Stories I Never Finished

I'll Show Him

~ ♥️ ~

If there's one thing Ashton Irwin loathed, it was normality. The intense hold of normality that society forced over his head like a looming threat of eradication. He supposedly had to be a gentleman, a kind and caring man with morals and a good heart that would one day belong to a beautiful woman and three children.

It made him tremble with rage, calm hazel eyes sharper than a freshly unpackaged knife and words harsher than sandpaper on the eye of a victim.

Ashton loathed humanity's cruelty—how it made people afraid to speak with confidence against inequities—and in turn he gave them something to truly fear.

Him.

He ruled his miserable excuse of a hometown, men and women grovelled at his feet—begging for their lives through heart wrenching prayers. Prayers wouldn't get them anywhere, he didn't need to hear them beg; he didn't need to listen to their pathetic cries.
If they wanted to live then they should have done something about it rather than sob at his feet when he ordered their uncompromising death.

Dressing like a studded punk shouldn't be enough for people to fear him, and he resented that it was. He couldn't walk around town with his leather jacket on because the stares he would get were horrified, but he couldn't walk around without it because the vicious tattoos that adorned his skin—from the tips of his fingers to his collarbones and down his hips—were enough to make people afraid.

Appearance shouldn't been why they were scared.
No. His favourite knife in their skull should be why they're scared.

But there was one person in his shit hole of a misogynist, racist, drug-addicted town that didn't fear him. The one person he would sell his soul to slay, spear open their heart and rip it from their chest as they stared back with wide eyes filled with pain and misery.

It was this same person that he also had an on and off fling with, a strange and tense dynamic that swirled violence and loathing through his head while giving his body what it physically wanted.

Glossed pink lips parted with a gasp, head thrown back and Adam's apple pressed painfully to the surface of their throat.
Hand gliding down their body, long pink nails grazed over soft naturally tanned skin until it slipped beneath the band of their pink skirt; tucked under their white stockings and sinking through sheer pink lace.

Their other hand curled into a fist, nails digging into the delicate skin of their palm as a sharp moan escaped them, body arching up into their own touch.
Brown eyes flew open with a groan of need, lips whispering breathless words of sin "how do you want me?"

"Preferably dead." Ashton growled, breath grazing over their ear. "Six feet under solid ground."

"Would you jack off to my grave?" Pressed into the wall, they tilted their head back and let out a mocking airy laugh; cut off by their own moan as their legs began to shake.

Hazel eyes were darkened with lust, the only emotion Ashton ever felt for the man trapped beneath his fully clothed body, as he trailed harsh kisses down the brunet fem's neck; biting rough and heartless while he ground down hard against him.

Brown eyes fluttered shut with a soft gasp, glittery eyelids on display as their mouth fell open and their pierced tongue glinted with a diamond.

A strong hand smoothed up the smaller male's side, grazing over white and pink fabrics until it pressed into the feminine male's hip and pushed it down harder against the wall.

"Ash-" The feminine monster panted, eyes fluttering open to meet the hatred that gleamed in hazel staring down at him.

"Shut it." Ashton growled, thick denim jeans pressed against slender stocking-clad legs. The petite male could feel every inch of the mob boss's body merged with their own, leaking desire they clung to like a blood sucking leech.