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myrainbowgelpen · 1 day ago

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Coming Home | pcy

°ᡣ𐭩 . ° . 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : chanyeol x reader

₊˚⊹♡ | fluff | comfort | yearning | sfw | r-14 | ♡₊˚⊹

⤷ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : when the person who usually lifts other people up needs the lifting himself, who does he run to? // Chanyeol gets overwhelmed at work and seeks comfort in his home - you.

The ding of the keypad ringed through the peaceful flat as his broad frame trudged inside. Shoulders slumped forward, head hanging low, feet dragging with every step. It was one of those days when he felt like he wasn’t enough - his energy, knowledge, and skills all seemed inadequate. Another one of those days when he wished he could have come home earlier, melted into the arms of the sleeping woman in the bedroom. A space that used to belonged only to him and his dog. Now, it's a quiet sanctuary he longs for every minute of the day.

Chanyeol forced his heavy body to move towards the kitchen upon lazily discarding his shoes by the entrance hallway. The motion detectors did their job, instantly bathing the space in the soft glow of under-cabinet lighting, casting elongated shadows against the warm wooden countertops.

Instead of opening the fridge like he planned, his hands reached out for a glass to get himself a cold drink. His dry throat won over his grumbling stomach. He could’ve eaten with his team when they decided to have pork and beer after work. However, despite his hunger, he politely declined - picking the need to be in his safe haven without a second thought.

As soon as the cold water touched his lips, he leaned against the counter and closed his eyes.

Finally feeling like the tension on his shoulder uncoils a tad bit, he stretched his long arm to open the fridge, still using the counter to support his close-to-collapsing body. His eyes immediately saw the home-cooked dinner she had neatly stored inside, knowing he'll be home late. As much as he wanted to eat his special meal, he didn't want to wake her up with all the ruckus.

Besides, my body doesn't have energy left to wait for my food to heat up.

He mentally noted.

Deciding to just take the food as his packed lunch tomorrow, he reached for the old cheese stick and cheese sausage he bought from the convenience store the other day.

With two tiny snacks in one hand and a refilled glass of cold water in the other, he circled the kitchen island and sank into the nearest chair. A soft sigh escaped his lips as his legs finally got the rest they had craved the moment he stepped through the door.

The crinkling of plastic wrappers with the soft humming of the fridge and air conditioner provided the white noise he needs after an overwhelming day or chattering and loud sounds. His shoulders sag a little bit more, but the silence is comforting—familiar.

Taking his first bite of the sausage, Chanyeol's round eyes wandered. He noticed the newly filled fruit bowl before him. The faint scent of citrus lingers, mingling with the clean, subtle sharpness of steel and wood. He had never cared much for fruit, but she did, and now this place - once just his - carried the constant scent of tarty freshness.

The warm light in the kitchen gently spilling to the living room, casting long, sleepy shadows, seemingly acting as a guide towards the coffee table at the center of the room. A used cup sat beside the remote, abandoned at the edge of the small table. The lamp remained on, its faint light reflecting off a cotton purple throw blanket she usually uses when they watch TV shows together. It's casually draped over the armrest. A contrast to the leather texture of the couch which he bought when she wasn't in his life yet - when this flat was just his house and yet to be his haven.

She waited.

Chanyeol released a long and slow exhale as his shoulder further relaxed in the stillness of the room. The house feels alive, not with noise, but with presence - her presence.

A renewed eagerness stirred in him. If he could finish at least a quarter of his projects soon, maybe he could finally clear his schedule for their long-awaited vacation. With that, his mind is once again jumbled between checklists of things he should've done today and things he should complete tomorrow. Eyes darted towards the couch across from the dining table and mouth absentmindedly munching on the sausage, Chanyeol didn't notice a sleepy figure sitting on the chair in front of him.

Resting her chin on her palm, she quietly watched him. She can practically hear the machines in his brain turning as his eyes continue staring blankly over her shoulder. A soft sigh moved past her lips.

He's overworking again.

With her free hand, she gently tapped the knuckles of his closed fist that's resting on the table. Chanyeol jolted at the sudden sensation. The hand holding the tiny sausage moved to his chest as his beautifully big eyes got even rounder. She wanted to feel bad for startling him but he looks adorable so she can't help but giggle softly.

“Hi” she whispers. His face quickly morphed into a relaxed state. His tired eyes suddenly got some of their spark back and his lips took the shape of the soft smile that's reserved for her.

“Hi” he whispered back. Unclenching his fist, he gently took her hand into his, thumb slowly caressing her knuckles.

“You waited” he wasn't accusing or reprimanding. Just stating that he may not be home often these past few days, but he's still in-tune even to her smallest actions; that he noticed her efforts - like he always does.

“Nah, I was just finishing a series. Heroes on Call-”

“You finished without me?!” He played along. The exaggerated gasp he took and the sudden cheese stick gently thrown at her made her laugh. She grabbed the cheese stick and raised it as if she's about to hit him with it, making him automatically cover his face.

“Why are you eating this anyway? I cooked.”

“I know but I don't want to wake you. The microwave can be loud,” he said, his deep voice regaining its softness. A gentle reminder that -

Even at times of exhaustion, I'll put you first.

She leaned forward, cupping his cheeks, and he instinctively leaned into her touch.

“Well, I'm awake now. Let me heat it up so you can eat a proper meal, ok?” He nodded, turning his face slightly to press a gentle kiss to her palm. She moved closer, returning the kiss to his forehead. As soon as she removed her hand from his cheek, he instantly held onto it as she stood up to get his food. Even before she could move past the table she was already stopped by his hand still holding hers - gentle but firm. She turned back to him, their gazes locking. His eyes were tender and lingering. To appease him, she lifted their joined hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles softly.

Only then did he let go, his hand falling limply to his lap, but his eyes never strayed from her. Putting his right forearm on the top of the chair's backrest and resting his chin on it, he watched her with eyes brimming with appreciation and devotion. The microwave beeped to life as she opened it to carefully put the food container inside.

