Writing My Wrongs

Pricing:

$1 USD per 100 words up to 2500 words

-1000 words: $10 USD

-1500 words: $15 USD

-2000 words: $20 USD

-2500 words: $25 USD

+

$1.5 USD per 100 words  3000 - 3500 words

-3000 words: $35 USD

-3500 words: $42.5 USD

3500 word limit

All payment through Paypal

For all commissions, please outline which fandom, characters, any ships, and the basic plot points/AU it’s taking place in.  

Fandoms:

-Voltron: LD -Free! -Homestuck -Fallout (3, NV, 4) -Borderlands

If your fandom isn’t listed, send me a message about it.

For OCs/original fiction I will need character references and plot structure/details.

Will write:

-most ships: F/F, M/F, M/M etc.

-Smut/NSFW

-gore

-noncon/dubcon

-unhealthy relationships

-violence

-non-human creatures

Won’t write:

-certain kinks

-anything that includes real people

-

I reserve the right to not accept a commission request for any reason. For any questions or requests, please DM me and I will get back to you as soon as I can I am in Australia, so please consider time zones.

“I’m sorry for the sudden intrusion,” the alpha calls, “my car broke down, and the storm, it’s getting quite bad. May I please come in?”

Lance nibbles his lip, back pressed to the door, staring out the opposite window..

The cabin was his haven. The safe ship in the centre of the roiling sea. He could ignore the voice, pretend it wasn’t there, and be once again in his cocoon of warmth, let the storm roar through the trees. Rain drums on the roof, sending shivers crawling down his spine, and through the waving boughs lightning streaks across the black sky. Guilt weighs heavy into his stomach, and with shaking fingers, he flicks back the chain and opens the door.

The alpha on his doorstep looks at him in supplication, breathing with great heaves, making a small puddle where he stands. He’s tall, strongly-built, classically handsome, with thick, dark hair and an intense gaze, already making him feel… weaker.

“Please, if only until the storm passes,” the alpha says, a strain of desperation in his voice, and Lance swallows his fear.

“I’ll grab a towel, come in… by the fire,” Lance murmurs, opening the door wider, heat filling his face as the alpha flashes him a grateful smile.

“Thank you so much.”

If his Mami were here, she’d make the alpha wait outside, give him a towel, and then lock the door.

The alpha introduces himself as Shiro, peeling off his vest and shirt to towel himself off. He hangs the clothes up next to the fire, already making himself at home, Lance thinks, typical.

They make light, awkward conversation, not helped by Shiro’s apparent comfort with sitting shirtless in a complete stranger’s living room.

Lance yawns, checking the clock. Close to midnight.

“Take the couch, there should be enough blankets,” he says; there’s no way this alpha is getting his nice comfy bed, “hopefully the storm will… let up by morning.”

Shiro smiles, thanks him, and Lance gets ready for bed, knowing at least the rain will lull him to sleep. Naively, he thinks he’s safely snuggled in his bed.

Never ignore Mami’s advice.

You never know what an alpha wants, and the moment you let them in…

Lance is woken with a loud shriek of thunder, and when lightning fills the room with stark light, Shiro is there, by his bed; trousers missing, clutching something in his hand.

Lance leaps out of bed, blinking rapidly when Shiro switches on the light.

It’s a knife in his hands, one of those survival ones he sees in outdoor stores, a brutal thing with a curved blade and notched grip. Lance’s entire body turns to ice at the sight, trembling uncontrollably.

“P-please, don’t…” he whispers, but Shiro says nothing, breathing deeply, stepping around his bed. His eyes travel down the length of Lance’s body, tongue laving his top lip. They come to rest on Lance’s smooth neck, his unmarked collarbones, and he growls.

Lance backs up, hands reaching blindly for anything he could use to defend himself. Shiro breathes again, deeply, a guttural growl rumbling it’s way from his lungs. His tongue licks a stripe across his lips, and he smiles, baring his hungry, wet mouth.

“You smell so good,” he purrs, letting the knife swing in his fingers, “god… I hoped you’d take my hints, but...”

He steps closer, and Lance takes another step away. Shiro’s face curdles, and Lance’s heart leaps into his throat at the apparent transgression he’s committed.

“Where are you going, Lance?” Shiro asks, voice dropping to a growl, “haven’t I made this clear?”

Lance jerks his head, trembling, and Shiro’s brows draw down further, eyes burning. He brings the knife up to his chest, running a finger along the blunt side.

“Are you scared to be mated, Lance?” he asks, “never had an alpha’s knot inside you?”

A rush of scent fills Lance’s nostrils, a heady, heavy smell of smoke and sandalwood, and for a dizzying moment he thinks the cabin is on fire, because it’s so strong, and his skin is so hot-

Shiro slams him into the wall, and Lance screams, thrashing, before the cold, cruel metal of the knife is placed against his exposed throat, Shiro’s eyes dark and sure as they met his.

He yelps when Shiro’s hand wedges itself between his thighs, fingers pressing into his cock, running under to find his leaking slit. Lance shudders, and Shiro flattens the blade onto Lance’s neck, the sharpened edge digging into his jaw. He’s shuddering as well, chest rumbling, and he lets out a gusting sigh when his fingers sink into Lance’s thin slit, pillowed by his underwear and his pajama shorts.

“Wet,” Shiro says in a husky voice, “wet for me, omega?”

… they take. All they do is take.

“N-no-” Lance whispers, but it’s the wrong answer, as Shiro digs his fingers in, snarling. A jolt streaks through him, shock and the sudden spike of pleasure. His terrified, traitorous body responds in kind, glands beginning to swell, his skin crawling with feverish fire.

“Don’t lie to me, omega,” Shiro snarls. His hand is finally jerked away, but Shiro brings his damp digits to his mouth, licking them, “I can taste your heat.”

His hand seizes Lance’s neck, and he’s thrown to the bed, dazed. Shiro forces him onto his stomach, putting the knife to his throat.

“Wrists in front of your head.”

Lance lets out a sob, but obeys, shaking violently as Shiro shuffles around.

