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spookyspaghettisundae · 2 years

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The Worst Part Was the Mouth

The white van stood still, vibrating as its running engine chugged in a low rumble. The headlights stayed off, though the taillights glowed red through the thick mist and twilight. The van's exhaust pipe continuously vomited out smog, roiling into the fog and joining it.

Hunched over the steering wheel sat Special Agent Parker, squinting as she strained to observe the house nearby. Uncomfortably warm and with sweat erupting from her pores, she was clad in a set of body armor she had borrowed from a county sheriff's abandoned car, layered onto sturdy sportswear better suited for winter.

In Kentucky. In the middle of June. 1993.

The apocalypse.

Steven Walker occupied the passenger seat next to her. He adjusted his thick-brimmed glasses, ignoring the sweat beading on his forehead. Strands of greasy hair clung to his face, spilling out from the edge of the police helmet he was sporting. Underneath the football armor and his gas station overalls, he had to be as uncomfortably warm as Parker, though he also stared at the quiet house nearby, sharing the same intense curiosity.

Unlike the other eight homes on the same lane, the front door and windows were all intact on this building.

The zombies must have never gotten inside of it.

It took Parker a while to peel her sights off the untouched home. Her eyes burned until she allowed her lids to blink again, pushing them to the limit to ensure she glimpsed no movement whatsoever in the darkness behind those windows.

Her nerves screamed at her for relief while she remained as still and silent as a tomb. She craved a cigarette but knew it had to wait.

"We gotta," Steven whispered. "We gotta try, right?"

"Yeah," Parker said. "Two things to keep in mind, though. We must be going the wrong way. I doubt Joshua's team would have passed this up."

"Gosh, I hope they're still alive," he muttered.

Parker shook her head. She hated the thought that they had lost all four men who went out on the first supply run for the other survivors holed up in THE MALL. But—

"We have to be realistic about this. I like it as little as you do, but it has been two full days since they left and not a single radio transmission. We know there are all manner of dangerous creatures out here, not just zombies. Odds are, being realistic, the team was wiped out."

He clicked his tongue and in protest said, "You sure you ain't a teeny-tiny bit happy?"

"Yes, I am sure. Losing them is a complete loss."

"Even though them goin' missing means Rebecca's freaky little club just got a little bit smaller?"

Finally, she met his gaze. His brows furrowed into a sharp peak; the skepticism was written all over his visage.

He wanted to know what she was thinking. To know how she thought.

"I am concerned about what she may be doing. At the same time, we cannot afford to lose anybody. This ride so far has confirmed my worst suspicions. For all we know, we might be the only humans left alive on this side of the Ohio River."

Her heart pounded. She constantly expected zombies to attack, drawn by the engine sounds. Or worse. However, the hordes of walking corpses seemed to have congregated around THE MALL, now left well behind them after elongated minutes of driving. Breaking out from the parking lot had been the most harrowing part thus far.

The sounds of moaning, walking corpses bumping off the van still haunted her.

By contrast, the long, quiet, empty roads they had traveled since escaping now left Parker in a constant state of unease. Knowing most zombies had flocked to THE MALL left her deeply unsettled.

She broke eye contact and resumed her study of the house, constantly expecting something to emerge from hiding.

Or someone.

Though hard to discern through the distance and suffocatingly thick fog, the discolorations around the front door looked less like filth. They looked like—

"You ain't wrong there, cap'n," Steven muttered in long-delayed response, following her gaze.

The discolorations looked like bloody handprints.

Parker shook her head again. "I have no such rank, Steven. I'm a Special Agent of the FBI."

Steven sighed.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't worry about it. Let's focus on this house. There may be plenty of—"

"Did you feel that?" he asked.

With delay, Parker felt his hand on her shoulder. Steven's eyes had gone wide, and his entire face had blanched with a haunted look about it. He stared into the nothingness of the soupy mist, past the quiet house, to where the silhouettes of trees stood out against the gray backdrop.

