You’re hit with the sudden mental image of a young Jumin, only as tall as the counter (though still in a suit) asking his chef for pancakes.

“Is he the one who taught you how to make them?” You’ve been fond of his pancakes since the first night you spent at the penthouse.

“Yes. He said that I should make them for someone I want to impress.” He subconsciously squeezes your foot as he talks. “At the time, I didn’t understand, but I think it worked.”

You can't help the smile at his revelation. “It definitely worked, darling." You lose yourself in the thought for a while before remembering your point. "So, you’ve never baked cookies yourself?”

“No, I haven’t”

You pull your feet from his lap and gently nudge a sleepy Elizabeth off your lap and onto the sofa, apologizing as you do. “Come on, we’re fixing that today. It’s the perfect day for baking.”

He’d have to agree with that sentiment. The weather, which had been slowly warming up, had turned cold and wet again in the past few days. He puts his embroidery aside, amused, and follows you into the kitchen.

You had been aching for an excuse to use the kitchen for a while. Jumin insists on having a chef cook your meals on nights when you didn’t go out. It’s always pristine, looking like it came straight off the pages of an interior design magazine. An impromptu baking session was the perfect opportunity to mess it up a bit and make it look lived-in.

You’re already pulling ingredients out of the larder, dropping a bag of flour down on the counter next to a bag of sugar when he joins you. You stick your head back in the cupboard, hunting for another ingredient and your voice comes out muffled as you ask, “Jumin, could you please grab the eggs and butter from the fridge?”

You work surprisingly well together. Jumin is curious and eager to learn, and you’re happy to answer his questions and assign him tasks. You’d never admit it to him, but it’s adorable to see him so out of his depth. This has become more and more of a common occurrence since your wedding. You’ve been intent on giving him all the experiences he missed out on due to his upbringing. It’s a fair trade: you learn how to interact with the elite and he learns how to order fast food.

You turn off the stand mixer and dip your finger into the bowl to taste the dough. Jumin looks incredulous.

“Try some, this is the best part!”

“Darling, there are raw eggs in the batter.”

“So what? You eat raw eggs all the time.”

“This is…different. Those dishes were prepared by professional chefs.”

“Are you calling me unprofessional? I’ll have you know that I’ve baked plenty of cookies in my time.” You playfully bump your hip against his. You’ve never seen him squeamish like this. “I promise you it won’t kill you.”

He hesitantly dips his finger in the batter and slowly puts it in his mouth. The crease between his eyebrows smooths out and you laugh triumphantly.

“And?”

“… It’s very good.”

After scooping out even rows of cookies, you put the tray in the oven, set a timer, and start cleaning up. By the time the timer rings, the kitchen is back to looking almost perfect and the whole apartment smells of vanilla.

You’re both terribly impatient and end up eating half-cooled cookies. They’re delicious, all melty and soft. Jumin looks delighted. “We should do this more often,” he says, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around you. You hum contentedly and lean back into his arms, stealing a bite from the cookie in his hand.

"We should."

[defences-down]

Lost In Your Love

Niall/Zayn | 1.2 K Teen

He's been having weird dreams for weeks where nothing makes sense. He chalked it up to being on the road, but what if it is more than that?

for @thechavier

[defences-down]

Clouds spring thick and fast over the tree line.

Rushing like a monstrous fear boiling in our guts.

The sky grows dark.

Darker than it already was, and the wind howls.

Your hand quivers in mine and the plants quake as the storm comes in.

Blotting out the stars.

We run as fast as we can but the thunder booms and lightning crackles.

It's coming down in sheets soaking us through.

Freezing.

Screaming.

We run as far as we can, desperately trying to reach shelter.

When it ebbs and the sky is renewed, they're still there watching over as the towels drip dry.

[brighteststar707]

Hi! Can I request Lazy Morning with GE Saeran for Spring Request? Thank you❣

Hi! Thank you for your request <33 I hope you enjoy!

#22: Lazy morning

You wake up to sunlight coming in through the blinds in your little bedroom. Saeran is already awake, blinking slowly as his eyes adjust to the light in your room. You’re both not used to this. You fell asleep last night with the window still cracked open, and the room is filled with the smell of dewdrops and wildflowers. You couldn’t be farther away from your bedroom in the bunker, with its artificial light and filtered air.

This is the first time that you’ve taken a trip together that didn't involve any rescue missions. You decided that escaping to a cottage in the middle of nature was the perfect way to celebrate what felt like a new beginning. Spring had come on all at once this year, and it felt like a sign. Buttercups and dandelions had sprung up almost overnight and it felt like the whole world was waking up from a long dream.

You reach for Saeran, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck to hide from the light. Almost automatically, his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer and properly blocking out the light.

“Morning, love,” he says, stifling a yawn.

