#exo fics

The air around him filled with the scent of beeswax and dried lavender, sweet and haunting, the way perfume lingers long after its wearer has vanished. The same her perfume used to cling to him long after his sheets had gotten cold.

It had been two hundred and thirty-seven days since he held her, though Baekhyun no longer trusted time to tell the truth. Time betrayed him. Time trapped his mind and devoid it of purpose, with days bleeding into nights and nights into silence, the kind of silence that grows like roots around the soul, quiet and unrelenting.

Each morning, he woke to the same ritual: melt the wax, stir in the oil, shape the longing. Candle after candle, wick after wick. Some slender and tall, others stout and misshapen, moulded by the trembling of hands too tired to hope.

He had lit them all on the windowsill, where she used to display golden quince for the winter, on the table where they once shared tea and stories; and at the foot of the bed, where once their love knew no boundaries, now a cradle for his nightmares and his writhling cold body.

Nothing came. Nothing changed. She remained hidden as the maddening meaning of his torment.

His fingers moved absently over the smooth curve of the holder, tracing the ridges left behind by decades' touch. He remembered when it had been placed in his palm, still warm from her hand, and the soft murmur of her voice that trembled with a promise: “Light it when you miss me, and I will find my way back."

He couldn't make peace with her mission. He hated that he couldn't find resolution and his heart had been ripped apart when she chose her coven in his stead. He swallowed his bitter tears and dragged his chair closer to the stove, absentmindedly stirring his overcooked oats.

Baekhyun had memorized those words, said them back to himself again and again, as if repetition could make them real, needing to understand her, looking behind their meaning, searching for clues when there weren't none. But the truth was quieter than promises. It crept in like smoke, curling under doors, threading through cracks in the walls, whispering things he dared not say aloud:

"What if the way back no longer exists? What if she isn't coming?” He shook his head, denying himself another second filled with hopelessness.

The room around him pulsed with shadow, the only light, a flickering candle held between his fingers, its wax now dressing his pale skin, encasing him as if for eternity. Outside, the wind stirred the bare branches of the trees, a ghostly chorus against the glass panes. The world around him had begun to feel hollow, as though he was the last echo in a house long abandoned.

And still, he lit a candle once more.

Perhaps it was madness. Or faith. Or perhaps those two things were not so different anymore.

He whispered her name again, softly this time, barely out of thought, like a prayer never forgotten and the flame quivered, as if it heard him, making the shadows along the far wall shift, first subtly, then bolder and bolder…until…

The door creaked, opening wide and bringing in the bitter cold that stripped bare those lands. The candle flame died, darkness taking over.

His senses withered into shadow, yet within his heart, a fragile hope stirred, ghostlike and trembling, growing with each beat into a terrible crescendo, until it wrapped around him like a poison ivy, suffocating him with its haunting truth.

She...was...there.

Sehun stood alone, beneath the golden light of a vintage chandelier, the rich amber liquid in his glass swirling slowly, catching glints of warmth as he tilted it absently, the silence only broken by the distant creak of cooling casks and the occasional gust of wind whistling through the Highlands. This was the world his father built, a world steeped in discipline, ritual, and a certain kind of masculine elegance, and now, far too soon, passed to him.

He should’ve felt accomplished. He had done everything right, graduated from St. Andrews with the highest honours, debated philosophy with English lords, sipped port with viscounts in grand halls with oil portraits older than his family line. He had mastered the careful, effortless charm that high society demanded, had learned when to speak and when to listen, when to appear thoughtful and when to be bold. He knew how to blend whisky with artistry, how to host with grace, how to command attention without arrogance.

But all of that polish did nothing to dull the sour taste tonight left in his mouth.

Tonight, he would meet her, the woman his mother had chosen for him, the only daughter of the powerful Koo family. A union that promised prestige and power, expansion and control. A business arrangement masquerading as a marriage.

He scoffed at the thought, downing the rest of his whisky in one sharp swallow.

“Arranged marriages,” he muttered under his breath with bitter amusement. “Didn’t think we were still playing those games.”

Dismissing his protests with a flick of her wrist, his mother decreed, her voice firm with the kind of finality that left no room for argument. “Think of what you both could build together,” she said, her eyes gleaming not with sentiment but strategy. “You’d be unstoppable.”

He didn’t want “unstoppable”. He wanted out, he wanted freedom. The kind that doesn't come with duty and titles.

But then, she walked in. And his thoughts stopped.

She wasn’t what he expected, not docile, not desperate, not dripping with curated charm, like so many of the women he had met in his circles. She was "elegance," honed to a fine edge, wrapped in silk and lace, her gaze sharp enough to cut through the entire room. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was low and smooth, with a hint of mischief behind her measured poise.

“Let’s get this over with,” she said coolly, her lips curling into a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m only here because my family decided I'm much better as a pawn than to actually treat me as a daughter. This is business, let’s not pretend otherwise.”

Sehun blinked, then allowed himself a slow, amused grin.

“I can't say I'm not surprised," he replied, offering her a fresh pour. “Because I was ready to fake food poisoning.”

She laughed, unexpected, soft, but real.

And just like that, over a dram of 21-year-old single malt and mutual disdain for their families’ machinations, a pact was born. One year. Just twelve months of public smiles, coordinated appearances, and business synergy. They’d each establish their respective ventures, his expansion of the distillery, her fashion-tech investment company, then they’d quietly, amicably, part ways.

It was clean. Strategic. Almost comforting in its clarity.

But clarity rarely survives reality.

As the months rolled on, the line between pretence and sincerity began to blur. There were shared moments, too many, of unscripted laughter in the back halls of the distillery, of warm silence during late-night drives through the Highlands, of quiet conversations beneath the fading stars, outside the aging room. She started learning about barley and fermentation, he started reading up on smart textiles and sustainability. They challenged each other. They intrigued each other, and slowly, alarmingly, they started needing each other.

Now, with only three months left on their contract and a joint anniversary gala looming, Sehun found himself asking a question he never thought he’d care enough to ask:

“When this year ends… do we toast to freedom, or to something neither of us planned for?”