Her eyes began to burn again before she blinked. She had followed his gaze but spotted nothing.

"Feel what?"

THUND.

"There it is again," he hissed, squeezing her shoulder this time.

And this time, she had felt it too.

THUND.

And again. Another humongous vibration.

Not the van's engine rumbling.

More like an earthquake.

Or something—

COLOSSAL

Nearing.

THUND. THUND.

The silhouettes of trees began to bend. Shadowy splinters exploded from cracking wood and leaves rustled against the wall of mist roiling, shifting, revealing—

It defied definition. No book Parker had ever read, no picture she had ever seen, no nightmare she had ever dreamt of would come close to resembling the thing that emerged from the mist.

THUND.

Wasting no time on attempts at identifying the alien abomination, she ripped at the stick and kicked the car into gear. Tires screeched as the van lurched into motion and she floored the gas, speeding off from the house.

The van's engine roared. More trees rustled and cracked, powerful trunks snapping under the pressure of something mountainous pushing through them. Mere toothpicks, bent and broken by the living avalanche that followed.

Following the van.

THUND, THUND, THUND—

Even as the van thundered down the narrow lane, bouncing from a pothole and shaking the passengers inside the van in their seats while Parker clipped the curb, tires screeched again after she yanked the wheel around and sharpened the turn.

A panicked glimpse into the rearview mirror revealed no glowing eyes, unlike what horror movies had conditioned her to expect.

The only thing she could see was a titan of a shadow.

Something with gigantic legs gave chase.

The van hurtled past obscured street signs while the speedometer's hand climbed its way to fifty miles per hour, and beyond. The motions of the colossus looked deceptively slow and lumbering from afar, for it kept pace with the speeding van.

The sheer scale of its mass made it look like a towering building—like THE MALL itself had torn itself from the ground to chase them.

Parker's pulse pounded ten times the speed of light, adrenaline pumping furiously. She gripped the wheel and told Steven to buckle up. The van crunched and shook its away across a stretch of gravel.

Inertia from the heavy frame sent the van careening on two wheels for a second. The other wheels touched back down with a skidding noise, leaving streaks on the Tarmac of the adjoining road, where the van's engine roared and growled.

The pursuing colossus made no sounds of its own. Nothing but—

THUND, THUND, THUND—

The metal of a stop sign squealed as it bent under a huge leg touching down, crushing it like it was made of cardboard. The towering shadow swallowed the street sign. And the mailbox of a nearby house. A car parked by the roadside exploded with the whine of twisted metal, windows exploding from its frame like eyeballs popping out of human eye sockets, screaming in a revolving car alarm that was choked out as another mountain crashed upon it.

"Holy shit, holy shit, please," Steven was at least as frightened and frantic as Parker, judging from the terrorized yelps he kept emitting all the while.

Something on the street, in their way.

A corpse?

It lifted an arm—a zombie—

Parker reacted just in time, swerving around it in a smooth curving maneuver, and the colossus gained on them for it. A manhole cover went flying like a coin flipped by human hands, and the living avalanche, the thunder, it all crashed down just behind the van.

The gas pedal could not be pushed down far enough. Parker threaded to the far edge of the lane to take another curve in the road without braking, and another step from the colossus behind them shook the van itself, making it hop off the asphalt for a split second from the earth-shattering force of incredible impact.

Only a second was what it took to see the abomination up close now. The surface of that leg glistened in the misty twilight, covered like a mass of fleshy vines, all of them writhing on a much smaller scale. As if the colossus was made of many living things woven together. And other, wormy things tumbled from a leg upon impact. Meaty, slimy, sopping, slapping onto the road behind them. Something black and viscous had sprayed the back windows of the van.

And for a moment—just a split second—Parker had glimpsed more of the creature attached to that equine leg.

Part of her brain registered it as an open rib cage, dangling down low over the road. But the ribs moved, whipping around like tentacles. Or like long, bony, grasping fingers. Eager to snatch up whatever the huge legs had flattened.