“Mmm… not yet.” Your voice comes out muffled. “Can we… stay here a little longer? ‘m too comfortable.” Nestled in his arms and cocooned in a thick warm quilt, you feel like you’d be happy to lie like this forever. The world outside can wait.

He laughs softly and hums in agreement. With one arm still wrapped around your waist, he runs his fingers through your hair, brushing it backwards and away from your face. When it’s all fanned out on your pillow, he moves to gently trace your jawline with his thumb. You hum softly at the feeling, his fingertips just a bit cold (as always).

It has become a subconscious habit of his to fiddle with you, run his fingers along your skin when he’s thinking, or drifting off to sleep. He likes the reminder that you’re near him, solid and warm. Sometimes, you feel as if he’s trying to commit all the curves and contours of your body to memory.

You're not sure how much time passes as you lie like this, slowly coming to your senses, feeling his fingertips skim down your neck and back up again. It's almost enough to make you fall asleep again. Almost.

You pull back a little and turn your head to let your eyes adjust to the light. The walls of the little bedroom are painted white, which only make the room brighter in the sunlight. You look up at the ceiling instead, with its crisscrossing wooden beams.  

Meanwhile, Saeran has propped himself up on his elbow and is looking at you with bleary eyes. It’s not often that you get to see him like this. At home, he usually wakes up before you. You’ll find him, fully awake, lying in bed patiently waiting for you to wake up too. He doesn’t often let himself linger in the place between sleeping and waking like this.  

The sight of him hovering slightly over you, morning sun making his hair shine, is enough to wake you up. You really would be happy to lie here with him forever, you think.

He has moved from tracing your jaw to running the tip of his index finger down the curve of your forehead, the bridge of your nose, your cupid’s bow. You tilt your head back to follow his movement.

His finger catches on your lower lip and you take the opportunity, grasping his hand and pulling it forward a little so you can press your lips to his wrist.

His eyes open fully now, surprised. You’re thankful for the way the light hits him and highlights the blush on his cheeks. Ha. It’s not often that you catch him off guard like this. He always seems to know your next move before you do.

However, he is still easy to fluster. You don’t let go of his hand, instead you turn it so you can kiss his knuckles next.

He’s definitely awake now. He dips down to pepper your cheeks with feather-light kisses.

“Good morning, my love.” This time, your voice is clear.

“Are you ready to wake up now?”

You make a show of thinking about it. With a sigh, you nod your head, “Yes, I think so.”

With a groan, you sit up and stretch, enjoying the way the sun makes patterns on your bare arms. “Breakfast?”

He mirrors your movements, sitting up and stretching his arms over his head. “Lead the way.”

[brighteststar707]

Hi!! May i ask for Zen and cheek kisses, thank u so much♡♡

Hi!! Thank you for the request! I took a bit of a different direction with this one and I hope you like it <3

#9: Cheek kisses

Opening day for any new show is always busy. Despite all the preparation and nerves leading up to the day, it’s always a favorite for both you and Zen.

The show was beautiful, and Zen was phenomenal (as usual). The spotlight is on him as he takes his final bow for the audience. He is shining. For how often he jokes about his good looks, you truly believe that when he’s on stage, he transforms into something inhuman. Your Zen becomes something dazzling, infinite, otherworldly.

You join the rest of the audience in a standing ovation, letting yourself be carried in the emotions of the crowd. Zen has tried to explain to you one of his favourite parts of stage plays many different times; the power in making a full theater of people feel the same overwhelming emotions. The first time you watched him perform, you finally understood what he meant.

He scans the audience and quickly spots you, sitting in the seat he reserved specifically (the best in the house). You wave at him excitedly, hoping that your enthusiasm is conveyed to him. Of course, he reads you easily. He beams at you from center stage, high on the approval of the crowd (and more importantly, you).

He is scheduled for a live interview after the show, and you’re hoping to get him alone before it starts. Besides watching him perform, this is your favourite part of live theatre. Seeing Zen afterwards, full of adrenaline and beaming with pride. The god returning to his human form. The world outside can have God Zen, but this person he is in the aftermath is all yours.

Unfortunately, you get caught up in the crowd on your way backstage. People are moving slowly, still discussing the plot twist and Zen’s portrayal of such a unique character. By the time you get backstage, you know you’ve lost any chance at time alone with him. He spots you (he has been waiting for you, as always), and gets the crowd to let you through till you reach him.

As you expected, the interviewer is already there. She looks thrilled to be talking to Zen one on one. From the looks of it, she was just going through the introductory questions. As you appear by his side, she gives you a quizzical look, quickly sizing you up. You’ve interacted with enough journalists by this point to see the cogs turning in her brain; all the different snippy titles she could use to make the most of your sudden appearance.