The creature is surprisingly cat-like. The body shape is approximately the same, although sometimes it seems to be obeying laws of a different nature than animals you’re used to. Sometimes it moves in a way that’s not quite right. Sometimes it looks different than it did the previous day but you can never put a finger on why or how. Its tongue is cool and the saliva leaves a stinging sensation that feels more ticklish than painful. 

It’s watching you with its three unblinking eyes, round and dark with speckles of light, as if always mirroring the empty universe surrounding you. Unnerving perhaps isn’t quite the word you’d use. The creature’s stare is comforting in the same way a deja vu might be, the way a dark and lonely street might be if you could be sure you’re the only one walking it. Still, the doubt remains. The comfort is never certain. The cat might not be your friend. It doesn’t help that it doesn’t feel like a cat under your fingers.

If anything, it feels like the creature is trying to produce fur without knowing what exactly fur is. Sometimes it feels like running your fingers through thinly sliced seaweed, sometimes like silk. Sometimes it’s like the fibers covering its skin are trying to pull your fingers closer. Today, however, it’s doing a pretty good job. 

Its nose is as cold as the rest of its body. It’s smooth and when the cat nudges your jaw with it, it feels like metal. You can’t help the wobbly smile that appears in the presence of the creature. It might not be a friend, who knows if it’s not simply obeying some orders of its master, but at least it feels like it’s trying to comfort you.

You’ve seen it often. It often lounges around while you’re chased, it rests in their laps or their shoulders sometimes and they treat it gently. If you held less fear and more desire towards your captors, perhaps you would be jealous of it.

You wrap your arms around the creature, hug it to your chest and even if you do panic at the purr-like noise it makes, you can’t be upset with it. It rubs its head against yours, it behaves just like an affectionate cat would. If you close your eyes, you can almost imagine you’re back home. 

“What do you think you’re doing here?”

You jump and bang your head on the top of the desk, wincing. His voice sounds unamused. Angry even. You know you’re not supposed to be hiding. Not from Baëkhyun. He prefers the chase. The cat in your arms makes a chirping noise and you relax your hold on it, giving it an option to run away. To run to its master. To run away. To be smarter than you. It doesn’t, however. It curls itself comfortably on your chest, rubbing its head against you in contentment.

You want to look at him. You want to know if you're in trouble. But you don't dare. Your head hurts. You want to move further into the corner but your body is frozen and not even the creature curled up on your chest helps.

“Interesting,” you hear him mutter in a tone you've never heard before. Alarms blast in your head. New never means good around here. You hear movement. You brace yourself for impact, you brace yourself for any manner of pain. There's none.

“Aren't you careful today?” he hums, “Look at me.” 

You do. Slowly, cautiously, and find a smile on his face. It doesn't seem malicious, but it seldom does. Baëkhyun is very good at deceiving you, illusions are his specialty. His hand hovers just an inch from your face. When it makes contact, it's cold but soft. It doesn't hurt. When he strokes your cheek with his thumb, there's no claw cutting into your skin.

“Are you getting along well?” the alien nods towards the cat. He reaches for it, stroking its back as it lays in your arms. “My two cute pets together.”

You look down to the cat and shiver. Its… not fur anymore but tendrils reach out towards his fingers and wrap around them. You have an uncomfortable feeling they're communicating with each other. His face remains unchanged, however, so you can't guess anything. His affection is gentle, but that can shift any second. Towards you at least, you don't think he'd hurt the creature. Despite treating you both about the same at the moment. 

“Are you not afraid of it?” Baëkhyun asks, and he sounds genuinely curious, which immediately makes you suspicious.

“No,” you shake your head. He hums. The corner of his lips twitches.

“That's a little… mean,” he tastes the word on his tongue “Don’t you think?” 

His touch remains gentle. You don’t get a second of his attention. He seems oblivious to the seeds of terror sprouting in your bones, weaving into your soft tissues.

Then he drops his hand and you curl further into a ball, expecting a blow, but it doesn't come. Instead, he wraps his arm around your waist. He sits down next to you, his side pressed against yours and he pulls you even closer. His other hand is still messing with the cat's lapping tendrils, playful and carefree. The cat's watching you with a curious gaze. The eyes hidden in the skin of its cheeks blink open as well. You can't swallow. You can't breathe. 

You didn’t know about those, and now five eyes are staring at you, two more joining them when Baëkhyun turns towards you too. It’s too much. Their words start ringing in your mind. You should be grateful. They could get rid of you as easily as they abducted you. You don’t deserve anything. A being as useless as you doesn’t deserve attention. You don’t want any either… not under these uncertain circumstances.

“Why aren’t you afraid of it?” his voice is low when he asks his question, leaning closer until his lips brush against your cheek. The touch is light, if you weren’t so scared you might say it was enjoyable, but currently it only makes your tears overflow. 

Still, you know better than to let him wait, so with a shaky voice you respond: “It never hurt me.” It’s familiar. It makes me feel safe.

He makes a noise that’s a cross between mockery and sympathy. You feel something grab your jaw. It’s his fingers, smooth, warm. His other hand is still petting the cat. What’s holding you then? “I never hurt you with mine either, did I?”

Oh.

“Shhh,” he soothes you, the appendages around your waist gently massaging the small of your back. Your vision is out of focus. The world is spinning. You barely feel the weight of the creature on your chest.  “Little one, shhh.”

He’s right. He never hurt you with his tentacles, but that doesn’t mean he never will. And you made him mad. He had to scold you. He’s angry with you. That never goes without punishment. You dared to prefer a pet above him. That deserves more than a punishment. What that would be, you have no idea but you’re sure he does. He’s always so creative. Your lungs are burning but you don’t dare to breathe. You’re not deserving. You insulted him. You’re useless. You-

“Hey,” he says, his voice domineering and stern. It’s a reflex that you immediately snap to attention, your eyes lowered but face tilted towards him. “Don’t go anywhere. Stay with me. Breathe.”