The van roared while Steven screamed at the top of his lungs.

Parker made the next turn without crashing the van, but silhouettes shambled about this road, heading towards them.

Zombies.

THUMP.

One walking corpse exploded into viscera and gore as Parker barreled right through it with the van, spraying the front windshield with splatters of blood.

It had been too late to dodge it, but she swerved her slalom through the remaining zombies on the road. Cold hands brushed against the side door, a skull cracked and burst open as it cleaved off the right rearview mirror on Steven's side, and another creature bounced off the front left bumper to the sound of a shattering headlight, dimming the little Parker could perceive of the world ahead of them.

She had to kick the brakes this time, as she ran risk of plowing into trees at a T-shaped intersection. Adding to her panic, she killed the clutch in the process.

The van skidded and hiccupped in its motion as she ripped around the wheel to veer right, hurtling around the corner, and onto a wider road. The engine sputtered and cut out while their momentum slowly died, and she punched the steering wheel in frustration.

The colossus obliterated a house behind them—an insignificant obstacle in its way.

In the way of catching up to the curious little white van.

Pieces of walls and roof rained down from the hulking silhouette, a shroud of dust dispersing as the colossus rumbled forward in its perpetual motion.

Just in time for Parker to reignite the engine and get the vehicle accelerating again. Tires screeched anew, and the van hopped off the ground for a second as another leg crashed down. A copse of trees exploded, groaning until they all cracked and disappeared inside the gargantuan shadow of their impossible pursuer.

Its legs bent backwards.

The road curved left, affording her the glimpse of a road sign.

31W.

She knew not if long straight stretches of road were better, or the colossus struggled more to chase them through crowded areas of woods and buildings.

It mattered little in her moment-to-moment panic.

BREATHE. Breathe. BREATHE. Breathe.

With only the bare minimum of thoughts afforded, Parker operated almost purely on instinct. No training could have ever prepared her for this madness.

The colossus did not follow around the bend of the road. Instead, it cut through the woods. Nearly caught up. Trees and a phone mast crumpled, collapsing onto the road in shambles. The looming shadow leaned forward as the ground quaked with its every mighty step—

Skulls. It looked like its head was comprised of many human skulls. Worm-like things writhed and protruded from the cavities of those skulls, seemingly holding them together. A cluster of skulls and tentacles, the size of a wrecking ball. Or larger yet, for the mist only allowed a brief and harrowing glimpse. Parker neither had the time nor the nerves to study what it truly looked like.

She had to keep her eyes on the road.

Steven had stopped screaming, instead fumbling around to keep his double-barreled shotgun at the ready, prompting Parker to hope he wouldn't accidentally get either of them killed when they inevitably hit another pothole.

Because that gun was not going to cause any significant harm to that thing.

That colossal monster.

It lost speed as it burst through the trees by the roadside, and part of the road's asphalt exploded under impact. Parker kept the gas pedal floored, driven to make the most out of their next straight stretch of road, to gain distance. They almost lost sight of it, as the roiling bank of fog swallowed the giant whole.

THUND, THUND, THUND—

Then it reappeared. Bony, hanging fingers the size of trees, they grasped, clawed—the creature fell back, reared back, like a bull rearing back before breaking out into a charge. Equine legs, bending the wrong way, they crashed down with the force of speeding trucks.

Six legs.

Six legs, like towers each. The giant stampeded after them, the huge shadow darkening in the fog as it neared, gaining quickly on them again.

No straight roads.

Parker cursed out loud and gritted her teeth and had to use the brakes. She had to keep them away from any highways.

The tires screeched as she pulled onto the next side road, and the colossus followed. It trampled through the trees. Unstoppable in its charge, unrelenting in its pursuit of the tiny vehicle.

"Fuck! What do we do?" Steven shrieked, constantly casting glances behind him, and only growing more panicked every time.

"It's following the sounds of the car," Parker said, fighting her own body to prevent herself from hyperventilating.

Ahead of them: only another long, straight road as far as the fog allowed her to see.