“Please, don’t… please…”

He screams as a ziptie is looped around his wrists, and pulled tight, tight enough to dig into his skin painfully. Shiro takes the knife, and there’s a tearing sound as he cuts open Lance’s pyjama shirt.

“God…” Shiro murmurs, using his now-free hands to pull the tattered shirt away, running them along Lance’s torso, along his hips, thumbs kneading into the soft flesh.

“Stop… don’t!” Lance cries, shivering at the cold air; his blood paradoxically on fire as the heat works its way through his body.

“Fuck,” Shiro moans, using his knee to nudge Lance’s legs apart. Lance trembles, trying to keep them in place.

He already knows he’s going to pay for this ‘disobedience’, Shiro forcing his head down, putting his considerable weight onto Lance’s back and legs. Lance freezes, and he can feel the rush of slick coursing from his thighs when he feels what could only be Shiro’s cock.

“Wait, no! No! God, no! Please!”

Shiro growls into his ear, pressing his groin down onto Lance’s back, jerking his hips so the thick swell of his cock drags against Lance’s skin. One hand presses over his bound wrists, the other groping roughly at Lance’s waistband, insistently tugging.

His teeth clamp down into the hard shell of Lance’s ear, drawing a yelp from the omega, and Lance grits his teeth as Shiro continues to nip at him, keeping him still as he forces him to be exposed.

“Stay, fucking stay,” Shiro orders, the words almost incoherent with his saliva and tongue in the way, slicking along Lance’s neck, “stay.”

“Stop…”

“Smell so good, taste so fucking good-” Shiro groans, shuffling down so his cock pillows into Lance’s cleft. A keen warbles from Lance’s throat, mortifyingly, and Lance presses his face into the covers.

Even that Shiro won’t allow, tugging at Lance’s hair.

“No no no, let me hear you, baby,” Shiro purrs, rolling his hips, “you’re getting so wet for me, Lance.”

His other hand squeezes Lance’s ass, hard enough he’s sure there’ll be bruises in the shape of his fingers, and he slips down to curve his hand over Lance’s omega slit.

“Never felt one of these before, Lance,” Shiro says, sounding delighted with it, “only ever seen female omegas’, those are… well… this one…”

He hooks in two fingers, Lance groaning at the intrusion, gasping as Shiro wriggles them, pressing against his walls. His flesh is on fire, sweat beginning to bead at his hairline, heart racing. Hot, too hot.

“...straight to the point, isn’t it?” Shiro says, panting slightly, letting go of Lance’s hair. The weight lifts, and this time, Shiro uses his hands to force Lance’s legs apart.

“Fuck, Lance,” Shiro breathes, slowly using his fingers to open Lance up, breath ghosting over his half-hard cock and his pathetic little vagina.

This was a natural response, Lance thought, desperately, this isn’t what I want. This is just so it doesn’t hurt as much. The windows rattle as the wind roars outside, rain lashing against the glass, storming, roiling, but he’s no safer in here, ship aflame with rut and heat.

Shiro plays a little longer, sliding in three, four fingers, his tongue, digging it deep and moaning at the taste. Lance’s body aches, and he pushes up against Shiro’s tongue, the girth not enough, not deep enough inside. Shiro laughs breathlessly into his need, tugging at Lance’s now-hard cock.

“You want me, baby? You want my cock?”

His body did. This was heat. This was heat.

Lance’s brain was dizzy with exhaustion, fear, and this overwhelming urge to be filled, this urge he never asked for or wanted. He didn’t even react to the terrible cracks of thunder that surged through the sky, already stretched so thin.

“Yeah? You want it?”

Shiro readjusts, pulling Lance into a tighter kneel, and Lance whimpers as the thick head of his dick teases his entrance.

“Your first cock, Lance? You’ll never be able to have another after mine, baby.”

He sinks in, shuddering with pleasure, and Lance keens as he’s filled, so wonderfully filled, Shiro’s cock splitting him open. It hurt, it hurt, but not as much as the absence, the cruel fingers and playful tongue.

“Oh fuck- oh Lance, oh god-”

Shiro grinds against Lance’s ass, putting his weight against Lance’s trembling body.

“You’re taking it all, all of it- fuck- fuck-!”

He draws back, carefully, letting himself drag against the heat. Lance’s face is pouring with sweat, vision blurred as he tries to blink away the stinging tears, a puddle of drool under his cheek. Shiro leans down, jerking his hips forward to bury himself again, and inexplicably presses kisses to Lance’s nape.

“So good, so fucking tight, Lance,” he says, voice a rough growl, now, “fuck- so warm, fuck-”

He pulls back, and slams back in, pulls, slams. Pull. Slam.

His words of praise turn to grunts and groans, grip digging into Lance’s hips, keeping him in place as he thrusts faster and faster.

Lance’s hands grip the sheets, pressing his forehead down, trying to keep some sense of sanity. Shiro’s rut and his heat fill the room like a fog, unseen but inescapable. His body can’t. He can’t.

The pace is brutal, Shiro’s fingernails breaking the skin as he tries to keep up with his own body’s desires. Lance’s cock has already spurted over the sheets; white fluid, but completely sterile.

Lance couldn’t make anyone pregnant. He could only get pregnant.

“Fuck- gonna cum- gonna cum, knot you- knot you!”

Shiro grabs Lance, pulling him upright so fast his head spins, snapping back to centre as pain splits apart his neck; Shiro’s teeth are sunk in deep, leaving what is unmistakably a mating mark.

A few last tears struggle from Lance’s eyes as he realises his first mating is truly gone, forever.

Shiro grunts, moans, and Lance gasps as Shiro’s cock twitches deeply inside of him, as deeply as it can go, heat filling him in spurts. Cum. Cum inside of him. Filling him…

“Lance, Lance!” Shiro purrs against his mark, grinding Lance’s ass firmly down, “filling you up, fuck-”

He wants Shiro to let go, he wants to go into such a deep sleep that he can pretend that this was a nightmare, that he’ll wake up and this will be his safe ship on the stormy sea-

He moans as the base of Shiro’s cock begins to swell ever larger, too large, locking them together. Shiro’s tongue licks at the mark, lapping up the blood, holding Lance close as he lies them down.