So you do. Slowly you inhale and exhale. You keep your breathing stable even when the tentacles wrap fully around your waist. Your mind fills with images of him squeezing the life out of you, of him severing your torso from the rest of your body. You breathe anyway. Would your eyes pop out of their sockets if he put enough force into his hold? Would you feel it - and how much would it hurt? Would it make him laugh? 

That’s what you should care about.

If only you could get it through your thick skull that it doesn’t matter if you live or die - what matters is that he’s not bored. Or rather that all of them are not bored. You should remain pliant and rest assured that they are satisfied with you. Never go around upsetting them, just a toy at their disposal. How much easier it would be if you could be happy seeing them happy. 

And well… It’s not like you’re not. They can be pleasant when they’re happy. Easier to deal with. Not as cruel, more prone to taking care of your basic needs. Maybe they’re getting used to what you need just like you are getting used to them and what their uses for you are. It could be worse. They… they seem to be fond of you. In their own way. There’s some reassurance in that.

The cat is weighing down on your chest. You can feel it again with each rise and fall of your chest. It brings you back into your own body. It’s heavier than it should be - than it would be if it was a creature of Earth - but it doesn’t feel bad. 

“Just like that,” he encourages. His voice is friendly. You don’t trust it. The tentacles still pulse around your body. They don’t feel like a threat. The only thing stopping your body from melting into him is your fear. Even if he could ignore how well you treat his pet compared to him, he won’t tolerate insults. It’s only a matter of time before he strikes.

You should’ve been more careful. You shouldn’t have let yourself be found in the first place.

“Tell me, hm? Did I ever use these,” he punctuates the word by squeezing your waist with the appendages, “To cause you pain?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“See? That’s so easy then. Why would you be afraid?” he chuckles, his hand patting your knee. Before your thoughts can turn properly bitter thinking about the answer you won’t voice aloud, he continues. “Did anyone allow you to be afraid?”

The words feel like a bucket of icy cold water poured over your head. Your body locks itself up completely with tension so tight it’s even hard to breathe. All over again you get stuck inside your own mind. Were you doomed from the start then? From all the way before the chase even began? The alien just laughs. Only his voice is able to override your panic and get through to you, lest you make your situation worse by unwittingly ignoring him.

“What fun would the hunt be with a prey that’s not scared?” he leans his head against yours, well aware that your own body won’t allow you to move an inch, “Did you enjoy hiding with my pet, my pet?” 

You… Did you? Meeting eyes with the animal, all you see in the five dark orbs is your own reflection. He has yet to pull away from you. It almost seems like he’s resting. Like he doesn’t mean to harm you. In the cat’s eyes, it’s just a peaceful scene. Like a family. A couple. You’re the one who seems off. You’re the alien one in the picture you see. Unnaturally tense, your posture uncomfortable and unlike what you should be in a similar situation. You don’t fit there. You’re ruining it.

“I told you to stay with me,” you hear his voice right next to your ear. You realize you’ve stopped breathing again but when you try to take a breath - you can’t. Something’s wound so tightly around your waist and all the way up to your chest that you can’t breathe. You feel the tentacles pulsing and it’s a soothing sensation, but their hold is too strong. Confused and panicked, you look at Baëkhyun, who holds your gaze for a couple seconds before he eases the grip just enough so you can breathe. You don’t look away as you take in the air calmly, the limbs around you too tight to breathe in deeply. He watches you intently, his tentacles following each rise and fall of your chest. Eventually, you calm down and your eyes fall closed. 

You feel exhaustion that you cannot ignore. Living with them is almost constant fear and stress. It’s been taking a toll on your body for far too long. There are always bruises and little wounds your body needs to heal. The constant state of exhaustion and desire to sleep likely doesn’t help your already cracked and fragile psyche at all. Despite yourself you feel giving in, tension dissipating from your muscles involuntarily. He hums, satisfied it seems. He holds you securely with his tentacles, one hand still stroking your knee. The cat…?

You open your eyes to find it gone. You frown, turning to face him again but instead something soft and moist bumps into your head. It feels like seaweed. The creature makes a rumbling noise that’s followed by a chuckle.

“It really likes you,” Baëkhyun notes and not a second later there’s the now familiar and comfortable weight curled on your stomach. The cat’s now back to sleepily blinking up at you with three eyes. “You’re lucky.”

You want to ask why, want to ask what would happen if the creature didn’t like you - but you don’t necessarily want to know. Maybe that’s your problem - asking too many questions that ultimately don’t matter. What matters is them and what they desire. You should already know that by now. You move your arm, surprised to find it hasn’t been bound to your body, and stroke the cat’s kelp-like fur.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper softly. What if the “lucky” part wasn’t necessarily connected with the cat at all? 

“Ah, so you know you’ve done something bad,” he hums, crossing his arms over his chest. The tentacles rest wrapped around your body. They don’t move. You don’t like the uncertainty, but you don’t have enough strength left to anticipate his reaction. Your body has run out of adrenaline a long time ago. “Did you do it on purpose?”

That’s a tricky one. It’s not like you wanted to disobey him, but you couldn’t take it anymore. You didn’t have a choice. Your body made the choice for you, really. You’d lose your mind if you kept running, knowing it’s pointless because he’s always gonna catch up. Or you’d run into another one of them and you’d be twice as fucked. 

“N-no,” you swallow heavily, “I… I couldn’t go on.”

“That’s not what I asked, is it?” he clicks his tongue but he still looks more entertained than anything in the cat’s eyes, “I asked if you hid here on purpose, knowing it’s not what I want you to do.”

There isn’t such a thing as black and white in this world. It’s truly not like you purposefully hid here to disobey him. You’re still learning to go against instinct, to stop listening to your own body. Ultimately, though, it’s all just an excuse. 

“Yes,” you admit quietly. What else is there to do? “I did.”

You hear him sigh. 