The van hopped again. The mass of skulls loomed, and tentacles as thick as tree trunks licked through the air, whipping about, and growing ever closer to the van. More strange mass—wormy things—showered the back of the van, spraying it with something thick and black, and further clouding the back windows.

Almost a mercy to lose sight of this monstrosity.

"Well, we can't fucking stop!" Steven yelled. His voice rose to a high pitch by the last word when another THUND crashed down right behind them.

"Grab everything you can and get ready," Parker yelled, every word shaking violently.

"No. You can't mean you're gonna stop. Are you fucking kidding me? We can't stop now!"

"Get ready to get out and hide. Woods. Get off the road."

"No! You're out of your fucking mind!"

THUND, THUND, THUND! Gaining distance. Losing distance.

They would never escape this monster. It would chase them until they ran out of gas.

Parker gave up, there was no point in arguing. He would run when he had to.

The road curved gently left, she kept the gas pedal pumped all the way down. The engine roared. Eerie in its oppressive presence, the creature following them made no sounds but the noises of destruction it wrought. It lumbered off the road in pursuit of the van, leaving her certain that it followed the noise of the engine when it changed directions.

From afar, the woods torn apart by those six gigantic legs sounded like crackling static, like white noise on the radio. The closer it got, the greater the cacophony of woods destroyed under the weight of a mountain, barreling through the trees like they were nothing.

Parker switched gears and hoped to gain as much distance as possible on the next straight stretch. She took her foot off the gas pedal and followed her own advice. She reached behind her seat to pull up the golf club bag—which she had filled with weapons and ammunition, rather than sporting implements.

Witnessing her dedication to the plan, Steven whimpered, "Oh fuck, oh no, oh fuuuuuck—"

Yet he followed suit, hugging his duffel bag closely to his chest.

Parker pointed to their right without looking and said, "That way. Head that way into the woods. I'll catch up to you."

"No, no, no-no-no, Parker, please—"

By her reckoning, the velocity had dropped enough that they could jump out with only minor injuries to worry about.

"Get out of the car! Now!"

Steven followed her orders. Luckily, at the end of every day, he followed her lead. He was first to rip open his door, grunt, and hop out of the moving van, vanishing in the mist. So did Parker.

The van trailed forward, swerving like a drunk driver was still in control. The vehicle scraped along some bushes on the roadside, and then began to hop and thump and thunder as it careened onto two wheels again. Only this time, it stopped abruptly when it smashed into a tree down the road, totaling the vehicle.

The sounds of metal mangled in the violent impact were accompanied by the car horn going off on a constant honk. None of the bedlam sufficed to eclipse the THUNDERING sounds of the colossus catching up.

Immediately.

Parker had rolled into the ditch and scrambled up onto her feet, running off into the opposite direction of where she had instructed Steven to go. Steven, whom she had already lost complete track of.

There was no time.

THUND.

It was worse outside—

THUND.

The thunderous quakes of those six colossal legs, with no wheels or vehicle to absorb any shock, made itself felt in her bones. She could feel each monumental tremor all the way into the fillings of her teeth.

THUND.

The towering abomination followed to the crash site of the van. Trees that had grown and lived for decades, if not centuries, now split and broke like twigs. It sounded like the breaking of a million human bones.

THUND. THUND.

The rib-like appendages wriggled and grasped. Greedily, they grasped.

THUND. THUND. THUND.

The worst part was the buzzing. Like millions of flies on a carcass. Or wasps. Humming. Droning. Whispering. Part of the writhing, wriggling mass that covered the fleshy surfaces and bony appendages of the colossus.

Goopy black mass constantly wept from the gigantic body, flopping as it dropped, slapping down to the ground like wet plastic sacks of meat.

THUND. THUND.

Parker heard all this, saw all this, despite running. She ran for what felt like an eternity, never far enough away from this monstrosity, its looming shadow always behind her, always just a glance over her shoulder away. She cracked branches and tripped and stumbled and caught herself. Her sides were beginning to hurt, while ragged breathing escaped her throat.