“Leave it” he murmured, which was answered with a quick “I know, I know”

She walked back towards him and was about to sit on the previous chair she was sitting on but he pulled the chair next to him, inviting her to be closer. Once she sat, Chanyeol quickly pulled the chair closer until their knees were between each other. Both of them fell into a comfortable silence as she handed him the cheese stick. Opening it with ease, he took a bite on it before handing the rest to her. As she was quietly enjoying the cheese stick, he reached out for the string of her hoodie that's dangling by her chest.

“You're not wearing my jacket” Chanyeol sulked, drawing a lazy yet playful smile on her lips.

“Yeah, what about it?” she teased. As scary and brooding Chanyeol may look, he's one of the most soft-hearted people she had ever met. A simple man with a gentle soul—one who found joy in the smallest things. However, at the same time, he also gets pouty quite easily.

“It doesn't look good” he pouted even more, twirling the string in between his thick fingers.

“Chanyeol!” she exclaimed with a chuckle. That deep pout, those furrowed brows—he was being a big baby.

“I'm going to burn all your clothes” he huffed.

“Including the ones your mom gave me?” A low groan echoed across the quiet space as it mixes with her soft laughter.

“Well, not thos-”

“What about the ones you bought for me?” He groaned again, stomping his foot like a petulant child. Her laughter only grew as he scowled at the hoodie, staring at it as if it had personally offended him. Their moment of teasing softened into silence as she exhaled, trying to recover her breathing from laughing.

Chanyeol, still twirling the string absentmindedly, suddenly let go and reached for her hand. His fingers played with hers, tracing each ridge and curve, but she noticed the way his gaze unfocused, how he was slowly spacing out.

“Hey,” she called quietly. “Talk to me, love.”

He sighed but still kept his eyes on their hands.

“Nothing bad really happened. It's just… I don't feel enough. I had meeting after meeting after meeting. I read more legal jargons than musical notes today” He let out a humorless chuckle. His fingers absentmindedly caressing the pads of her finger. The contrast between his calloused ones against her more softer ones somehow calms his senses.

“Then I had the photoshoot. It lasted longer than planned because a PA misplaced the shoes that I have to showcase. They searched for it for 30 minutes. That's when I texted you. I said I'll be later than usual.” She hummed to coax him to continue but aside from that, she kept quiet, allowing him to vent as much wants.

“Then after the shoot, I went back to the studio to finish 2 songs by tomorrow afternoon. It's up for evaluation if it'll be included in the album or not. But I...” he heaved a sigh again, feeling the heaviness in his chest prevent him from breathing properly.

“I couldn't seem to finish either of them. I mean, it's done technically, but I don't know, it doesn't sound good enough. There's something missing.” He concluded with such a tiny voice that her heart ached.

At times like this, she hated not being knowledgeable about music. She hates her inability to help him. She hates knowing that there's nothing she can say in that moment that will help him solve his problems.

Her free hand lifted to cup his chin, tilting his face toward hers. His tired eyes met her gaze that’s full of understanding and warmth. Chanyeol released her hand, using both of his to gently hold her wrist. He pressed it to his cheek, looking back at her with quiet eyes, wordlessly asking her to keep soothing his worries. It was silent, but she understood:

Don’t let go. Just stay here.

“You're the most hardworking, focused, and talented man I know,” she said with so much conviction, Chanyeol almost felt like she's professing an ultimate truth like 'ice is cold'.

Chanyeol swallowed.

“I know you don't feel like you are right now but, honey, I need you to remember something” she continued softly.

“You’re so much more than whatever you’re able to produce or perfect in a day.“ Her eyes softened even more as she saw the weight of everything still pulling on him. Chanyeol held onto her wrist tighter, his eyes searching hers, desperate to believe her.

“I know how stubbornly passionate you are about your work and how much you put into everything that you do. I also know how much you over analyze every detail because you want everything to be perfect, so I get.” Her voice was soft. No hint of judgment or impatience on her tone. His eyes closed for a moment and he focused on her touch.

“When you give your all and still feel like it’s not enough, it’s frustrating. It weighs on you.” She was able to take the words out of his mouth, making him nod gently before opening his eyes.

He let out a shaky breath. “Yeah.”

“Maybe I can work in my office tomorrow,” he murmured. “I don't have to go to the studio. I can just finish it here.” He nodded at one of the doors down the hallway.

She leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. His were slightly dry, but the warmth was still there.

“Cancel your morning schedule and finish your songs here. Once you're done, let's run through the documents you got from those meetings too. Let's work it out together. Also, Zzar and I will prepare a good lunch for you.”

One of the many things Chanyeol loves about her is that she lets him be vulnerable. She never rushed him to feel better or expected him to easily rationalize his problems. But at the same time, she didn’t let him spiral. She held him accountable, helped him find his footing again. She also doesn't allow him to wallow in his negative thoughts. She makes him a better man without making him feel like he's failing as he is. She's a partner and she'll be there for him and with him no matter how long he takes or how hard it'll take.

“Good luck with that,” he chuckled, the sound finally lighter. “Zzar will eat all the ingredients even before you can cook it.” The exhaustion is still there but knowing that he doesn't have to face everything alone tomorrow seems to suddenly remove 30% of his problem's heaviness.

As they were speaking about food, the microwave dinged, pulling them away from their little bubble. She stood up to get it and placed it in front of him.

“I'll head to bed first ok? Because if I watch you eat, I'll also want to eat it and if I eat it, I won't fall asleep.”

“Go. I'll eat then clean up a little then cuddle with you after.” He looked at her, sincere. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“You'll be ok?” she asked to which he nodded because he would be. How can he not? He's got her.

She bent down to kiss his forehead before softly reminding him to eat before the food gets cold. Just as she started walking past him, he reached out, catching her hand. In one fluid motion, he pulled her close until she stood between his legs, his thick arms wrapping around her waist. Chanyeol pressed his face against her stomach, breathing her in.

“Thank you…I'm sorry” he whispered. He may have felt better now about work, but he still feels the heavy guilt for not even having the right headspace to ask how her day went. They did nothing but talk about him.

What if she also had a bad day? What if she needed me today? What if something happened and she wasn't able to share because I’m like this?

“What for?” Chanyeol might've missed her confused look but he heard it in her voice.