“What to do with you, hm?” he wonders aloud. You feel his eyes on you, scanning over your body. His tentacles squeeze you tighter, but you can still breathe at least. You can’t move much more than that. Whatever his thought process was, however, it gets interrupted. A gurgling sound comes from the creature on your tummy. It startles you - it is no sound that you’d wish to hear a cat on Earth make - but Baëkhyun simply turns his attention towards the creature, lips slightly parted as though in shock. 

You don’t like it. Your body won’t react to the panic you feel and it makes the situation worse. This is no time to let yourself be a ragdoll but you have no strength left. It’s just like when all the aliens are speaking amongst themselves, their language incomprehensible to you, resonating in your mind so strongly that it makes your head hurt. This staring contest he has with his cat doesn’t hurt you at least, but somehow it feels more sinister. Did you wrong the animal in any way? It is just a charade he’s playing, merely pretending, like humans often do, to communicate with the cat?

The creature hisses and you jerk, legs kicking as if you could move away when it made bed on your stomach. It immediately makes a softer sound, an inquisitive meow. Almost a meow anyway. Its eyes are round and curious looking at you. They turn into harsh slits when the alien next to you moves and the cat turns its attention towards him. It makes your chest fill with a sense of warmth, a feeling you were prepared to never feel again. It doesn’t last long. You’re sure there will also be hell to pay later. If by some miracle the cat’s affection will gain you mercy now, his anger will catch up with you when it’s gone.

“Interesting,” he mutters under his breath, and his tone is not exactly as carefree as it usually is. You will lose your mind soon if something doesn’t change. 

You hear the cat meow again before you realize you started crying. The soft creature climbs over his tentacles and bumps its head on yours, rubbing against you like it means to comfort you. You sniffle, touched again by the rare moment of gentleness. All the same, the distraction doesn’t last long. 

As soon as Baëkhyun shifts, presumably turning his body towards yours, the cat hisses again, swatting a paw towards his extended hand. Its claws are larger than what should be possible, like the entirety of the tissue changed to extend and become the claws. It terrifies you. Not the cat - but its future.

“Mean,” the man scolds the creature with a frown, “Stop it.”

And that’s it. 

You watch in shock, mind whirling from the twists and turns of their interactions. He moves closer to you, one arm now resting over your waist after the tentacles adjust for him to hold you, and the other behind your head. You have no strength to resist. You wouldn’t anyway, even if you’re terrified because this is what he wants and therefore what needs to happen. The cat snuggles between your bodies, purring lightly, and you try to consider that a good sign. It must be, right?

“I think it’s gonna claw my eyes out if you don’t calm down,” he… whines…? You’ve never heard him like this and it makes you inhale sharply. New never means good. As a result, you hear a threatening mewl. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Baëkhyun holds you closer. The tentacles hold you too, and you’re a little grateful because you’re not sure you could hold yourself up like this without them. Still, the situation is new, unexpected. Not necessarily uncomfortable, but alas…

“Isn’t this what humans do? Why are you still like this?” he continues to complain as he pulls away slightly to look at you. For once, he seems genuinely confused. There is no mocking undertone to his voice or expression. It doesn’t feel good. A heavy sense of foreshadowing settles over you. He’s going to throw this in your face as soon as the cat’s whims change and it leaves.

How are you supposed to confess it all to him?

“I’m scared,” you say in the end. That’s what it all boils down to. Your body might be too weak to show it, but your heart is heavy with it; your soul and mind are tormented by the fear and anxiety of what is to come. The finer details don’t matter all that much, not to him anyway. And if they did, what’s he gonna do? He can’t erase what they’ve put you through so far. 

“Why are you scared?” he huffs, “I’m holding you.”

You wish it was as simple as that. You wish there was any sort of security to be felt in his arms, or at least a promise of it if nothing else. But it’s not always the case that when you’re held, you’re safe. If at least you had anything like that to rely on, this whole situation could be so much better.

“You hurt me when you hold me,” you remind him quietly. You didn’t think you could ever do something like that - to be bold and honest like that. Maybe it’s because you’re so tired, or maybe because you’re already in so much trouble that basically nothing even matters anymore. Still, you’re too afraid to look at him, so instead you look at the animal curled on your chest that’s watching you right back and stretches its neck to touch your nose with its own. 

“Not always,” he clicks his tongue, and his voice betrays his frustration. You flinch when he raises his hand to run it through his hair. Another sharp glare follows, the cat blinking the eyes that usually remain hidden open. It’s loveable, you decide. You like the animal. You will protect it. Not that you’ve seen it abused in any way, but your heart wouldn’t be able to take it if anything happened to it. Baëkhyun soothes it with a couple pats that seem a little too cautious.

You want to protect it. But that’s all supposing you have any power to protect another living being while you’re powerless to protect even yourself.

“I’m not hurting you now,” he adds after a while, “And it wasn’t my plan anyway.”

“Plans change,” especially yours - you want to accuse, but it comes out as a meek complaint. Not even that, just words whispered to prevent silence from occurring. 

He studies your face for a while. You don’t know how to read the face he’s making, so all you can rely on is the cat once again happily curled under your chin. 

The punishment that will come will be terrible. It makes you nauseous already. The alien’s calm doesn’t help at all. It seems like he’s genuinely unbothered by the whole situation, but that’s not possible.

Is it?

He sighs, turning away from you. You hope you can trust the animal’s judgment. Hope it hasn’t changed its mind about protecting you - or whatever truly was the nature of its behavior. There remains the chance he’s just messing with you. It doesn’t feel like any of them would appreciate it if you felt safe here to any extent. Although it’s probably just a one time whim of the cat to want to be with you. Then there’s also the possibility that Baëkhyun can indeed communicate with the cat and it’s all an elaborate scheme to get you to relax before once again crushing your hopes. From what you’ve seen, the creature is much like an Earth cat, but nothing’s ever certain here. 

While you get lost in your thoughts, or maybe even drift off - your body is so weak, after all - you barely notice the shifting tentacles. They slide easily and gently around your body. It’s nothing new. It freaks you out, usually, when you have enough energy for such intense emotions. You only notice the movement when you feel your head rest against something. The cat stirs enough to brush its nose on your jaw before yawning and stretching out on Baëkhyun’s chest. The same chest your head is resting on. His arm is wrapped around you again, holding you close to his side same as his tentacles. More of them are draped across his chest to reach you, and they hold you too but honestly they feel more like a weighted blanket. If only they felt just as safe and reassuring.