The thundering footsteps ceased.

Then metal whined and the van exploded in a fireball—a flash of orange light in the distance. The flames flared up around a huge leg and died down immediately after.

Did it have claws? Or were those the spines of human skeletons jutting out from the ends of the thing that had just annihilated their van?

Before the flames died down, Parker glimpsed the shiny tendril of a tentacle wrapping around the wreckage, squeezing it. Metal screeched and whined and then mist and darkness devoured all.

Wheezing, she hid behind a tree. Even though she knew the giant relied on other senses.

Catching her breath, she constantly looked around, dreading the sudden appearance of zombies nearby, drawn by the sounds of her running and gasping for air, filling in for the colossus which seemed oblivious of the people who had fled the vehicle.

Nothing. No zombies. Or anything else, for that matter.

Nothing for now.

THUND.

She waited longer, allowing seconds to melt into minutes, and minutes into an uncomfortable and terrified eternity.

THUND. THUND.

Her pounding heart skipped some beats when she expected the creature to be following her trail. But it seemed to turn. Thunderous in every step, the living avalanche turned and backtracked. Lumbering and truly slow this time, it no longer chased.

THUND.

It strode.

THUND.

It went back the way they had come.

And most frightening about it all, it turned silent. Tremors no longer felt.

Had it stopped moving, standing still somewhere?

The fog roiled and robbed Parker of any sight of the colossus. Robbed her of any satisfying answer.

How intelligent was it? Was it hiding? Lurking? Lying in wait?

Her breathing had calmed for long enough that she dared to release a shuddering sigh. Still, she feared the other things out here, underlined by more nervous glances when she scanned the shadowy world around her.

There were more than zombies and the colossus out here. Always more. She had to expect the worst.

The thundering footsteps had stopped.

Shit, she thought. Where is Steven?

She made her way back towards the road. Walking instead of running, she took care now to make as little sound as possible. The heavy gear and sneakers were not ideal for trekking through forest, and every time a twig snapped, or leaves rustled, she winced and expected some monstrosity to respond, leaping from the brush.

Or for the giant to return.

Fortunately, nothing reacted.

The colossus made no sounds. It caused no more tremors. It was either far away or it had fallen completely motionless and silent.

The mist roiled, dancing around the tree trunks, caressing them with tendrils that melted into the gray twilight.

The blood still rushed in Parker's ears. Her pumping heart continued to provide thunder in absence of the giant.

The stinging stench of burnt rubber and plastic almost made her gag. Smoke billowed through the fog and hit her nose, delivering that stink.

The van's smoking wreckage. The husk of it had been flattened and twisted, mechanical innards splayed out over asphalt and adjacent woods. Parker waved at the air and stifled a cough, reducing it to another pained wheeze.

Though the wreck alone would have been sufficient to make her blood run cold, the trail of destruction left by the colossus was far worse to behold.

Circular craters, as if a monolithic elephant had created them with its footsteps, dotted both the street and the earthy soil of the forest. The road back was blocked now, littered with broken trees and power line masts, impossible to pass in a vehicle without the help of a chainsaw and considerable manpower.

Everywhere the creature had wandered, it had left behind streaks of black, brackish matter. The stuff stank of gasoline and rotten meat. Some of the black gobs and splatters writhed and undulated. One of them sputtered.

The closest one gurgled.

A small bird like a sparrow, as if caught in tar or an oil slick or both, flapped featherless wings once, with futility. Feeble. Dying, but not permitted to expire. A bony body that wriggled. A tiny beak opening and closing, as if to beg for an end. Another tiny gurgle. Its body wriggled all over, as if possessed by a multitude of writhing worms.

All the black slime around it wriggled the same way. A larger, worm-like thing slithered through the mucus.

The slithering thing slithered closer towards Parker, prompting her to take a step back.

The whole trail left behind by the colossus was alive.