“For…being so busy…for…not being like other boyfriends-”

“Thank god,” she interrupted. “Otherwise, I’d be stuck with a guy who spends his time scrolling through Instagram models instead of watching my shows with me.” She quipped lightheartedly, hoping to stop his mind from making untrue thoughts about their relationship. His arms tightened around her.

“Hey, look at me.” She placed both of her hands on the side of his head, lifting it gently.

“We take it one day at a time. You do your work, then you come home to me.”

“Always. No one else but you. No where else but here” he confirmed with this quiet promise.

“Then we'll be fine, love.” He took in a deep breath, smelling her jacket, which he was just hating a while ago, before she released her from his arms.

“Ok, go to sleep. You get so cranky when you're sleepy. I don't want a cranky workmate tomorrow.” He nudged her forward, playfully smacking her bum.

She jolted, shooting him a look over her shoulder.

“Keep your hands to yourself. I don't want a handsy workmate, pervert!” For the first time that day, laughter rumbled deep in his chest, full and unguarded.

Yeah. No matter how the day went - good or bad - he’d always want to come home to her.

A/N: Yaaay!! Finally finished this. Some fluff-fest for the cutest big baby I know. Idk why but since the start of this year, he's getting cutter and cutter and fluffier and fluffier. Did you watch the behind-the-scene vlog EXO-sC posted for their SM Town Concert? The part when they were practicing the shirt-grabbing bit and he was walking with his chest popped out? whaaa idk but I was like Baymax! He's now my Baymax huhuhu

Anyway! that was an unexpected rambling ꉂ(≧▽≦) please let me know what you think uhuhuhu luvyaaah~ byee~

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myrainbowgelpen · 2 days ago

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Scarlet Requiem

Pairing: emperor!Baekhyun x empress!reader

AU: historical au (Goryeo era)

Word Count: 4k

Summary: In his reign, Baekhyun strived to be a virtuous emperor, all for the sake of his kind-hearted empress, steadfastly resisting the temptations of power that had corrupted those before him. He held onto the belief that this was the key to securing her eternal presence by his side. Yet, he learned, to his heartbreak, that this very resolve would lead to the cruellest loss of all.

Genre: heavy angst

Trigger Warnings: major character death, violence, gore, lots of blood

MAIN MASTERLIST

"Capture that demon before she flees!"

Her hands trembled as she gazed at her reflection in the ornate gold mirror. Once healthy skin now bore a sickly pallor, brown eyes turned crimson, tears staining her cheeks red. Even her jet-black hair had transformed to snowy white. Confusion and fear gripped her as she struggled to comprehend the inexplicable transformation.

As guards roughly seized her arms, she pleaded, "No, please! I've done nothing wrong! I don't understand any of this!"

"Of course, you'd deny it, Your Imperial Majesty," sneered the Minister of Rites, one of many who had urged her husband, the emperor, to accept their daughters as concubines. "Little did you know, those potions you received from the royal healer for the past month were meant to reveal your true nature by shedding your human guise."

Horror pierced her heart as realisation dawned. The tonics meant to maintain her health had been a ruse. She had been poisoned, it explained the sudden and alarming changes in her body and health.

"You," she whispered, the weight of the truth settling heavily upon her. "It was all you."

She was not naive; she understood the ministers' discontent with her influence over Baekhyun throughout his reign. Their persistent attempts to sway him, offering their daughters as concubines to bolster their own power and threaten her position, had not escaped her notice. Their frustration must have reached its zenith when her husband adamantly refused their advances, steadfast in his commitment to her as his one and only empress.

"Hm? I'm not sure I understand what you're implying," the man smirked, his deceptive tone belying his words. "We've long suspected there was more to you, Your Imperial Majesty. It appears you're indeed a demon, effortlessly manipulating the emperor. Surely a man of his stature would desire more than one woman by his side?"

Struggling against the guards' grasp, she retorted weakly, "You vile cowards. You'll rue the day my husband learns of this..."

The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, revealing their sinister plot. They had bided their time, seizing the perfect opportunity amidst the chaos of war. With Baekhyun, the virtuous emperor she had wished him to be, leading the army, they saw their chance to poison her, framing her as a demon to eradicate her while he was away.

"Or perhaps we'll witness the rise of the ambitious emperor we've long awaited. He will finally be able to reach his full potential without you here obstructing his path," he sneered, gesturing towards the approaching healer with another bowl of poison. "Just comply and drink your tonic, Your Imperial Majesty. Your suffering will soon end, and our nation will thrive under the rule of a new emperor, liberated from your naive ideals."

As the sinister men tightened their grip, she sobbed in agony, the relentless headache from the past month resurfacing with a vengeance. Each touch felt like a dagger through her skull, each word a cruel reminder of her plight.

With an apologetic bow of his head, the healer cupped her jaw, his hands trembling as he forced the bowl of poison towards her lips. "Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty," he whispered, his voice trembling with remorse. "This will be the last one, I promise."

She gagged as the bitter liquid slid down her throat, burning with each swallow. Crimson tears streamed down her white face as she choked on the vile concoction, feeling her strength wane with each passing moment. In that desperate moment, all she could do was pray for salvation from the nightmare consuming her.

As the healer finally released his hold, she felt despair engulf her. The bitter poison settled within her damaged insides, coursing through her veins like a silent killer, slowly consuming her from within.

"It is done, my lord. The empress will not survive through the night," the healer declared, his voice carrying a finality that chilled her to the bone.

The minister's grin widened with satisfaction. "Excellent. Arrange for someone to confirm her death by dawn. Let her enjoy her final moments in the comforts of her own chambers. His Imperial Majesty will surely be grateful we've rid him of his treacherous demon of a wife upon his return from war."

Laying limply in the centre of her grand chambers, the very space she had once despised before ascending to empress, memories flooded her mind. She recalled the scepticism that clouded her heart when she first found herself falling for the crown prince of the nation. After all, history had taught her that no happy endings awaited the women who loved emperors. But Baekhyun was different—he was loving, caring, and considerate, going to great lengths to prove his devotion to her.