You struggle a little but he shushes you immediately. 

“You could’ve had this in a more comfortable spot,” he chides softly, “It’s your fault you chose to hide here.”

You know it’s a lie. If you didn’t hide, if you kept running… No, with this one there’s too many options. Maybe it’s also possible he’s telling the truth. You want to believe it. You’re so tired. You just want to believe in safety. The cat is cute. It seems to be protecting you.

It’s pointless to struggle anyway. He’s stronger. If you make too much fuss, the others might come too. It’s not worth it. You want to sleep. You feel your body shutting down with each second. Better sleep now under the cat’s watchful eye than risk it leaving without getting a second of peace. You need to rest. You can’t remember when was the last time you slept, so you suppose your body is simply jumping on the tiny bit of comfort you feel now.

“Why aren’t you sleeping yet?” Baëkhyun asks, and his voice is soft enough that the cat nuzzles into his chest before snuggling closer to you. The tentacles shift, maneuvering you more comfortably to his side. To his credit, everything he does is uncharacteristically careful and mindful of your broken body. You wonder if it’s hard for him. You hope it is. You hope he’s not simply choosing violence in all his interactions with you, you hope it’s only embedded in his nature. “Why fight it?”

Truth is - you want to sleep. You want to succumb to exhaustion, you really do. It’s almost an out-of-body experience to be awake now. You’re not sure you can feel your body right. It’s as if it already fell asleep but your consciousness struggles to catch up.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” he coos at you. As if that would allow you to relax. You wonder if he means it as a reassurance. Or a promise - a threat? “You don’t need to worry about anything now. Leave it all to me.”

…yeah. Yeah. That’s what you should do. It’s what they always tell you. If you do, everything they do feels more merciful. More intimate. You know he’s going to take care of you. In his own way, that is, which isn’t always the same way as you’d like to be taken care of. But it doesn’t matter. You can’t move anyway. Your tongue and your eyelids are too heavy. What else is there but him? 

Eventually, you do lose to sleep. He holds you for quite a while, watching as your chest rises and falls. He feels the movement pushing against his tentacles. It’s so peaceful, he thinks, the way humans sleep. Holding you feels like holding a beating heart. It’s rare, he realizes too, to see you sleep. Usually you just pass out. There doesn’t seem to be much difference from what he can tell. But somehow it feels different. You feel softer. He could pretend you trust him.

The cat stretches and it’s his turn to glare. He doesn’t want you to wake up now that you’ve finally fallen asleep. The creature doesn’t seem to mind him, much happier to cuddle closer to you. It’s a scene he never thought he’d see, mostly because he didn’t think the animal would be interested in you. Clearly he was very wrong. It’s adorable how protective it is over you. His two little pets. He looks forward to telling the others.

But that can wait, for now he’s content like this. There doesn’t seem to be much difference between you and the cat. 

“I don’t think what you’re doing would be considered playing among them. I think you’re just hunting it for fun,” while Baëkhyun says that, there’s no judgment in his voice and if Chanyeøl wasn’t so set on defending himself, he’d have noticed the small smirk on the other’s face.

“The toy like it,” he grumbles, rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest at the smirk growing on his friend’s face, “No, really, it was screaming and all.”

“Humans scream for other reasons too. Like when they’re scared,” Baëkhyun taunts him because it’s so easy.

“I’m telling you it’s not like that!” the taller insists, his foot stomping on the ground right next to your body. Yet you don’t even flinch and they both share an uneasy look. He gets down next to his friend and shakes your limp body. Still nothing. The next time he speaks it’s softer. “It likes it.”

“I’m sure it does,” he keeps up the tone, even if it sounds fake. He knows what Chanyeøl’s talking about.

“No, Baëkhyun, I mean it,” he growls this time, the other is not surprised though, “Tell me you don't feel it. Tell me you can't smell its excitement when you chase it.”

He knows he can’t. Memories swell up in his mind, too tempting not to indulge. The scent of you spiking with something sweet when you catch him stalking after you. The yelp you let out when he suddenly throws you onto the closest surface mellowed out into a gasp that doesn’t sound entirely scared to his trained ears.

There’s a distant noise he can ignore without trying.

You used to claw at him with nothing but pure terror in your efforts to survive but nowadays it’s like you’re trying to push his buttons. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy showing you your efforts didn’t leave your trace before promptly reminding you why you are the one kept by them.

“And don't try to tell me that that's not why you keep pushing it around just like me,” Chanyeøl finally shoves him with a victorious grin on his face as he watches his friend finally snap out of his daydreams.

Baëkhyun huffs, but his lips are turned upwards in a cruel smirk.

“Well after I'm done with our toy, I make sure it’s ready for the rest of you to play with,” he challenges, "Didn't Suhø talk to you about this like two hours ago?" 

It's simply impossible to resist the feeling of satisfaction upon seeing the worried frown on Chanyeøl’s face. The man in question licks his lips as he nudges your body again.

"Don't tell him," he sighs, almost pleading, "It made me do it, really. It was asking for it."

Baëkhyun would love to keep bickering but this was a fact he couldn’t disprove. He knew how you could get. Knew you had the tendency to provoke them - on purpose or on accident, he wasn’t sure yet but the outcome is the same anyway.

“What’s going-” they're joined by a third person who stops in his tracks as soon as he sees your lifeless body on the floor, being pushed and poked by the two of them, “-on…” 

He can only sigh. There are only pointless questions to ask, which therefore he won’t, and a favor to do. It’s getting tiring to count how many times he came to a scene like this. 

Baëkhyun tilts his head. “I didn’t call you here.”

“I did,” Chanyeøl says somewhat sheepishly. What was he supposed to do once he realized you’re really not getting up? It all dropped - your pulse, your breathing slowed down. You did not react to his orders, threats, nor violence. You’d probably be fine even without the intervention but after the conversation with Suhø… yeah, he wouldn’t take any chances.