He starts to nuzzle at Lance’s nape, sighing with satisfaction.

“So full, Lance,” he murmurs, hands laying flat over Lance’s chest, “aren’t you? Such a good omega for me…”

Lance lies there, dipping into broken sleep, body immensely heavy with his fatigue. Shiro strokes him, almost caressing him, oddly still and gentle as the knot starts to deflate. It slips out, soft, cum leaking out with it. It pools and sticks between Lance’s thighs. Shiro swipes his fingers through it, and Lance doesn’t have the energy to resist as they’re pressed into his mouth.

“My cum taste good, baby?” Shiro murmurs, smiling, tucking Lance’s hair behind his ear. He puts Lance on his back, sitting on the edge of the bed, hand trailing to Lance’s stomach. He pushes down, lightly.

“Don’t want to undo all my work, now, do we, Lance?” he says, but it lacks the cruel twist of his earlier words. Shiro seems almost pensive, tilting his head as Lance blinks dazedly up at him.

Lance’s heart gives a little quivering jump as Shiro stands, reaching for the bedstand. The knife is there, blade still clean.

Shiro looks at the knife, then at Lance trembling on the bed, completely at his mercy.

He leans down, pointing the tip of his knife at Lance’s neck, before tracing along the raw edges of the mating mark.

“Can’t even finish the job,” Shiro murmurs, chuckling, “fucking hormones, huh, Lance?”

He leans down, forcing his lips onto Lance’s, bruising him in one last place. Shiro smiles, running his hand through Lance’s damp hair. HIs eyes bore into Lance’s own.

“Have to tell you, Lancey, you’ve been my favourite.”

He wipes himself down with another towel, throws it to Lance, tugs up his trousers, and leaves the room. Lance stays still as Shiro moves around, noting distantly that the rain has stopped.

The front door creaks open, and closes.

Lance breathes out, the anxiety flooding from his body, and he can’t fight the sleep that swallows him up, blessedly empty.

-

Never open the door to a strange alpha. Never open the door to a strange alpha. Never open the door to a strange alpha. Never open the door to a strange alpha. Never open the door to a strange alpha. NEVER OPEN THE DOOR TO-

“Lance,” a voice says softly, gently. A careful hand touches his shoulder, and Lance is jerked awake. Sweat beads along his forehead, and his body is shaking.

The bed, it’s… it’s the one in his Mami’s house, the yellow bedspread stitched with sunflowers. The window is full of sunlight.

His Mami is there, trying to hide her deep anxiety with simple concern.

“You were talking in your sleep again, sweetheart,” she says quietly, “another nightmare?”

Lance blinks, rubbing his eyes. He shrugs, giving her a smile she doesn’t believe.

“I can’t remember,” he lies. “Well, I’ve made you breakfast, sweetie. It’s out in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

It’s the third day in a row that he throws it up; he doesn’t mean to, doesn’t want to. He loves his Mami’s cooking, it’s the best in the world, next to his abuela’s, and Hunk’s. His favourite time of day is sitting with her at the old family table, safe in his cocoon of familiarity.

When he can pretend it’s a normal day, before the interviews and the therapy meetings and the investigation. Where he can just be Lance, the youngest son in the Chavez family, an aspiring artist and writer.

Not the only known survivor of the Champion, the notorious serial killer ripping his way through the lives of any person he deems ‘interesting’.

He slips out of his meeting early, complaining of his sickness. It’s not quite a lie; the greasy smell of the spread was making him queasy, and he was going to the pharmacy to ask for advice.

The staff member there looked at him oddly, and he wondered dully if she recognised him from the news or the tabloids, but instead she lead him to an aisle, and handed him a pregnancy test. It was a little blue box, especially for male omegas.

Lance had stared at it, and asked if she was sure.

“Yes,” she murmured, not meeting his eyes. She did know him from the news.

The test is expensive, but money isn’t an issue anymore. He puts the receipt and the little blue box in the bottom of his bag, thinking he can force it down, like everything else.

But it creeps back up to him, in the dark, as it always does. Lance stumbles towards the bathroom, flicking on the light, and pauses. His bag is there, by the dresser. He could keep going, go back to sleep. Pretend another night.

Wake up sweating.

Lance upends the bag over his carpet, digging through it with a strange, furious vigour. He tears the cardboard apart, ripping down his shorts, fumbling with the sticks.

He sits on the toilet after, staring as it works, the sign reading-

No.

He grabs another.

No.

He seizes the last, his eyes blurring as it shows the same result.

Pregnant.

There’s a bitter taste in Lance’s mouth. He’s never actually given Kuro a key, but he always finds ways to show up unannounced, when Lance expects to be alone. He’s not scared anymore, but he wishes that Kuro would get the hint.

Sometimes he just wants some peace and quiet after a long day, not the surprisingly clingy twin. Said twin watches with his strange yellow eyes, his smile fading as his brows flatten out.

“What do you want Kuro?” Lance asks, tiredly. He didn’t have the energy for this, not for the painful pangs every time he looked at his… ‘friend’ with benefits.

Kuro regarded him silently, for a moment, before his smirk rose again.

“Gotta talk to you.”

“Is it important? Because I’m really tir-”

“Yes,” Kuro snaps. He frowns, sighs.

“Please, Lancey. It’s very important. I need to tell you something...”

Lance doesn’t have the will to resist as he’s pulled into Kuro’s embrace, drawn close. His mind is blank, purposely blank, as he tries to let Kuro’s words wash over him, done with the day.

Kuro pulls him to the couch, sitting him down so he leans into the hold, but Lance’s body remains stiff, tense.

“Did you really have to come here so late?” Lance asks tersely, uncomfortable as Kuro relaxes under him.

“No chance of being interrupted here. Still surprised you live alone, Lancey.”

Kuro liked to see him squirm in discomfort, smiled when Lance became indignant. He was an asshole, but a truthful one. And Lance thinks he must hate himself, because he keeps coming back, even if it’s just for that face.