He swore never to take concubines, to resist the allure of power, and to remain hers, and hers alone. Despite the admiration of the entire nation, he remained committed to prioritising her above all else, even if it meant drawing the ire of his ministers and officials. Their accusations of his partiality towards his empress over his nation only served to strengthen his resolve, his unwavering loyalty to her.

But now, as she lay weakened by poison, she realised the tragic irony of his goodness. It was his very commitment to righteousness that led him to the battlefield, refusing to let his men fight in his stead. And it was this decision that ultimately sealed their fate, leaving her to face the consequences of his noble intentions.

As the darkness closed in around her, she couldn't help but wonder how Baekhyun would react upon returning to find her lifeless form in this state. Would he succumb to the poisonous words of his ministers, believing their accusations that she had been a demon all along? Would he entertain the notion that she had bewitched him, clouding his judgement and leading him astray?

Or would he remain firm in his loyalty, unwavering in his belief that this was nothing more than a cruel ploy to rid him of her for good? In the depths of her fading consciousness, she desperately clung to the hope that he would see through the lies, that his love for her would prevail over doubt.

On the brink of death, she yearned to trust in his endless devotion to her, to believe that he would never doubt the love they shared. It was a fragile hope, but in that moment, it was all she had to cling to as she slipped further into the darkness, awaiting the inevitable arrival of dawn and the fate it would eventually bring.

"Forgive me for not being strong enough, Baek," she whispered into the stillness of the chamber, her voice barely a breath against the heavy silence. "Please don't blame yourself for any of this."

As the darkness threatened to swallow her entirely, she couldn't help but reflect on the warnings of history, the cautionary tales of women who loved emperors, only to meet tragic ends. Once again, it seemed, she had fallen victim to the same fate.

Her vision blurred with crimson tears as memories flooded her mind—moments shared with Baekhyun before he departed for battle, blissfully unaware that they would be their last. Each memory stung with bittersweet intensity, a painful reminder of what could have been, had fate been kinder.

As her life ebbed away, flashes of cherished moments with him flickered through her mind like scattered stars in the night sky.

Wrapped in the warmth of silk sheets, doubts clouded her mind one morning, questioning her husband's resolve to remain faithful amidst the pressures of his position.

"Would you truly refuse to take any concubines, Baek?" she inquired, her voice laced with uncertainty. "You're aware that the ministers and officials desire it, and perhaps even the citizens of our nation. For all we know, the people might have grown weary of this same dull empress who has yet to bear you an heir."

He drew her close, pulling the silk sheets higher to shield her bare form from the chill seeping through the open windows. Pressing a tender kiss upon her head, he smiled reassuringly. "Never, my love. I do not care for their political machinations. I won't forsake my vow to you. You will remain my only wife, that is final. I did not ask to be emperor, the role was thrust upon me. Now that I am here, they should at least be grateful I am fulfilling my general duties."

She chuckled, nestling into the crook of his neck as he added, "Besides, if the ministers and officials are so displeased, they could just dismiss me. That would be even better; we could live in a quiet little village, just as we've always dreamed."

In another memory, standing before her reflection, plagued by insecurities instilled by the scheming ministers, his unwavering admiration melted her fears away.

"You look beautiful, my empress. You always do," he reassured, approaching from behind to envelop her in his arms.

"Not as beautiful as those young maidens, I fear. I am old," she confessed, feeling a twinge of self-consciousness after witnessing the ministers' attempts to seduce the emperor with their daughters.

Baekhyun gently turned her to face him. "If you're old, then I must be ancient," he teased. "I believe it's only fitting that I am with someone my age, and that's you, my empress. I have no interest in marrying children or anyone else for that matter; I am a taken man. Don't you dare compare yourself to anyone else again, you hear me? You're the most beautiful woman in my eyes, and that's all that matters."

In the final embrace before he departed for war, hearts heavy with the uncertainty of his return, they clung to each other.

"I will be back before you know it, my love. You'll wait for me, won't you?" her husband murmured against her neck, his arms tightening around her.

"Where else would I go, you idiot? Of course, I'll be waiting right here," she retorted, tightening her hold around his shoulders.

Amidst tears and laughter, he leaned in to kiss her deeply, pressing his lips against her soft ones over and over again to imprint the sensation into memory.

"I love you, my empress," Baekhyun whispered against her lips before pulling away, his eyes full of love and determination.

In the quiet of her chamber, she found solace in the fleeting recollections, clinging to them as the darkness threatened to consume her entirely. And as the crimson tears clouded her eyes once more, she resigned herself to the inevitable, silently bidding farewell to the life she once knew.

"I love you too, my emperor."

"I will not ask again, where is she?!" the emperor's voice thundered through the throne room as he stormed back into the palace, abandoning the battle upon learning the shocking revelation. According to the Minister of Rites in his letter, the empress had been discovered to be a demon all along, concealing her true nature under human skin to manipulate him and bend him to her will.

The eunuch panicked and fell to his knees. "Th-the empress is confined to her grand chambers, Your Imperial Majesty!"

Without uttering another word, Baekhyun stormed over immediately, his heart thumping loudly against his chest as fury overtook his being. Betrayal flooded his veins; he was seething with anger.

"You will regret lying to me," he growled under his breath, his vision zeroing in on the path towards her chambers, the place he frequented more than his own. "You will regret deceiving me."

Upon reaching the entrance of her chambers, he turned to the eunuch. "Gather all the ministers and officials who played a part in discovering the empress as what they claimed her to be in the throne room. I wish to speak with them soon."

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty," the eunuch hurriedly replied before darting off to carry out his orders. Baekhyun steadied his breaths, his hand resting on the door as he prepared to face her once more. Under his breath, he vowed, "I swear, you will all regret it. How dare you accuse my wife of being what you are—demons."

I'm here now, my love.

Stepping into the familiar room, the emperor's heart raced with anxiety as he mulled over a perfect apology. He needed to express his deep remorse for not being there when she needed him the most, for failing to shield her from the treachery of those vultures. Reflecting on his actions, he realised he should have never left her behind. In his rush to leave for war, he had neglected to arrange proper protection for her. In hindsight, he understood that he should have never left her side in the first place.

Determined to make amends, he vowed to do better. He resolved to never again allow those ministers or officials the opportunity to torment her in his absence again. From now on, he would be her shield, her staunch protector, and her unending support.