“So what did you do?” Yixïng sighs as he sits down and puts his hand over your cheek. Reading your vitals, it doesn’t seem too bad, but your body is exhausted and overwhelmed. The demand for regeneration is so high in all its parts that it simply shut down and is trying to heal everything at once. It needs help. You need help. And what he wouldn’t do for his favorite toy.

“Nothing,” Chanyeøl grumbles, “You can fix it, right?”

Yixïng hums in agreement, then turns to Baëkhyun. “You don’t have anything to do with this?”

“Why are saying that like it’d change things,” he complains, looking away in disbelief.

“No one brings them to me in more puzzling conditions than you,” Yixïng deadpans and runs his hand from your cheek down your neck and over your shoulder to your arm. He keeps his touch light; there’s no need to cause you pain if you won’t feel it. 

“What’s that sup- Hey!”

He may be able to heal you, but there’s more to it than the act of having your cells repair themselves. Your current situation is not ideal for regeneration, and he’s used to his own ways of dealing with you. And there are benefits to having you content. He ponders them as he drags your body closer to his and into his lap.

They’re some noises of protest coming from the other two that he tunes out, instead focusing on maneuvering you into a position he’s seen you curl up to him before. You’re cold, too cold, and while he’s no expert on humans, he knows it’s not a healthy temperature - probably life threatening. It’s an interesting sensation, however. This cold to touch and with your body all tensed up that it feels hardened he could almost imagine you’re one of his kind. He decides that he prefers you a little warmer and softer.

Only once you’re resting comfortably, or at least he supposes the position would be comfortable if you were awake to appreciate it, does he pay any attention to the two who are still going on about something. He keeps his expression neutral in the face of them glaring at him like he's doing them some mortal offense. It’d be a lie to say he’s not amused though.

“I should be the one to-”

“No.”

And it’s all he has to say for Chanyeøl to shut up and look like he’s ready to burn up. Literally. Which only proves that he’s in the right. You’ve proven quite weak to just about everything - fire very much included.

“I’m the warmest out of us,” the fuming one argues, and while that is true…

“Yes, but I’m the one they trust and I’d prefer them not to panic after they wake up - if they wake up straight away.”

“It’s afraid of you too,” the words sound like a threat coming out of Baëkhyun’s mouth, “Just the same as the rest of us.”

“They are,” Yixïng shrugs, catching the other two off guard, which makes him continue with one corner of his lips curled upwards, “But after I finish with them, I leave them in pristine condition. I guess they know how to be grateful.”

That shuts them up pretty effectively.

They stare at him silently for a while, although it looks like both have a lot to say. He has more important matters to tend to than their bruised egos though, so since they stay quiet for the time being, he turns his attention back to you. He strokes your bruised arm slowly while he assesses the damage from your head to toe. There's a trickle of blood at the corner of your lips that he doesn't hesitate to wipe down with his thumb and suck into his mouth. Before he can even finish savoring the taste on his tongue, he has to shield your eyes with his hand from the sudden blinding brightness of the room. It almost seems like a natural consequence at this point. The low growling and rising heat too. He's not usually one to take pleasure in petty conflicts, but he can't help it as the iron-y sweetness coats his taste buds.

"You’ve had them all to yourselves this whole time, it's not my fault you didn't do anything," he licks his lips just to rub it in. He doesn't get to taste you too often - he'll wait until you offer. He knows you will, eventually, he's seen you with all of them. They all know even if you don't - even if you perhaps just don't want to admit it to yourself: you were created for this life.

"Pass it here already," Chanyeøl waves his hand towards himself, "I'll make sure it's warm and not a drop is wasted."

"Wait for your turn, this is your fault anyway," Baëkhyun says and when he sees Chanyeøl's about to protest: "Shut up and be glad no one's snitching on you to Suhø."

Yixïng is watching them from the corner of his eye just to be sure he's not gonna have another body to fix. The blood brought his attention to a hidden issue however, and he's glad the two are distracted enough to let him work. He slips his hand under your shirt and gently presses on your stomach. He's glad you can't feel it as he makes note of the damage and bruising. It's a good place to start. He guides your body to focus its efforts there, helping things move forward with his own powers. There's something satisfying about the threads of your tissue reconnecting, strengthening themselves back from the frayed mess they were, your cells getting nice and plump again.

"Just let me touch it."

He's about to deny the request, but it's not demanding and when he looks up, Chanyeøl seems unsettlingly determined and patient. The room is the right temperature again too. He quirks a brow at him and Baëkhyun snickers, not for long though.

"I won't try anything," the pink-haired man continues and Yixïng knows he's not stupid enough to lie to him. So even if he's not sure about his intentions, he nods for him to go for it.

"Hey, that's not fair," Baëkhyun doesn't take too long to complain as Chanyeøl sits closer to Yixïng and strokes your cheek with his thumb. He near enough whines when he receives a sharp glare as he also scoots closer. "I just wanna pet it too."

"You know you're just getting in the way, don't you?"

There's exasperation in his voice but fondness too, with which the two are familiar enough to know Yixïng won't mind them. At least as long as they only hinder him but don't actively add more to his plate.

Chanyeøl slaps Baëkhyun’s hand away when he tries to touch you. He ignores the threatening rumble meant for him as moves some hair away from your face and checks the side of your skull. He knows you hit it pretty hard when you fell. The bump there isn't as big as he'd expect and he's impressed. You take it so well. Under the layers of pathetic human weakness, there might be a tough core. There’s a steady progress, he feels, in how much you can handle and he’s proud. So proud that they’ve chosen you. 

His feelings translate into a faint warmth surrounding you. It’s gentle enough that Yixïng allows it and Chanyeøl is happy that he can help. It’d be a shame to lose such a precious toy. Though he does wonder if you know flames are not the final extent of his powers. He wants you to know he’s stronger than that. He will show when you’re strong enough to entertain him again.