Amid the black trail of writhing and wriggling things left in its wake, she glimpsed a human skull.

"Hey," hissed Steven. "Come on!"

He hid behind the tree line on the opposite side of the road and waved at her. His expression no less panicked than it had been inside the van just before.

Parker forced herself to stop observing the slithering thing as it snaked its way closer to her, slow but steady in its speed and direction. She outpaced it with ease, jogging quietly across the road to Steven.

"Go," she hissed back at him.

He needed not be told twice.

They wordlessly ducked through the woods and fled. Not running, not moving at full speed, still, but fleeing, nevertheless.

Steven stopped and swiveled and grabbed Parker, squeezing her in a bear hug so fierce that it pressed the air out of her lungs, forcing her to wheeze again.

"Thank Christ you made it," he whispered.

"I'm happy you did too," she replied. She did not care for hugging, though she welcomed the gesture. Even so, her fear of the giant refused to subside. "Come on, we need to keep moving. That thing might still be close. And other things."

He sighed and let go, then nodded. Indeed, Steven looked relieved, though judging by the hair clinging to his dirty forehead in a film of cold sweat, and the wide eyes darting about to follow every shape and sound in the misty silent forest, his terror lingered, as unabated as her own.

Parker clapped him on the shoulder and took the lead. She produced a police baton from her bag in case they needed to fend off any zombies. With that colossus hunting them, discharging any firearms may as well have been a death sentence.

It followed noise. Just like the zombies.

Just like the thing in the vents of THE MALL.

No matter how alien and strange these creatures were, they all shared something. Some connection. A connection to—

THE SUBSTANCE.

She blinked, paused, and wished for her brain to stop projecting the imagery of her nightmares. For it to finally shut up, to stop intruding upon her thoughts with that word, like some mantra. For her mind to stop showing her a metal sky closing over her in an inky black darkness, of the stars in the heavens being drowned by shadow. Of being someone else. Of being something else. Of ceasing to be who she was and becoming something else entirely.

Had it been minutes? Or an hour?

The two stopped after a wordless eternity of creeping through the woods, advancing with caution, hunkered down behind a picket fence once they emerged from the trees.

Outside a house.

This house, too, looked eerily undisturbed by the zombies.

And inside a window, there was a small glimmer of light. Shining through the fog and the unfathomable darkness.

Steven whispered, "Is this good? Is this—"

Parker shushed him and hopped the fence. The grass cushioned her landing and her equipment barely rattled. Hunched over, her baton at the ready, she snuck towards the house, and Steven followed.

Discolorations around the back door. Just like the other house.

Blood.

Bloody handprints. Smears.

Parker expected Steven to protest, but he kept his mouth shut.

Maybe she wanted to protest. Maybe she wanted to turn around and forget about this.

But she had to know. Always had to know.

The fly screen squeaked as she pulled it open. She froze mid-motion.

Nothing and nobody responded. Steven had flinched and frozen into place like her, gripping his shotgun like a cudgel, ready to strike with the butt of the weapon.

Parker pushed inside and twisted the knob on the kitchen door.

Not locked.

The smell of death made her recoil, and she couldn't help but gag and retch.

The inside of this house reeked of raw sewage and rotten meat.

Its interior decoration appeared to match that foul stench. Every single surface was painted in blood and dried giblets. Severed limbs and human skulls had been impaled on wall lamp fixtures and coat hooks, and every single table, counter, and cupboard was covered in more body parts. Arrangements of human remains, almost by design.

It looked like she had walked onto the set of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, or some other gorefest.

Next to a bloody meat cleaver, a single light bulb without lampshade glowed on the table, casting a warm red light, courtesy of the blood splattered onto its glass.

A human figure on the floor nearby groaned and writhed.

Joshua!

"Joshua," Parker hissed.

He moaned in pain and continued to writhe. Luckily, he had not been hacked to pieces like the countless other unfortunate people scattered throughout this grisly abode. Joshua's hands had been wrapped in twine, the tightness of the bondage visibly cutting into his skin. A lot of blood on his person appeared to be his own, judging by numerous gashes and cuts all over his skin.