But it might be too late for any of that.

His steps faltered, his breath caught in his chest, and his heart skipped a beat as he beheld the sight before his eyes. The sword in his hands slipped, clanging loudly as it hit the ground, and he sank to his knees in disbelief at the last thing he expected to see.

His shock deepened as he took in his wife's unrecognisable appearance. Crawling towards her limp form on the ground, he pulled her into his arms, his voice trembling with anguish. The horror settled within him like a heavy weight as he tried to imagine what atrocities these monsters had dared inflict upon her while he was gone. His mind raced with images of torture and torment, each one more gruesome than the last.

"Oh god, what have they done to you?" he whispered, his heart fracturing into a million shards as he struggled to comprehend her pale skin, her white hair, and the blood-like tears staining her cheeks. With shaking hands, he gently cupped her cold cheek, his fingers tracing the contours of her face as if seeking reassurance that she was still there, still his beloved wife.

"Please wake up, my love. This isn't funny, stop scaring me," he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. "You promised to wait for me. You promised..." His words trailed off into a broken sob as he refused to accept anything but the truth, shaking his head in denial even as he searched desperately for a pulse, even when she remained unresponsive.

"No, no, no... this can't be real. It can't be," he murmured, his mind reeling with the unimaginable horror of what he had found.

Despair and regret enveloped him as he sobbed painfully, holding her lifeless body tightly against his chest. The realisation that she was truly gone, that her final moments were spent alone in the very room she despised just to be with him, weighed heavily on his heart. He grappled with the bitter truth that he had failed her, just as she had feared when she hesitated to be with him.

Gradually, his sorrow gave way to seething rage as he recalled the faces of the ministers and officials responsible for this atrocity. They had callously taken her life, foolishly believing he would be deceived by their feeble attempt to frame her. With trembling hands, he picked up a shard of the shattered bowl nearby and brought it to his nose, recognising the metallic scent of mercury.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place.

They had poisoned her with lethal doses of mercury, causing a myriad of symptoms—tremors, headaches, muscle weakness, kidney damage, and breathing difficulties. And the deliberate administration of such high doses to turn her hair white revealed their sinister intent from the outset.

Just how much had they fed her? It was evident they had intended to kill her from the start. Anguish and fury surged within him as he vowed to make them pay.

Gently caressing her cold cheek, he leaned in to kiss her unmoving lips, his own trembling against hers. He blamed himself for everything that had transpired. Perhaps if she hadn't been with him, she would have lived a better life—a normal life with a normal man. She wouldn't have to endure such a painful and cruel death.

It was all because of him.

Regret hung heavy in his heart, but dwelling on what could have been served no purpose.

"I'm so sorry, my wife," he whispered, his voice thick with grief. "Just hold on a bit longer, alright? I'll join you soon, but first, I'll make those bastards pay. Wait for me—I won't let you face this alone. Not again."

With resolve hardening in his heart, he retrieved his sword and sheathed it once more before lifting her lifeless form into his arms. Like a man burdened by death itself, he trudged towards the throne room where justice awaited. Kicking the doors open with a forceful thrust of his leg, he was met with a sea of horrified expressions from the ministers and officials. Clearly, they hadn't anticipated the emperor's dramatic entrance, cradling his beloved empress in his arms.

Ignoring their shocked gazes, he strode past them, his eyes fixed on the throne at the far end of the room. With careful tenderness, he laid his wife down upon the ornate seat, arranging her robes and ensuring her comfort as though she were merely sleeping. Pressing a solemn kiss upon her cold forehead, he turned to face the assembled council, their unease palpable in the air.

The guilty culprits remained frozen in their places, uncertain of what awaited them.

As the emperor's gaze swept over them, the ministers and officials for the first time felt a cold shiver of fear trickle down their spines. His expression was unreadable, his appearance wild and dishevelled compared to his usual polished demeanour. Specks of blood and dirt stained his robes and skin, his hair a tangled mess, half tied up in a disarray that mirrored the chaos within him.

Gone was the warm smile that often graced his features; instead, a slow, unsettling grin crept across his face.

"My dearest ministers and officials," he began, his voice low and laced with an eerie calmness. "Your message has been received loud and clear. I hope you're satisfied now that you've succeeded in eradicating the empress, as you so desperately desired. I've given it some thought, and perhaps... you were all right."

The Minister of Rites, attempting to feign nonchalance, cleared his throat. "A-about what, Your Imperial Majesty?" he stammered.

Baekhyun's eyes gleamed with a frightening intensity as he smirked, his demeanour bordering on madness. "About what this nation truly needs," he replied, his voice carrying a chilling edge.

"Not a good emperor, but a mad one."

Without giving the men before him time to register his words, all Baekhyun saw was red. In a split second, he unsheathed his sword and transformed into a bloodthirsty animal, cutting down anyone and everyone in his path. The Minister of Rites tried to flee but to no avail. He watched in complete horror as his colleagues dropped dead one by one, their blood splattering over the grand walls of the throne room, their screams echoing.

The emperor went on a rampage, leaving no man behind. The Minister of Rites, who had been behind the idea of poisoning the empress, smearing her name by labelling her a demon, and executing her, was now filled with regret. They had turned him into the mad king his empress had feared. Perhaps they had finally achieved their goal, but it wasn't what they were prepared for.

The minister collapsed to his knees before the emperor, realising that His Imperial Majesty had saved him for last. Trembling, he rubbed his hands together in a desperate plea. "P-please, everything I've done, it's for the betterment of our nation."

Baekhyun's humourless laughter echoed through the hall, sending shivers down the minister's spine. "You truly believe that, don't you? Of course, that includes subjecting my wife to all that torment. Yes, because that is exactly what the nation needs. Unfortunately for you, I am the emperor, and I determine what's best for the nation. And in this case, I think it's better off without traitors like you. See you on the other side," were the last words the minister heard before his head was severed from his neck, rolling off to join the others on the floor.

The emperor finally turned back, his eyes softening as they landed on his beloved's lifeless body. Making his way back towards her, he knelt down beside her, tears streaming down his face as he reached for her hand. Holding it to his cheek, he missed the warmth it once had.