He keeps stroking your hair carefully, aware of the spots that might be sore and where wounds are hiding. His fingers brush against a cut on the side of your head. The trickle of blood that broke through the skin there is dried already and mats into your hair. Nothing too serious. It can wait until you wake up, you always whimper and shiver so nicely when he pulls on your hair…

“No,” Baëkhyun corrects him before the healer can.

"Not right now," Chanyeøl agrees with a roll of his eyes, "But it likes it."

"Do you think so because it follows your hand when you drag it by the hair? Because I might have some news for you," just as Baëkhyun finishes the sentence he's pushed aside again. Fed up, or maybe just playful, he moves to retaliate, stopped just short of his palm colliding with Chanyeøl's shoulder by Yixïng clearing his throat.

"I will kick you both out," he warns and it's enough for them to settle. He's finally satisfied with the condition of your tummy, although while healing the underlying problem he also erased the bruise that covered most of your skin there. But that's nothing that can't be easily fixed. He allows himself a moment longer to rub circles over your soft stomach before sliding his hand out of your shirt - and this time Baëkhyun at least notices, Chanyeøl being too busy sulking still. Fortunately he only quirks a brow before snaking his own hand under to trace his fingers over your ribcage.

Thinking back over the time they own you, it's probably the first time he's touching you without you flinching away. You're not trembling, you're not just taking it. It has its own appeal that makes some complicated feelings rise up inside him. He'd rather ignore them. If the circumstances were different, he could press with his fingers just right against the bones and let them crack. That would be a nice distraction. But like this, with your lungs expanding with each breath you take in, it's almost like you're seeking out his touch. He doesn’t want to break your bones and break the peace too. He doesn’t want you to pull away with each exhale. You’re nothing but a tired little animal seeking comfort and protection, asking for it from a much stronger creature. Completely at his mercy.

Of course your respective positions can't be compared. Not at all - the notion alone is ridiculous. And yet, in a way, Baëkhyun feels similarly vulnerable. He might not be lying completely defenseless at the mercy of an alien race, but the source of his distress is his own head and that is, after all, always the most dangerous enemy. And you. Although he trusts the other two with his life, he wants to take you away, run somewhere where he'll be able to face the emotions alone. He knows it all - the feeling of your skin breaking and splitting, revealing the flesh, bones cracking, and he knows the sting of your teeth and nails. He's tasted your blood and tears. And yet he's only now getting to know the texture of your skin, appreciating how different it is from his own. He wishes he came in earlier when your body radiated the gentle heat. 

You. The one they prey on. The one to start it all. You shouldn’t have any amount of power to influence a single thought in his head. Oh, how he wishes he could drag you away, wake you up and use you like he wants to find the answers he needs or to distract himself for long enough to forget.

His reverie is soon broken by Chanyeøl’s panicked voice. There’s a finger pointing at him. When he snaps out of it and sees Yixïng’s hand on your knees, Baëkhyun can only give a proud smile that turns sheepish under the dark gaze. It’s not his fault that your knees look much better colored purple. Not his fault it’s so easy to force you down to kneel. You get so obedient with his hand tangled in your hair, you let him loll your head as he wishes. So submissive and pliant. It must be that you belong on your knees for him.

“It’s not broken,” he shrugs, “It walked just fine. Bet it ran as always too.” He gives Chanyeøl, who only turns away and clears his throat, a questioning look.

“It must’ve hurt,” Yixïng mutters under his breath. It doesn’t escape their attention that his touch is careful, only light caresses that make the bruises fade and eventually disappear. They exchange a glance and turn to the man slowly working his way all over your legs. 

His touch erases bruises, mends muscle fibers together, eases joint pain. All because you deserve it. He can only imagine how scary it’ll be when you wake up, likely without much recollection of what happened before you lost consciousness. Disoriented and held captive. If you do remember, he doesn’t doubt it’s gonna be flashes of pain and fear. And then you are sure to discover there are no marks left, no pain anymore, and you’ll remember him. You’ll come to him, willingly, and he’ll get his turn.

“So what?” Baëkhyun says roughly, but there’s a slight hesitation that ends up making it sound like a genuine question. Chanyeøl only watches with an uneasy feeling in his stomach as the bruises and whatever they were hiding underneath disappear and your breathing gets less and less labored and your skin starts getting back its healthy color. As much as he thrives on seeing you ruined and too weak to stand up, this… this isn’t bad. That he knows definitely. But he can’t delve deeper into his feelings. Not even as your body returns to a healthy temperature that feels only a little cool under his own overheated fingertips.

“Nothing,” Yixïng says simply, a small smile playing on his lips, “Just saying.”

He’s done with your legs and arms, your skin once again a canvas to paint. Only your nails he’ll keep as they are. You couldn’t hurt them if you tried, but why give you false hope. But as he moves to wrap his hand around your neck, there are again growls of protest. He looks up and truly, it’s almost comical how angry the duo looks. “What?”

“Leave them,” they say in unison. He can only huff.

“Not all of them are yours, so what do you care?” his fingers trace the outline of your windpipe as he speaks, calmly and patiently.

“The toy has to remember it’s ours,” Chanyeøl’s voice is a deep rumble. Yet you don’t seem to grow fearful. It feels empty. No one but you will be intimidated by it.

Yixïng looks around the room. It’s a place he calls home. He doubts you’d consider it with the same warm feeling or more than a holding cell, however. “I don’t think they will forget.”

Baëkhyun scoffs. “You take good care of it.”

“I have my reasons,” he shrugs, disregarding their glaring and Chanyeøl’s cursing as he heals the bruises on your neck without putting it off further, moving on to the bumps and cuts on your scalp and face.

“They really trust you,” Baëkhyun whispers and even to his ears it sounds hollow. Yixïng only nods.

“You’d be surprised what a difference it makes,” speaking as he aids your recovery, he smiles at the two, “I don’t think we’d have to train them very hard under different circumstances.”

“Huh?” again they speak at the same time, both bewildered by the revelation, although…

“I told you,” Chanyeol grumbles and gives a sharp look to Baëkhyun, “That it likes that.”

