Stories I Never Finished

Call Me Daddy (Lashton/Cashton)

Calum's loving expression contorted into a wicked smirk the second Ashton turned his back.

"What's the matter, princess? Scared?"

There's a new serial killer on the loose, and their sick fetish? Watching little princesses cry over their dead daddies.

"Mikey, please believe me-!"
"Baby, we talked about this with your therapist. You're just paranoid, remember?"

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CHAPTER ONE

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Rain poured, a heavy onset of darkness swirling in the frightful clouds above as thick raindrops pelted the ground with great vengeance; a never ending turmoil of Heaven and Hell raging through the sky and the earth with humanity trapped between it.

Michael Clifford, however, didn't have time to bother about the battle of angels and demons—no matter whose side he was on.

Brass-covered knuckles stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, blood speckled the inner compartments of thick leather, his scuffed boots stepped through greying puddles of a summer-evening chill on his escape route from his latest crime.

Michael was in no way a good person in society's eyes, he was a bastard with a short lived temper and a list of enemies long enough to make a fully-fledged dress out of. He used to dwell in the gang life, but after four years in prison from the age of sixteen he stepped back from that life.
And well... leaving a gang isn't exactly seen as a wise move to most people, so he had to learn fast how to defend and protect himself. He was vicious, a fighter, but he liked to think he had some form of a heart.

That heart mostly belonging to a beautiful young blond named Luke—or as Michael affectionately calls him 'bunny'.
He wasn't in love with the boy, far from it, if anything he would see Luke as a kind of side-eye lover. One you wouldn't touch, but one you also would go to the ends of the earth for. One whose smile would be enough to light up even your darkest days, but you'd never want to kiss it away or lay a hand upon their body.

Or maybe Michael was strange, either way he loved Luke Hemmings. And it was that particular blond magnet that had him walking with his head down and a hood thrown over his hair—from his thin vest he wore—in the midst of a storm.

Luke was a darling little angel, and maybe Michael saw his lost life in those baby blue eyes but no one needed to know that.

He finally came to a halt at the side of a bus stop, eyes glancing between the bus-stop sign and the exact bus he needed to catch that was coming endearingly slow towards him.

The sound of harsh thudding footsteps in heavy boots behind him was the first of many problems he had going on at that exact moment in time.

"C'mon. C'mon..." Michael's jaw clenched, teeth threatening to chatter against one another as he tapped his foot relentlessly against the hard concrete.

He risked a glance over his shoulder, droplets of rain obscuring his view as they rest upon his eyelashes. With a deep growl from the back of his throat, he felt his non-knuckle duster holding hand itch with the need to grab his hidden hand gun.

One shot from his glock g19 and at least one of the three assailants would be dead before they could finish jumping and weaving their way across the seemingly endless train tracks.
The roar of rain against thin tin roofing rattled inside Michael's head as he looked back towards the closing-in bus; an entire open space of enemy territory laying behind him.