You reluctantly switch into manager mode. You push down your excitement and try to look more subdued as you give Zen the bouquet of flowers you had picked specifically for him. You give her a smile that she doesn’t return, so you go ahead and introduce yourself as Zen’s manager. A beat passes before she continues with her questions.

You try to stand patiently through the interview, and you almost succeed. Almost. Towards the end, her questions stray from professional into personal. She punctuates every question with a giggle and tries to ask about a rumour regarding a relationship between Zen and his co-star (which he  deftly avoids).

Although your relationship was an open secret to most of your colleagues, you try to keep press far away from it, for your own privacy and for the sake of his career. To that end, you usually try to keep a distance between yourself and Zen when you make public appearances.

The interview finally wraps up, the camera turns off, but the woman lingers. She attempts to make small talk with Zen, and he politely tries to signal to her that he’d like to leave. Your patience (already worn thin) disappears all together. Your manager front drops and you close the distance between you and him. Then, in an impulsive move, you put a hand on his shoulder, stand on your tiptoes, and give him a kiss on his cheek.

It's the only gesture you ever allow yourselves to do in public, but it should get the message across.

“I’m proud of you, Zen, you were magic up there.”

Zen is not easy to fluster. But it looks like the combination of the kiss, his own remaining adrenaline and your complement break him entirely. He turns beet red and remains frozen. He tries to speak, but when he opens his mouth, he can’t form the words.

The interviewer’s eyes widen and stare at you both in shock. You smile back at her sweetly. A kiss on the cheek is not something too newsworthy, especially with no pictures to back it up.

He manages to recompose himself enough to turn to the woman and thank her for conducting the interview. His face is still red and, to your delight, there’s urgency in his tone now.

Without another word, he takes your hand and starts walking in the direction of his dressing room. You follow him, spring in your step. Finally.

[brighteststar707]

For the Spring Prompts, could you do #29 with Saeyoung?

These are all such pretty prompts. ^.^

Hi!! Thank you both for requesting <33 This one was challenging, but I ended up really liking this combination and the way it ended up going. I hope you enjoy!!

#29: Love letters

Saeyoung crumples up his third attempt at a love note and aims it at the bin beside his desk.

The lights in his office are too bright. He installed them when he first moved in, hoping that it would stop him from falling asleep, but they just make his head ache. He’s been meaning to change them for a while.

He hadn’t anticipated writing a love letter to be this difficult. It’s just one element in an elaborate surprise he has planned - this wasn’t supposed to be the hard part. He leans back in his chair and runs his hand through his hair - it’s going to be a mess by the time he’s done - and tries to focus.

The first attempt was a mess. His mind had shut off after writing your name and all his sentences after that turned out clunky and robotic. He turned his second attempt into an elaborate paper plane and sent it flying out to the living room through the half-open door. By his third attempt he was feeling frustrated. Nothing felt right. He’s not as poetic as Zen might be, but he loves you, and is usually good at expressing it.

Deep down, he knows why he’s struggling. Sitting down like this and putting his feelings for you so clearly on paper for anyone to see makes him feel more vulnerable than he has in a long time. It feels unsafe.

He pulls out a fourth sheet and tries again. Even before his pen touches the paper, he feels it. The eyes of his father, his boss, Vanderwood just over his shoulder. Warning him not to push his luck. He takes a deep breath and tries those grounding exercises you and Saeran always talk about. He is safe. His loved ones are safe and protected. Expressing how much he loves you through a letter is not going to get you hurt. It’s just a note.

He writes your name slowly, deliberately, and waits for a second for his nerves to calm. Most of the time, his handwriting is illegible; scrawled over multicolored post-it notes in half-sentences that only make sense to him littered around his office. When he’s patient enough to write slowly though, he quite likes his handwriting.

He pushes through the last barrier of hesitation and starts writing. This part isn’t so hard. From the beginning, his feelings for you overwhelmed him completely. He was so used to keeping his feelings pushed down deep where nobody could touch them, and you unleashed them all at once. He is never lost for words when it comes to you.

He finishes off just as the security system beeps to announce you arriving back home. He quickly hides the letter and reclines back in his chair, pulling out his phone to fiddle with.

You appear at the door, paper plane in hand.

“I’m hooome!” You sing, waving the little plane as you talk. He beams and opens his arms to you so you can sit on his lap. You happily oblige, settling on his lap. You run your fingers through his hair, trying to straighten it out.

“Hi, Sunshine, I missed you.”

“I missed you too. Were you busy?” you ask, pointedly looking at the leftover drafts of the note.

“Nah, just brainstorming something.” The rest of the elements of the surprise will come together soon enough. He can't wait to see your reaction. With you so close to him, any worries still plaguing him all disappear. He feels much lighter.

He'd write you a hundred more love letters for this feeling.