But he wasn’t smiling now, no. His expression was indecipherable, eyes hooded, and his touch is more careful.

“Afraid more will leave you, Lance?” he asks, softly. Lance frowns back.

“I like my space,” he mutters, “and everyone has their own stuff going on. Hunk is out in Houston, y’know…”

“Left you here,” Kuro says, without any of his usual teasing, “left you behind.”

Lance frowns more deeply, biting his lip. He didn’t have to hear this shit.

“Hunk’s a genius. He was always gonna go to the top…”

“Pidge too, I take it? Oh, and Keith, and… well…”

Lance’s heart clenches painfully, but when he tries to pull away, Kuro just holds him all the tighter.

“So many people just… left you, Lancey,” Kuro purrs in his ear, “Hunk, Pidge, the rest of your so-called friends, even my brother…”

His grief, his pain, his loneliness; it’s too much for the weak barriers he’s tried to construct, and Lance can’t stop the sob that creaks through his body, trembling under the strokes Kuro is leaving, from scalp to nape. He’s using his flesh hand, the warm one, his touch so gentle.

“You love him, don’t you, Lancey?” he murmurs, and for a moment, the petting stops, Kuro’s hand becomes familiarly firm, “I know you think about him, Lancey, even when it’s just us…”

His hand begins to move again, fingers splaying to caress his hair.

“I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you, Lance. He doesn’t love you.”

Perhaps it’s the utter conviction of Kuro’s words, or perhaps it’s the very lack of any cruel tone; but Lance knows he’s telling the truth. The sobs arise unstoppable, dragged out of the deepest, most hopeless pits of his heart, rocking his body with silent heartbreak.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Kuro croons, “more than okay…”

He shifts Lance, pulling him closer, caging him in to ride out Lance’s violent shaking. He peppers kisses on Lance’s head, rocking their bodies back and forth.

“...because now you know for certain, Lancey… it’s never going to happen. So you can accept that, Lancey. But that’s okay…”

Kuro stops moving, and holds him ever so tightly, shushing against his skin, Lance’s cheek trembling under his lips.

“I love you, dear, I love you. He doesn’t, but I do, Lance.”

His voice lowers, roughens, the way it does whenever Kuro says Shiro’s name, with the jealous, hateful little burn to the words.

“I was made to be a replacement, Lancey, I was made to fill his void,” he whispers, and he too, starts to tremble, “nothing about me was ever made to be mine, I was never the first choice, Lancey, not when the real thing is there.”

His prosthetic presses over Lance’s other cheek.

“I know how it feels, Lance… I know… I was made for this…”

He shudders, and Lance trembles anew, but no longer weeps.

“And you know, Lancey, that didn’t bother me all that much, I didn’t want things to be mine. I was filled, Lance, filled with desires and wants that have become my own. I didn’t see the downside to being made this way. I wanted, and I got, and I felt good.”

Lance can feel his lips curve into a smile, see the hint of yellow where his eyes remain fixed on him.

“But that all changed with you, huh, Lancey? My poor, pining Lancey.”

Another kiss.

“My lonely, lovely Lancey…”

His head dips, so that the words are growled into Lance’s ear.

“Won’t you be mine?”

His parents had been the first, but quickly they had sought to dampen it, suppress it. They turned him away, tried to crush his spirit, and it almost broke him.

And Keith, linked to his heart, had understood they could no longer continue to hurt him. He understood that Shiro did what he had to do.

Bones and dust were all that was left of them by the end; the blaze that took them consuming the entire house, every last awful memory, their legacy. Ashes.

He and Keith had watched, fingers linked, and it always warmed him to remember the firelight reflected in Keith’s eyes, knowing his heart had rekindled. Something new growing from the ash.

They became ‘brothers’, Keith fostered in Shiro’s home.

Shiro’s parents could afford it. They treated Keith with the kindness and love he deserved.

For a long time, he sheltered Keith’s heart.

There was another one, Keith’s age, and he and Keith were like fire and water, hissing and steaming when each got too close.

Lance was everything Keith wasn’t, at least, on the outside. Ostensibly, the other boy annoyed Keith to no end.

But Keith asked Shiro if he felt it too. The pull.

He did. Again and again, they answered his invitations to ride bikes, to climb trees and have play fights.

At 14, Keith began sneaking out at night, returning with bloodied hands and split knuckles, eyes wide and wild and burning.

Shiro soon learned the profile; brown, brunette, blue-eyes. Bright smile.

They were meant to be, all of them.

Through their teens, Shiro guided him. He was the strategist, he picked up the pieces and hid evidence. Keith was rash, impulsive, and impossibly determined.

On the outside, it may have seemed Shiro was just looking out for his little brother.

But in the dark, together, hearts beating as one, it was what they both wanted.

-

At age 16, “H-hi, I’m Hunk.”

He was nervous, shy, kind, warm. Shiro had never seen Keith bond with anyone so quickly. It took him longer, but he couldn’t deny his heart. Another.

Keith whispered that very night, he wanted someone big, strong, soft, with dark skin and dark eyes and black hair. They had to wait. They soothed themselves by stalking the internet, spending hours reading through Hunk and Lance’s interactions, telling each other facts from time to time, saving photos and screenshots.

And they searched for someone.

Lance never let himself seem afraid of anything, but Hunk was different. Where the strings of disappearances and killings may have rolled off of Lance’s back, Hunk became fearful and withdrawn. Less and less he wanted to spend time exploring, adventuring, or being in the dark. He hated to be alone.

Shiro and Keith wanted to sweep him up and tell him nothing, nothing would ever harm him. They wouldn’t allow it.

They didn’t want him to be alone, either. Nor Lance.

Keith would wish out loud sometimes, in between their planning and hunting; “I wish we could just keep them with us.”

Shiro would kiss him, and Keith knew he felt the same way. He hated not knowing where they were, if they were safe, who they were with.

It’s only a matter of time before Agüero’s start dying.