"I'm coming now, my love," he whispered brokenly. "I'm sorry you had to wait for so long. I'll be there with you soon."

"Yes, I understand His Imperial Majesty's orders not to enter, but it's been hours. Surely, any assembly would have concluded by now, wouldn't it?" With apprehension and curiosity, a senior court lady pushed open the doors to the once-bustling throne room, expecting to find His Imperial Majesty and his council of ministers. Instead, she was met with a horrifying sight—a scene of bloodshed and chaos spread across the grand hall.

Her piercing scream echoed through the silent room, jolting nearby palace staff into action. Rushing to the scene, they were met with a scene that chilled them to the bone. At the end of the room, amidst a sea of lifeless bodies, lay the empress on the throne, her appearance shocking all who beheld it. Beside her, her husband remained, his head cradled on her chest, their hands tightly clasped together. A gaping stab wound marred his chest—it seemed he had taken his own life before joining her in death.

Following that, the next prince in line promptly ascended the throne and found himself compelled to appoint an entirely new cabinet of ministers and officials. The entire nation descended into chaos, particularly since it was still embroiled in a war, with endless theories circulating about the events. While some speculated that the emperor succumbed to madness and killed his own council, others whispered of a conspiracy, suggesting that the ministers had orchestrated the demise of both the empress and the emperor.

Amidst this uncertainty, the new prince faced the daunting challenge of restoring order to the kingdom. With a heavy heart, he pledged to uncover the truth behind the tragic occurrences and ensure that justice was served to those responsible.

In the end, the truth of what truly occurred remained shrouded in mystery. All those involved had departed from the realm of the living. As centuries passed, that chapter in history became known as the Scarlet Requiem, a haunting tale that lingered in the collective memory of the kingdom. Despite countless efforts to unravel the enigma, the events surrounding the tragedy remained obscured by the sands of time, leaving future generations to ponder and speculate about the dark secrets of the past.

"What do you think really happened?" a woman asked her boyfriend as they studied a painting depicting the throne room scene in a museum dedicated to the events of the Scarlet Requiem.

He pondered for a moment before responding with a shrug. "It's hard to say. But judging by the way he's holding onto her, it seems he must have truly loved her. Let's hope they've found peace and happiness, whether in the afterlife or their next life."

She nodded in agreement, leaning into his comforting embrace. "Yeah, I hope so too."

He flashed a mischievous grin. "I'm just saying, if I were him, I wouldn't have left her for war in the first place."

She rolled her eyes and gave him a playful smack, though a smile danced on her lips. "I'm sure you wouldn't. I bet it's because the empress was described as beautiful as a celestial being."

He scoffed. "Doesn't matter to me how pretty she was. I'll stay only if you're my empress."

Unbeknownst to them, the couple had been contemplating their own past lives. Perhaps the emperor and empress had indeed found each other again in another existence.

Believe it or not, this has been on my mind for months ever since seeing those AI-generated photos of Baekhyun. I had an epiphany while looking at them again yesterday and just had to write this. It's my first EXO fic, and I hope it's decent hehe~

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

Master Tag list:

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @green-agent @vantediary @tinyteezer |

@hollxe1 @pandabur666 @lilactangerine @oddracha @evidive

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myrainbowgelpen · 3 days ago

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myrainbowgelpen · 3 days ago

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This thing oscar does with his mouth sometimes when he wins where you can tell he feels confident and proud of himself yupppp

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myrainbowgelpen · 3 days ago

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good lord

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myrainbowgelpen · 11 days ago

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the lean. the fireproof pull. he is the moment.

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myrainbowgelpen · 14 days ago

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myrainbowgelpen · 15 days ago

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keeping them in my pocket

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myrainbowgelpen · 15 days ago

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am NEVER getting over the way oscar literally goes so fond when lando thanks him

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myrainbowgelpen · 16 days ago

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polite cat oscar vs ipad kid lando

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myrainbowgelpen · 16 days ago

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oh my god.

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myrainbowgelpen · 17 days ago

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No one fucking move

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myrainbowgelpen · 18 days ago

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that new boarding skl pic of Oscar. Lily saw him in the fit and said ‘I want that one’ bc who wouldn’t. respectfully I need him to pull me intro an empty classroom and ruin me while still wearing that outfit.

Young Royals Oscar has me in a chokehold that’s so Wille coded I CAN’T BREATHE. He looks like he’d whisper we shouldn’t while already locking the door behind you and pushing desks out of the way... 💭

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myrainbowgelpen · 20 days ago

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“ice man piastri” this, “ice man piastri” that but do NOT deny my man his #loverboy tendencies. ohhh, oscar piastri is nonchalant? when he will literally jump at any opportunity to mention the fact he has a girlfriend? when he talks about her in podcasts and news shows? when he always pauses a bit and smiles if she’s brought up? when he gushes about her gifts, mentions her interests, shouts her out at any chance he can get? “my girlfriend is probably watching back home.” “pescetarians? my girlfriend’s a pescetarian!” “my girlfriend got us these blackout curtains. my girlfriend got me this chocolate frother.” say what you want about oscar jack piastri but he is a loverboy and i will die on this hill

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myrainbowgelpen · 20 days ago

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How it feels to read a really good fic and find the author has dozens more like it

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myrainbowgelpen · 20 days ago

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Could you do a john x reader where the readers the bands assistant and at first he cant stand the reader but slowly falls for them?<3

𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛 | john lennon x reader

𐙚 summary ; john thinks you’re uptight, nosy, and irritatingly good at your job. you think he’s an arrogant, lazy sod with a nicotine addiction. somehow, falling in love happens anyway.

𐙚 note ; i love this dynamic. john being emotionally incompetent!!?? yeah i’m gonna eat it up xoxo

“Tell ‘em to piss off, would you?”

You weren’t even fully in the doorway before John had flung that at you, voice echoing over the piano keys like he was hoping it’d bruise on impact. You blinked, unfazed, balancing the clipboard against your chest like a shield.

“They’re your interviewers, not mine.”

He slumped deeper on the bench. “Don’t care. They’re wankers.”