He only shakes his head but there’s a maelstrom of emotions inside his chest. Of course he fucking knows you like their games. You like to let them toy with you. Your body betrays you and tells them more than you wish to.

So why?

So why do you keep hiding without hoping to be found?

So why do you only ever search for Yixïng if he’s so soft on you?

If you take pleasure in something, you should embrace it - that’s always been Baëkhyun’s stance on things. You clearly enjoy your life here, even if they - admittedly - don’t make it easy for you. Perhaps precisely because of that. So why do you resist your desire?

“It’s time to get them to bed,” Yixïng continues as if he didn’t give his friends more to think about than they could process. He strokes your cheek, finally a healthy shade again, and admires his handiwork. You look just as you did the day they found you - if not better.

“Why isn’t it waking up then?” Baëkhyun mumbles. He would like to see the expression on your face upon waking up, surrounded by the three of them. He wonders what you’d do. Yixïng wouldn’t let them mess up what he fixed straight away. Perhaps it could be an opportunity to try a new approach.

“Because they’re so weak,” he coos at your unconscious form, “That even after being fully healed their body still needs rest.”

“I’ll carry them,” Chanyeøl announces eagerly and without hesitation. Upon seeing Yixïng’s doubtful expression, matched by Baëkhyun, he rolls his eyes. He couldn’t explain it if they asked - the closest to an explanation he has is that he wants to surprise you. Just like when you’re running from him and he chases you straight into a dead end and when you turn, he’s already behind you. The fear radiating off you then, however, is never as strong as when you look behind you as you’re running away from him and he’s not there.

And because he doesn’t have the words he needs, he just takes you from Yixïng, lifting you up easily and bouncing you in his arms into a more secure position. Baëkhyun is up just as fast and checks you over for any new marks. He gives him a warning look when he doesn’t find any. 

“What are you gonna do with them?” Yixïng asks as he stands up, a slight frown on his face. This does ruin his plans a little. 

“I’ll just take it to its bed,” he whines, “I know the rules, okay?”

“Tell that to Suhø,” Baëkhyun coughs, unbothered by the jab he receives in response. While they bicker, Yixïng sighs. Maybe it’s for the best. If at least one of them discovers just as he did that there are advantages to gaining your trust, he will get to focus on developing his powers instead of practicing basic healing again. He can tell that Chanyeøl means what he says, and if there’s something that he’s hiding in his intentions, Yixïng knows better than to pry right now.

“Fine, but if I find a single scratch on them…” he warns half-heartedly.

“It can hurt itself on anything,” the taller man whines, but ultimately he can only promise to be careful if he wants to keep you. Baëkhyun follows him as he carries you in the direction of your room. They stay silent, each thinking similar thoughts, well aware of the fact. Chanyeøl doesn’t need to ask, and for once he doesn’t stop Baëkhyun when he runs a hand up your leg and hums at your warmth and the smoothness of your skin.

“It feels different, right?” Chanyeøl sighs, experimentally rubbing his cheek against your head laid on his shoulder. Did you ever not expect him to hurt you, even if he approached you with innocent intentions? He doesn’t think so. It’s soothing, he finds, when he touches you and you don’t instantly begin to shake.

“It’s gonna go back to how it always is when it wakes up,” he sighs in response. There’s nothing that can be done, honestly he doesn’t want things to change. You should know your place, and that’s beneath him. But he also wants all of you. They all do. And they’re not going to get it if you always remain terrified of them.

“Hey, Baëkhyun,” Chanyeøl calls his name and there’s a cheeky smile on his face, “Wanna make it freak out when it wakes up?”

He doesn’t need explanation.

“It’s like you can read my mind,” Baëkhyun smirks, stepping right behind his friend as they reach your room. 

He throws himself on your bed without any worry and entertains himself by watching Chanyeøl struggle to put you down gently. It’s a new idea. He’s sure he could do a better job of it, especially as your body bounces off the bed as the tall man loses patience. 

He pulls you closer to himself, barely stopping himself from grabbing you with enough strength to bruise your skin. It’s… strange. It makes him realize how little strength he needs to hurt you and he has to stop himself from cooing aloud. Running his fingers over your spotless throat, though, he does miss the collar of marks. Chanyeøl seems to share the sentiment, grumbling when he sees the clean expanse of your neck.

They take a while to simply appreciate the almost forgotten look of you unharmed, healed to perfection. Who else would care for you as much and as well as they do? Your skin seems to be glowing, your hair is shiny and strong. They know your eyes will sparkle when you open them. 

“There’s a lot of mats in its hair,” Chanyeøl mentions as if only now remembering again, “The blood dried there, it’s a mess.”

“Let’s wait until our toy wakes up,” Baëkhyun meets his eyes, “It’s a waste to do it now.”

“It’ll hurt,” he smirks at the white-haired man and quirks a brow. He, of course, thought about it too, but the encounter with Yixïng made him want to reconsider. It remains a tempting thought still.

“Not much,” the other man smirks, “And we won’t be hurting it, right?”

Chanyeol licks his lips. Who is he kidding, it’s what he wanted to do all along. Although he didn’t plan to share the experience, it’s true it might be more fun. He can only imagine how you’ll writhe in fear between them, only able to escape from the touch of one into the arms of the other. If he could wake you right now, he would. 

You’re like this because of him… He’s not the patient kind, but this time he’s more frustrated with himself rather than the need to wait. A broken toy is no fun while it’s being repaired. He lies down fully and puts his arm around your waist. Baëkhyun regards him with a curious look.

“It’s boring without something to play with,” he comments, huffing, moving his face to the crook of your neck. And still you lay limp, completely relaxed. It makes him hesitate. You’re so soft. So easily damaged. He imagines you’re awake, lying like this. Allowing him to get so close without fear. There’s a rush in a hunt - but there’s comfort in this. As much as he looks forward to when you come to and see the position you’re in, he also considers what you’d do if you didn’t fear him as much. Would you move closer to him? Would you touch him first, unprompted?