Parker knelt beside him to check his vitals. Slow pulse from his neck. He groaned and when she thumbed at his lids, his blank eyes lacked focus and response, clearly delirious. Likely concussed.

He needed medical attention as soon as possible.

Steven gasped.

Someone else breathed. An artificial breathing, filtered by tubes and plastic.

A fourth person in the room.

In the darkness of a doorframe leading deeper inside the house, another figure had appeared out of thin air. That figure wore a filthy hooded green poncho and a gas mask. Clutching a makeshift spear, fashioned from a long stick with a bowie knife duct-taped to the end.

Covered in blood and gore like the rest of this place.

That spear rose and its bloodied bladed tip pointed right at Parker's face. The deafening gunshot from Steven's shotgun tore the figure down before it could lunge and impale her.

Tumbling backwards and collapsing onto floorboards with a loud THUD.

The body of the spear-nut in the gas mask twitched and Steven shot it again with another deafening blast from the other barrel of his gun.

With shrill ringing in her ears, Parker was free from the trance of her surprise, back up on her feet and holding her handgun out and bracing it against her baton as she neared the body of the person in the gas mask.

Steven had shot this person twice in the chest, and sure enough, the nutcase twitched again, jolting upright into sitting.

Just like the mutant in the basement of THE MALL.

Parker shot right into the foggy glass of the eye on the mask, immediately flooring the body from its upright position.

THUMP.

She nudged the lifeless corpse with the tip of her shoe while standing over it, then kicked the spear away, and hunched down and ripped the mask off the head.

The face awaiting them elicited gasps, this time from Steven and Parker both.

That face was not human.

All blood on the creature's face was black and coagulated, and its remaining eye was milky-white like a zombie's, albeit without any visible pupil or iris that Parker could discern. Lifeless and glassy.

Compared to human heads, its cranium was grotesquely enlarged. She wondered if its brain wasn't twice the size of a human's.

The worst part, though, was the mouth. A round, toothy maw that must have stayed perpetually open, more reminiscent of a lamprey, with rows of hook-like teeth pointing inward to the tiny hole in its center.

The longer she studied the corpse, the more her stomach churned.

The digits on its hands were disproportionately long. Blackened fingertips stuck out of the split fabric ends of dirty gardening gloves.

Shins curved backwards, impossibly long in their grotesque proportions. The rib cage curved like a bell, sharp and ridged down the length of its torso. All upper mass almost resembled the frame and shape of a bodybuilder's, bulging from the poncho—while the lower extremities looked lithe and elongated.

The longer she stared, the deeper the realization sank in.

This had once been human.

Human no longer.

Perhaps humanity would never truly end, spiting the apocalypse.

Perhaps humanity would merely change. Transform.

Evolve.

"We need to get out of here," she muttered with trembling words. Then she repeated herself with more vigor. She added, "Get Joshua."

Steven followed immediately, cringing as he turned away, and Parker followed her own order. It had been mostly directed at herself.

She braced herself against the nearest wall, staggering as she got back up, and her gloved hand slid across a film of gory slick coating the dresser, knocking over severed human legs as she stumbled on her way back into the horrific kitchen.

The stench of this place had made her dizzy. The world spun around her like she had been drinking since dawn.

Joshua moaned on the ground where Steven struggled to lift him up, mumbling commands at him to wake up, and Parker soon ducked to help pick up their companion.

She feared the worst for the rest of the supply team. That parts of those men now decorated this home with the rest of the body parts.

But they had to get the hell out of here.

Outside, shadows and silhouettes shambled towards the picket fence. Drawn by the sounds of three gunshots.

One of them groaned as they shuffled and stumbled their way closer to the awful abode. And one of the figures wriggled. Jittered. It wobbled with disgustingly abrupt pauses, like its upper body was made of a thousand worms.

Answers had to wait. Supplies a distant secondary objective.