Paul looked up from the mixing console, brows lifted, waiting. You didn’t flinch. The stack of studio notes in your arms didn’t either. George was half-asleep on the floor, eyes shut and legs crossed, clearly trying to pretend none of this was happening. Ringo was eating crisps behind a partition. John hadn’t even acknowledged you yesterday. Today, he was yelling before you opened your mouth.

“Lovely seeing you too, Lennon,” you said flatly, brushing past him to drop the notes on the table. “I’ve got the revised track timings, the itinerary for tomorrow, and a list of people you’re allegedly supposed to be nice to this week.”

“You’re one of them?”

“Not a chance.”

Ringo snorted. Paul grinned.

John looked up slowly. He had the cigarette still dangling from his mouth, barely lit, and his eyes were bloodshot behind those stupid yellow glasses he wore indoors. You didn’t know if he was drunk or just pretending to be, but either way, his glare slid down you like he was trying to x-ray you for weaknesses.

“You’re that new one,” he said, like it was an accusation. “The one with the attitude.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who called me a parasite on day one.”

“I said the lot of you were parasites. Don’t get big-headed.”

“Thanks for the clarification.”

He sneered. You smiled. There was no real heat behind it, just the static of two sharp things scraping too close together. You turned on your heel and walked out before he could say something clever.

The door clicked shut behind you. He exhaled smoke through his nose and muttered, “Who hired that one?”

“You did,” Paul said, laughing. “Well. You insisted you wanted someone who wasn’t a ‘yes man.’”

“Well, fuck me, I got one.”

You started seeing more of John after that, unfortunately.

He was always the last one out of the studio and the first one to pick a fight. When things went wrong, he found you. When things went right, he found someone else. But you started noticing patterns in his tantrums. He only really snapped when he hadn’t written anything good in a while. When he walked in silent and stiff-shouldered, he’d pick a fight within the hour. When he was buzzing, humming with ideas, he barely noticed you were there.

Sometimes he’d mutter lyrics to himself. You started jotting them down without being asked.

“You writin’ down my thoughts now?” he barked one afternoon, catching you scribbling something about “a fish and a god and a yellow sky.”

“No,” you said, “just your ramblings. Figured I could blackmail you someday.”

He stared at you, lips parted around his smoke. Then, to your surprise, he grinned.

“…you’re mental.”

You shrugged. “So are you.”

That grin stuck with you longer than it should’ve.

You caught him watching you a few days later. Middle of the afternoon, everybody out for lunch except the two of you. You were going over press releases on the floor, cross-legged, red pen tucked behind your ear. You felt his gaze before you saw it.

“You gonna keep staring or help me highlight?”

He didn’t blink. Just sat there with a cigarette smoldering in the ashtray, arms crossed, and said, “You talk to me different than the others.”

You looked up. “Yeah?”

“You don’t give a toss.”

“About what?”

“Me.”

You stared at him for a beat. Then went back to your notes.

“I give enough of a toss to keep your schedule from collapsing. Anything beyond that’s a risk to my mental health.”

He laughed, soft and throaty. “See, that’s what I mean.”

“You want me to care?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Just...” He squinted at you. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

“I’m scared of things, sure,” you muttered, underlining a sentence. “Just not irritable Liverpudlians.”

“You should be! I bite.”

“You sulk.”

His mouth twitched. You didn’t look at him again, but you felt the tension shift. He didn’t leave the room. Didn’t snap. Just sat there, quiet. Thinking.

He started asking where you were.

He never did it directly, John Lennon wasn’t sentimental, obviously! But when you were late to the studio one morning, he cornered Ringo.

“That assistant of ours, yours, where’d they go?”

“Dentist,” Ringo said through a mouthful of toast. “Why?”

“Just noticed it was quieter.”

“You miss ‘em?”

“Miss the arguments,” John muttered. “S’good for the blood.”

When you came back, he didn’t say anything, but the whole day passed without a single insult.

You almost missed them.

It was late when it really shifted.

A Friday. Rain slicked the windows, and the others had left hours ago. You were still fiddling with the week’s expenses when you noticed him, curled on the couch with his guitar across his lap, staring at the ceiling.

“You’re not playing anything,” you said, not looking up.

He didn’t answer right away, just kept flicking the strings with a pick he wasn’t really using. Lazy. Aimless. His foot tapped, heel against the couch cushion, and you were about to repeat yourself when he muttered, “Yeah, well, maybe I’m just sittin’ with it.”

“With what?”

He glanced over, hair falling in his eyes. “The fact that we’ve written the same fuckin’ song four times this week.”

You laughed under your breath. “You’ve said that every week.”

“Yeah, and it’s true every time.”

You stood, stretching your arms over your head. “Want a drink?”

“No.” He shifted, leaned back against the couch, fingers now just resting on the strings. “Don’t want much of anything, really. Not when I’ve got three producers tellin’ me which note’s best and a tape operator breathin’ down my neck.”

“Sounds like hell.”

“It is hell,” he muttered. “But it’s also... I dunno. Not like I’d be anywhere else.”

You crossed the room and sat near the end of the couch, not quite close enough to touch. “You like pretending you hate it.”

“I do hate it.”

“You love it.”

He narrowed his eyes, flicked his gaze at you. “You don’t know shit.”

“Mmhm.”

He sighed, dramatically. “Can’t even sulk in peace around you, can I?”

“Nope.”

“Fucking menace.”

You smiled at the floor. Then, quieter, “You want to talk about it?”

He arched a brow. “Talk about what?”

“Whatever’s chewing on you.”

He sniffed, scratched his temple. “It’s called a band.”

“You’re the one who insisted on staying this late.”

“And you’re the one still here, clipboard-for-brains.”

You flicked a crumpled receipt at his knee. He swatted it away.

“Listen,” he said after a moment, voice slower, less sharp, “not every night has to end in an epiphany, y’know. Sometimes a bloke just wants to sit and be miserable in peace.”

“You’re doing a fantastic job at that.”

He glanced at you sidelong, and for a flicker, just a second, you thought you saw something like relief pass over his face. Like your refusal to pry too deep was the nicest thing anyone had done all day.

He shifted again, looser now, guitar across his lap like a blanket instead of a shield.