It almost destroys them, to see Lance so heartbroken, so despairing and grief-stricken. Nothing in the world can cheer him. Nothing stops him from crying or screaming or banging his head and arms on any hard surface he can find.

They stop. Lance can only take so much, and they love him too dearly to see this continue.

Their high school years are the hardest; between study and planning for the future, watching over and protecting their hearts, supporting them.

Leaving school is a breath of fresh air. Shiro studies astronomy, biology, physics. Keith remains in high school, but even his presence is enough to deter any bullies Lance and Hunk might have, no one dares piss him off by picking on them.

Shiro prepares for their life.

His parents buy him a nice apartment, for him and Keith to share. Large, well-appointed. Room for their loved ones.

Graduation nears, and Lance tells Keith he would rather live with his family. Hunk is unsure that he’s comfortable taking up the offer of free board; he’s not even sure he’ll stay in this city.

Over the next 3 months, 6 disappear. No bodies this time. They end up destroying every last one in pure frustration.

In his sleep, Shiro cries out their names, and Keith says it’s been long enough. They have a home, they have the means. They were all out of school, and they had to act before their hearts slipped away.

Lance is the one that breaks down quickly, begging them not to hurt him or Hunk. Hunk is more stoic, calm, and Keith knows he’s being a rock for Lance. It only makes him love Hunk all the more, if it were even possible.

He kisses Hunk’s cheeks for being so good to their Lance.

They do something very special; they catch two.

One for Lance, one for Hunk.

Hunk passes out soon enough, tears drying on his face while Lance thrashes so wildly Shiro needs to sedate him.

“You’ll hurt yourself, Lance.”

He adjusted him with bloodied hands, leaving stains on Lance’s shirt. The smaller victim dies first, Lance’s eyes blinking dimly, shuddering as the young man screams, Shiro’s arms deep in his chest cavity, reaching for his heart. When he draws out, he smiles, kissing it, and kissing Lance with those same lips, covered in cooling blood.

They wait until Hunk wakes up for the second. His.

Shiro stands by Hunk’s side, gently stroking his hair and murmuring soft words of love into his ears, keeping him calm, so he can see.

“We all love you so much, Hunk,” Shiro coos, and his voice drops further, purring as Keith works open the victim’s cheeks, slicing out the soft flesh.

For weeks they refuse to listen, to the bond between them. They cry and scream and call Shiro and Keith monsters, killers, cannibals.

They were killers, yes, they were cannibals.

But how could love be monstrous?

There was a moment of anxiety, anticipation, clear on his pretty face. Steeling of self, before it disappeared, masked by bedroom eyes and a playful smile. Someone could easily miss it, but he knew fear, he knew the moment someone realised they were trapped, outplayed.

This one did it for a living.

It was enough to make him look at the young man fully.

“Like what you see?” the boy asked, moving from his spot by the lamp post. Slink, Shiro thought, he slinked, movements as fluid as water. If Shiro had missed his eyes, he would not have noticed the tremor of nervousness. Some things never got easier with time.

Shiro did. His eyes and voice may have captured him, but everything, from his sharply-lined face, to his pretty neck, to slender arms and torso covered in a navy shirt that complimented him perfectly, to the long legs only barely covered by shorts; he was a young man in the prime of his life, perhaps a decade younger than him. There was even gold shimmer dabbed here and there, so his dusky skin glimmered in the late afternoon light. Pretty and alluring enough to catch his eye in the first place.

Shiro didn’t flinch as two fingertips touched his chest, nimbly climbing up as the boy smiled.

“I’m loving what I see, baby,” he purred, eyelashes fluttering just so, “I’d really enjoy making it worth your while.”

Shiro quickly grabbed his hand, putting on a stern look for just a moment.

“Do you want to know what happened to the last man that put his hands on me?” he asked.

There it was again, the betrayal of his body as fear hummed through him.

With impressive effort, it’s covered again.

“A shame,” he sighed, even pouting, “would’ve loved to have seen under that tight shirt, babe.”

Shiro smiled, turning the warm, soft hand to hold it, thumb brushing over his knuckles.

“I’m teasing,” he said, voice lowering, “your hand is quite welcome.”

The young man smiles again, though not as genuinely as Shiro.

“What’s your name, handsome?”

“Shiro,” he replied, and kisses the knuckles in his grip, “what’s yours?”

“Lance.”

“Beauty like you shouldn’t be out here all night,” Shiro said, free hand touching Lance’s shoulder, “how about I take you somewhere nice, Lance?”

Lance’s lips pursed, brow quirking.

“Think you can look after me all night?” he asked. His eyes flick away, for a moment, before settling somewhere on his chest.

“Hmm, I’ll take good care of you.”

Lance followed him to his car, only briefly showing surprise at the Bentley, sliding onto the seat when Shiro held the door open. Shiro followed, the door shutting heavily, windows up. He looked over Lance, watching him cross his long legs, flashing a smile his way. For all he knew, Shiro could murder him here and now. He was certainly capable. Lance didn’t know who he was, and yet his fear was barely detectable.

Shiro couldn’t help but admire him, sitting almost regally in the seat, completely clueless as to where he would end up, if he’d even survive.

“I’m not sure I’ll be allowed in here,” Lance commented as they pulled up, looking at the looming hotel. Shiro smiled.

“I’d like to see them try and stop us.”

It’s the best sex he had in a long time. Lance was lithe, flexible, energetic. He radiated a powerful allure that drew Shiro in, inviting him to smooth his hands all over, kiss his soft skin, sink his teeth into his neck. Lance wasn’t as loud as others he’d had, which surprised him, but Shiro appreciated the low, long moans, the keens that he dragged from that beautiful throat.

“Lance,” Shiro whispered, his body shuddering with pleasure, “Lance-”

The name felt right in his mouth, and he pressed Lance’s body close as they came together, bliss spreading through them as one entity.

After a few minutes of lying there, the glow still enveloping them, Lance excused himself to shower. Shiro pondered, staring at the bathroom door.

In the morning, he would need to go, early, business stopping for no one, least of all a prostitute. Lance would be paid, and would leave, disappearing from his life for good. That marvelous, enchanting young man, back on the streets, swallowing his fear. What a waste.

Besides that; there was that important… business meeting… he had arranged. He wouldn’t even be on land in a week.

The shower stopped, and soon Lance was stepping out, wrapped in a towel.

Shiro patted the bed, and when Lance sat, he pulled him closer. Droplets still clung to him, sliding from his hair to trail down his back; and Shiro followed one with his fingers.

Lance trembled, ever so lightly, underneath the touch.

“Don’t leave in the morning,” Shiro said, and Lance frowned for a moment, before sliding a soft hand over Shiro’s thigh.

“Aww, babe, I have no doubt you have the money, but I don’t do extended stays…”

Shiro dipped his head, marveling at how silky Lance’s skin was, smiling at the light floral notes clinging to him. He rested his hand over Lance’s.

“Make an exception for me?” Shiro purred into his ear, feeling Lance shiver, “I can pay you very well.”

Lance sighs.

“I’m flattered, babe, but it’s stressful enough carrying one night’s pay on me…”

“You have a bank account, don’t you?” Shiro asked, and Lance hummed, still sounding uncertain.

“Well, yes…”

He pulls Lance back onto the mattress, discarding the towel and wrapping his arms around him, feeling the tension in the set of his shoulders. He’s gripped with the unfamiliar urge to kiss it away, lips brushing Lance’s damp hair.

“Then it will be safe, yes…? And you’ll be here-” he kisses Lance’s nape once, murmuring into his skin, “-you’ll be safe, too.”

“...one more day?”

“I think longer than that.”

Lance’s fingers lay over his own.

“I’ll think about it…”

Shiro doesn’t push it, holding him close, feeling his breathing even and slow, until he thinks he’s asleep. Carefully, he turns Lance on his side, staring down at him.

Sleeping people fascinate him. It’s such a strange thing, to sleep in someone’s presence, to feel secure enough to be so vulnerable.

Not knowing if you’d wake up again.

Lance begins to shift, and Shiro cracks a smile.

“Did I wake you?” he asked. Lance looked at him with clearer eyes than a just-woken person should have.

“No.”

-

Lance had succumbed immediately to the drug,and he still hadn’t woken.

His breathing was slow and deep, eyes quite still under their lids; peaceful, dreamless sleep. Shiro reaches over and brushes the stray hairs that mussed over his face, his fingers skimming down to Lance’s just-parted lips.

Shiro wasn’t surprised; Lance hadn’t eaten much since the event, and he was already so skinny. The dose had been enough for a man of regular weight, on a full stomach, but Lance had trembled with fear, his exhaustion masked with his adrenaline.

The cold day had turned colder, clouds darkening as they docked the ship, streetlights flickering into life as the roads became slick with rain. Shiro kept the coat around Lance, one arm wrapped securely around his limp body to keep him close. There was heating, of course, but a rare, protective urge burned low in his belly, wanting to shield Lance’s vulnerability from the world.

It was a strange, unexpected weakness. The sharper, rational part of his brain clicked it’s tongue; for the hundredth time, why didn’t I keep walking?

He couldn’t just walk into the hotel, needing to spirit the unconscious Lance out of sight, only calming when they reached the room. There were two bedrooms, and he carried Lance to the larger, tucking him into the king-sized bed, pulling the curtains closed from the radiant chill.

Shiro leaves him alone to sleep, guessing Lance wouldn’t want to wake up to see him right away, sitting in the darkness. At least let him wake up peacefully…

He calls for some dinner, some coffee, stretching out with his tablet to immerse himself in daily worries again; emails, news, stocks.

Waiting didn’t bother him. For now, he had the time to wait.

-

Hours late, it was still mourning weather, miring the city beyond the window. It was strange how a person could feel safe, in their warm little pocket of space, separate from the storm outside. 

The glass is cold when he touches it, and he shivers, smiling. No one was ever safe, not really. He knew he was alive because that thought stayed with him.

“Sir?”

Shiro doesn’t turn away from the view, watching the rain slide heavily down the cold glass, misting the warm glow outside, but simply tilts his head to indicate he’s listening.

“You told us to let you know when he awoke, sir.”

“Thank you,” Shiro says.

His pocket of warmth is as safe as he can get it, even more so in the wake of his successful… culling of the competition. Perhaps he could better convince Lance of that, now that he’d made his intentions clearer.

Lance’s room is darker, and quite cold, the fire burning low.

Shiro slowly approaches the bed, where it seems Lance is hunching under the covers, pulling them around himself in an attempt to… hide? Shield himself? Shiro’s heart aches again. He’d become too attached to go back now.

“Lance?” he asks softly, extending a hand, and placing it gently on the covers. Lance doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even move. Shiro presses further, and his hand sinks down.

Shiro seizes the edge of the cover, roughly pulling it back. There’s a few pillows, hastily stuffed in a line. No Lance.

“Lance!” he snarls, “guards!”

The lights flood the room, and Shiro rakes his gaze over it; the cupboards, doors, and his men, their guns drawn.

“He’s gone-?” one asks, but stops as a chill breeze skates over the floor, one of the curtains billowing as the storm roars.

Shiro rips it back, finding the large window ajar, droplets soaking him as he cranes his head outside.

“We’re three floors up, he can’t have…”

Shiro narrows his eyes, squinting. The rain is heavy, the night deep, but the hotel is well-lit. If someone had jumped from a third-story window, someone was sure to notice, even a staff member…

There were dents and carvings in the old building’s facade, enough for an amateur thief, or someone nimble enough to use them, but they were slick with the rain, treacherous. Even so, there was no one below, no body, no uniforms of hotel staff. It was possible for someone willing to risk it, to swallow their fear, especially if the person thought their life was in danger.

Shiro’s teeth grit together, even as he feels a small rush of admiration and affection for his escaped boy. A window. An unlocked one. Or one with such a simple lock it didn’t matter. Lance had a minute, maybe two, to put a plan like this together, and carry it out.