“You’re not bad, y’know,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “What?”

“Don’t make me repeat it.”

You sat back, eyes squinting like you were analyzing a riddle. “You mean that as a person or as an assistant?”

John lit another cigarette. “Either.”

“Wow,” you said, mock-dramatic. “Praise from Caesar.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

━━

You started noticing when he didn’t fight. That was the real tell. The days when John just sat at the piano and let his fingers drift across the keys, absentminded and raw, were worse than when he exploded. The quiet was heavier. Less self-important.

One evening, you came in early. Thought you’d beat the morning circus. Instead, somehow, you found 'Mr. Lazy Always Getting Everybody Late TO EVERYTHING' already there, coat still on, hunched over a notepad like it had done something to offend him. He didn’t hear you at first.

“I thought geniuses slept in,” you said, setting your bag down.

He looked up, startled. “Thought assistants knocked.”

“I did.”

“Not loud enough.”

You shrugged, crossed the room to refill the empty kettle. “You ever try just writing something bad to clear the pipes?”

“I don’t do bad.”

“You do nothing, though.”

He glared. “Helpful.”

“You’re welcome.”

A pause. Then: “You always this bloody cheeky, or just when I’m creatively constipated?”

“Must be something in the air.”

He huffed, but didn’t argue. When you handed him a cup of tea, he took it without comment, and for a few breaths, you both stared at the same spot on the carpet, neither talking.

It started happening more often, these accidental mornings, these in-between moments. You’d linger after hours finishing paperwork, and he’d drift to the couch and play the same three chords over and over, cigarette burning down in the ashtray. Sometimes you’d catch him tapping lyrics into the notepad with the end of a pen like he was interrogating the paper itself.

Once, he asked you, “What rhymes with ‘anhedonia’?”

You blinked. “Is that even a word?”

“Apparently.” He groaned and dropped the pen. “I’m a fraud.”

“You’re a rich fraud.”

“That doesn’t help.”

You chuckled. “Try ‘California.’”

He snorted. “Too obvious.”

“You asked.”

Later, you caught him using it. Not the rhyme, but the word. In a line buried two stanzas deep in a demo you weren’t supposed to hear. He hadn’t told anyone he was recording again.

“Thought you were dried up,” you said when you passed the booth the next day.

“Must’ve found a better muse,” he replied, eyes fixed on the console.

You froze for half a second. He didn’t look at you.

After that, the air changed.

You never talked about it. But something unspooled between you, less tension, more elasticity. He got less cruel when he was angry. You got less guarded when you were tired. You shared biscuits, half-hearted complaints, knowing glances when the press came sniffing around. Once, he asked you to help him smuggle a reel of rejected mixes out of the building because he didn’t want “the bloody suits” to have final say.

“Is this legal?” you asked, holding the bag like it might explode.

“No, but it’s funny.”

“You’re going to get us fired.”

“You’d land on your feet.”

You didn’t know what to do with that.

Some nights, you stayed too long and forgot why. He never told you to leave. Once, you fell asleep on the studio couch with a file folder on your stomach. You woke up to find a blanket over your legs and a fresh cup of tea on the floor beside you, still warm.

Another time, you had a headache and couldn’t shake it, couldn’t focus, couldn’t listen to one more half-formed chorus. John took one look at you, cursed under his breath, and tossed you a packet of paracetamol from his bag like it wasn’t weird he’d thought to keep some.

“You’re just trying to keep me working,” you muttered.

He leaned on the wall beside you, arms crossed. “Can’t keep up without your clipboard, can I?”

“Keep talking like that and I’ll think you miss me when I’m gone.”

He didn’t respond.

━━

The next day, you were balancing a stack of mail and two chipped mugs of tea, trying not to trip over a stray cable someone had left running across the hallway, when the door creaked open behind you.

John slipped in like he'd forgotten how to use hinges, quiet but not subtle, wearing the same rumpled button-down from yesterday, collar askew, one sleeve halfway rolled, as if he'd started getting dressed this morning and lost the thread halfway through.

You didn’t even turn.

“You’re late, again” you said through clenched teeth, edging toward the table where you could offload your cargo. “I was five seconds from drinking your tea out of spite.”

“Oi,” he said. That voice of his, thick from sleep or smoke or both, caught the back of your neck like a hook. “You got a minute?”

You raised an eyebrow as you finally set everything down, the mugs clinking onto the desk, the mail sliding half-off the edge. “What, did I schedule you too tightly again? Paul complained about-”

“Come with me to dinner.”

You froze halfway through straightening the mail. Looked up. “What?”

“Dinner,” he repeated, scratching the back of his neck like he wanted to claw something out from under his skin. “Out. With me. Food.”

Your head tilted. Your lips didn’t move yet. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

You stared, one hand still on the tea, the other on a stray letter addressed in unreadable handwriting. “You're asking me out?”

He looked like he wanted to choke on his own tongue. “M’not askin’ for your fuckin’ hand in marriage, am I? Just-Christ, yes, alright. Asking.”

He said it like it physically hurt. Like the sentence was too intimate to wear in daylight.

You swallowed a laugh that was mostly disbelief. “I thought you hated eating in public.”

“I do,” he said. “Figured we could both suffer.”

For a second, you just stared.

There was something wrong about how still he was. No quips. No fake bravado. Just the jaw tight, his fingers twitching like they hadn’t decided yet whether to brace for mockery or a punch. He wasn’t doing the Lennon thing, wasn’t posing, or smirking, or sneering. He was just...waiting.

And it hit you then, how rare that was.

You glanced down at your clipboard, just for the sake of something to look at that wasn’t him. Then you plucked the pen from behind your ear, flicked it open, and started scribbling.

He blinked. “What’re you-”

“Adding it to the schedule.”

His mouth twitched, curved, slow and crooked like it couldn’t help itself, even if the rest of him was still holding its breath. “Suppose that means yes.”

“Don’t be late.”

He turned to leave, half a smile still on his face.

And just before the door swung shut, you called after him, “Wear a clean shirt this time, yeah?”

He shrugged you off without looking back.

You grinned to yourself and sipped your tea.

God help you.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee, @alanangels, @wisepainterprince, @emz2092

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