He couldn’t let him slip away like this.

The metal sill digs into Shiro’s hands, the knuckles on his left hand white with the tension.

His mind spins with possibilities; he could still be hiding on this floor, in a cupboard or a room, sneaking away while they’re distracted, or perhaps he did get out of the window, slipped down. Which way would he run? Where would he go if he could? What would he do if he was injured?

...should he bother catching him? A bullet always worked best.

“Sir?”

Shiro takes a deep, steadying breath.

“Keep the guards stationed at the exits, I want three searching this floor, three with me, and the others combing the streets around the hotel. We’re catching him, alive.”

He grabs his overcoat, stalking past his men, his men that couldn’t even watch a drugged up boy-

Shiro freezes, swallowing thickly. He must still be under the influence of the sleeping drug. If he had really attempted to climb out the window, how would he have made it-? He could’ve died. That light, that boy, snuffed out forever-!

But no, no no no, he didn’t see a body when he looked out the window, didn’t see limp limbs and that head open on the path. He was alive, Lance was alive!

He was out there, maybe in the storm, alone, desperately attempting to escape him. Trying to survive. He was all too aware of the world’s dangers.

Lance didn’t realise it yet, he didn’t know he was safest with him.

“Mr. Chavez? Mr. Shirogane has requested you join him for lunch.”

Lunch, already? Shirogane was an early riser, but how fucked up has his own sleep become in only a few weeks?

“Um, sure, just… let me get dressed…” Lance replies, cheeks burning as he tugs the covers closer, not looking towards the curtained doorway. Enough of the staff on this huge boat had seen him in short shorts, but he wasn’t about to show them his underwear, too.

“Very good, sir.”

Lance winces as he puts his feet on the carpet, head spinning. The boat ever so slightly rocked underneath him, but that wasn’t the source of his splitting headache.

He needed water and food, and to stop sleeping in so late.

Through the window he could see only waves, peacefully bobbing them along, and clear blue skies.

He quickly puts on a shirt, and grouses as he sorts through the selection of pants. Was something that covered more than his asscheeks too much to ask? He gets it, it’s one of his best features, but it would be nice.

Just another week or two, and that would be that. He could go back to sweatpants- well, he’d have to buy some sweatpants first. Perhaps just go the whole way and wear onesies for the next month.

He slips on some flip flops and shakily makes his way to the upper deck. Shirogane always has his meals here, overlooking the rest of the ship from his table. He gets to wear trousers, frankly gorgeous suits that are tailored perfectly.

He has his sleeves rolled up, sipping at a coffee, watching the staff bustle to set up other tables and dining settings.

“Having a party?” Lance asks, with a lot more flirt and confidence than he felt. Shirogane smiles indulgently, moving his chair back and patting his thigh. Lance forces the smile to stay put as he slinks over, easing himself onto Shirogane’s thighs, looping an arm around his neck.

He had to admit; Shirogane might be filthy rich and very strange, but he had a great body, and it made Lance’s job a whole lot easier.

Shirogane takes his chin, and stares at him a moment, before pressing his lips to Lance’s, coaxing open his mouth.

He tastes like coffee, with the barest hint of tobacco.

“You could say that, Lance,” Shirogane purrs, moving on to lave at his jaw, putting his lips near Lance’s ear, “a very important party.”

Lance shivers involuntarily, but Shirogane just chuckles in response, arm holding Lance close.

“I have a lot of guests arriving this afternoon, but don’t forget you’re my special guest.”

He strokes Lance’s face, carding his hair with his artificial hand, the cold metal raking over his scalp.

“And as much as I love this-”

His hand smooths along Lance’s back, rounding his ass, squeezing.

“-I don’t want my clients to get any ideas.”

There’s the shuffling and clinking of the servants setting out lunch; light lunch, salad and sashimi. Shirogane pays them no mind, and they come and go silently.

“After we eat, I’ll show you what you’ll be wearing tonight, baby.”

He gives Lance a kiss, gentler, and another to his knuckles, smiling.

There’s a shifting in Lance’s gut as they eat, uncomfortable, anxious. This isn’t the usual discomfort; the swallowing of dignity or personal feelings to make money, no. This is something else.

It only builds as they finish lunch, as Shirogane shows him his dress, puts diamonds around his neck. As men, large men that Lance has only glimpsed, begin setting up, bringing large crates from the depths of the ship.

His gut is warning him. Something bad… something bad was happening.

Lance excuses himself when the first boats begin arriving, to dry heave over the toilet bowl.

The other boats had men just like Shiro’s, but Lance could see as they got closer, all of them were armed with weapons. Rifles.

And Shirogane didn’t seem scared or surprised. Not one bit.

Soon the sound of many voices reaches him, laughing, music.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door.

“Mr. Chavez? Are you alright?”

“I’m- I’m fine,” Lance calls back, looking in the mirror to fix his jewellery, steeling himself, opening the door.

The boat is full of people; mostly men, many wearing matching shirts, assault rifles held over their chests.

“Lance, my sweet, there you are.”

He smiles back, but it’s too forced, and he knows, he knows it hasn’t worked, as Shirogane comes closer, shielding him from the other guests, smile fading.

“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly.

“It’s- it’s nothing-” but that’s the wrong answer, Shirogane gripping his elbow, mirth draining from his face, to be replaced with a terrifying, forbidding coldness he’s never seen before.

“What’s wrong, Lance?” “It’s- the- the guns... “  Lance whispers, “there’s so many… why…?”

Shirogane’s grip relaxes slightly, and his face becomes warm again.

“Just here to protect us, just in case, my sweet.”

“From what?”

Shirogane chuckles.

“From any enterprising guests we may have.”

Lance opens his mouth, about to ask him what he means, when something stops him.

Why did he need to? Whatever that meant, it was bad. That these people were the kind to do so. The less he knew, the better.

If he knew, maybe he wouldn’t survive this job.

So he just nods, letting Shiro lead him around as a trophy, letting strangers kiss his hand and ogle him all afternoon, until they sit down to eat.

And that’s when the crates are brought out, opened.

Lance needs to force back a scream, a shout, as Shirogane’s staff set up an honest to god rocket launcher; ordinance propped up for display.

He remains still and silent as the guests murmur and hum with appreciation, and next to him, Shirogane stands, lightly tapping his wine glass.

“If I may have your attention for the moment, ladies and gentlemen.”

Lance curls his hands over his legs, digging in his nails through the silky fabric of his dress.

“I would like to first thank you all for attending this evening, and welcome you all to appraise the wares we have for auction later tonight. But first, I urge you to enjoy your meals, and I’m sure you’ll enjoy the bar.” There’s chuckles and mutters, and Shiro raises his glass, and takes a sip.

Everyone copies, and Lance realises he should’ve picked up his own glass.

Shirogane sits back down, watching as everyone begins to eat, before his hand clasps over Lance’s, still firmly on his thighs.

“You prefer white wine?” he asks casually, looking at him. Lance swallows thickly.

“Probably a wise decision,” Shirogane continues, smiling as he picks up his glass, sipping. He sounds amused, and Lance wonders what he’s missing.

He jumps when he hears a yell, and the yells turn into screams, glass smashing and chairs scraping back.

Shirogane’s hand seizes his wrist.

Below them is pandemonium. Guests spasming and seizing, knocking over glasses and cutlery, falling to the deck or face down into their food.

Lance can see some beginning to froth at the mouth, eyes rolling back, trying to grab at something to keep them upright.

There’s the loud ring of a gunshot, and one guard slumps, before the entire ship breaks out into gunfire, Shirogane’s men mowing down guards and guest alike, turning the lower deck into a sea of blood.

“ Coño-!  Oh- ay dios, ay por dios-!”

Lance can’t look, shaking violently, free hand covering his ears as he hunches, sobs rattling out of his mouth.

A large, warm hand rests on his neck, stroking his nape gently as the thunder of gunfire begins to quiet.

“I didn’t want to show you that, but you need to be aware of the reality of what I do.” Tears flow freely and hot down Lance’s cheeks, and Shirogane draws him close, wrapping him in an embrace. He stays there, even as the world becomes quiet again, sobbing against Shirogane’s warm chest.

“Mr. Shirogane, sir?” “Strip them of valuables, then weight the bodies and throw them off the boat.” “Their vessels, sir?” “See what you can find, we’ll sink them when we leave.” “Yes sir!”

Lance trembles, trying to block out the thought of several dozen bloody corpses, sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

“Ay dios…”

“It’s alright, sweet. Those men, well, they thought they could cheat me, or undercut me, or betray me.”

Shirogane’s hand strokes along Lance’s spine.

“But no one does, dear. Well, the smart ones don’t.”

He hums. “Perhaps an early night for you? Or a bath?” Rubbing circles.

“Something relaxing. Hmm?”

Lance nods, if only to get away from the scene he knows is just below, not daring to look back as Shirogane leads him back to his room.

He’s left blessedly alone the rest of the evening, sitting in the bath until the water turned cold, and pretending to be asleep when Shirogane slipped into bed next to him, kissing his neck and back.

“Sleep well, sweet.”

-

The bodies are dumped, the deck scrubbed, the loot sorted, the boats sunk.

Shirogane comments Lance had been avoiding the lovely sun of the morning, that they only had another day or two to enjoy the ocean breezes and the lapping waves.

Lance couldn’t wait until this was over. He couldn’t wait until the money was in his hand, so he could get as far away from this man and his murder parties as possible.

It is the most difficult two days of his entire life.

He almost cries as land comes into view; solid land, earth, buildings and people that weren’t this psycho billionaire and his hovering crew.

Shirogane finds him on the deck, staring at the slowly approaching harbour.

He puts an arm around Lance’s waist, chuckling.

“You want to get back that badly, hmm?” he murmurs, “I have to say, I’m starting to get sick of this boat myself.”

A cold wind picks up, raking over Lance’s bare skin, icy cold.

Shirogane shuffles, and then there’s a large, warm weight as he settles his jacket around Lance’s shoulders.

“That better, baby?”

Lance pulls it around him, hiding in the bulk, nodding.

“Hmm… how about we go straight to the hotel? There’s a fireplace, I’m sure that would warm you up.”

“H-hotel? When…?”

“Tonight, baby. A nice fire, some mulled wine… what do you think?”

“B-but-”

The arm around him tightens.

“But?” Shirogane asks, voice no longer playful, “what’s, but?”

“I… my contract…” “Yes… that. I would like to make some… changes, to our deal. Extend it.”

“Extend it....?” Shirogane kisses him, pressing their faces together, pulling Lance against him.

“Indefinitely.”

“Then there’s not much point- is there…?”  Lance asks weakly, trying to joke, but his bones are cold, heart thudding.

Shirogane makes a rough hmm sound, guttural, and he smiles against Lance’s skin.

“Well, the money you’re owed… and then perhaps, a date?” he purrs, kissing his neck.

“I… uh… wasn’t- wasn’t expecting- that…”

“Neither was I, to be honest,” Shirogane murmurs, “but I find myself loathe to let you go, sweet.”

More kisses, heated, nipping at his jaw. The harbour is coming into view, but it no longer seems like the long-awaited finish line.

“I… uh…”

Lance tugs his face away, shaking. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“No?”

Quiet, with a hint of displeasure. Lance doesn’t respond.

“Scared you that badly, did I?” Shirogane asks, “quite an awful display, wasn’t it?”

Shirogane takes his arms away.

“I feel like I should’ve added a non-disclosure agreement to the contract, hmm?”

One hand squeezes his shoulder.

“But I trust you won’t say a word.”

“Who would believe me?” Lance whispers in response. Shirogane chuckles.

“I want to agree with that, but…”

There’s a sharp pinch in his neck, Shirogane’s grip iron on his shoulder.

“...that’s not enough for me, sweetheart.”

His entire body turns to lead, and he can’t even make a sound as he falls backwards, darkness swallowing him whole.

-

there’s a second part I haven’t quite finished yet