They had to get away from here.

Now.

—Submitted by Wratts

2 notes · View notes

louisediesattheend · 8 months

Text

Fish Hook Blues.

All of your lovers think they were the first to open that door, to spill that blood, to whet that appetite. But only one of them is correct.

Unless you're the kind of person who either doesn't watch, read or notice any news, as well as the kind of person who hasn't guessed where I spend most of my days nowadays, you'll know that where I am right now; it's fucking scorching.

The ground feels like dry bones. Mummified. Hot to touch. It's like when you were a kid, and some grown-up gets a freshly baked crumble out of the oven and says to you, sharply, don't touch! But when their back is turned, you take your hand; fingers outstretched and place it flat on the top anyway. Ouch. That kind of scorching. If you're like me and like walking around places barefoot, forget about it.

This one day, I was even more uncomfortable, because I was back in uniform. All over this country, people are dying from the heat. The hospital where I've been based here for my research is crying out for help. I got grant money, obviously, but I won't say no to extra cash. You'd be an idiot to say no. So I joined the community outreach team, one or two days a week. They see people who are really sick, at home. They're paying me what would be about £55 an hour back home, and I'm not mad about it. It's easy too. To me, anyway. That's why they offered me this role. They've seen me draw blood for my research. I got decent at it back home, but here where it's so hot, the people's veins are screaming at you. The blood is practically fighting to get out into the air. I was driving my car, which I stopped washing over a month ago; it's too hot, and it gets dusty right away. Everyone's cars are dusty right now. No one cares anymore. I was just driving this dusty car around to different people's houses, going in and taking their vitals, giving them whatever they were prescribed to go through their lines, and then drawing their blood. I noticed that here, everyone's veins look green. Like my mother's. My veins look blue, because I'm pale as death, but here everyone has this toffee-nut olive skin that makes their veins look green because there's so much yellow in their skin.

I was in this old guy's house, who was quite sweet. Very sick though. His wife still wore a pinafore. I thought it was charming. Anyway, it came time for him to have his blood drawn, and the poor guy was so used to it that he just kind of slung his arm out after I detached his IV and flushed his line. I smiled at him and got the tourniquet out and ready, and started poking around for a fat one. I fucking love blood. It's just so cool. Whenever I see someone in a movie or whatever, covered in blood, I never think of it as dirty. Unless the person is like, dying of sepsis, then blood is sterile. If anything, you're making the nice clean blood all dirty.

Sure enough, I hardly had to poke around three seconds before I found a fat juicy vein in the crook of his arm. I took the tourniquet off, prepared the equipment, put on my gloves, and cleaned the area with one of those little isopropyl alcohol wipes that come in the sachets, which remind me of those little wet napkins they used to give you at Kentucky fried chicken. It's so fucked up how much medical equipment seems related to eating sometimes. I put the tourniquet back on and stuck my needle straight in. I rarely warn them. Not because I'm an asshole, but because that makes it worse. If someone says to you "Here comes the sharp needle!" what do you do? You tense up, it's just common sense. It's no courtesy to make someone tense up right before you shove a needle in their arm. You can take that from me.

Instantly, flashback arrives in the little window at the base of the needle. Now my favourite part. Using my other hand, I release the tourniquet and grab the first bottle. They have to go in colour order. Or you fuck up the test. I slot the bottle in, and the first little jet of blood goes flying into the bottle. I'll never get tired of it, I really won't. It's so satisfying. I fill three more bottles up, label them and put them into the specimen bag. The guy thanks me, and his wife offers me a Madeleine. I'm really, really not that great at this language. I picked up German like that, but I can really only make small talk in this one. So I probably said it crappily, but I said "Thank you but I don't eat bread". It's not even bread, it's a fucking cake, but I hope she got the idea. She looked confused. Europeans can never understand why someone wouldn't eat meat or bread. Unless they're Nordic I guess. I smiled at her and then gave the old guy a wave. He waved feebly back at me. It's sad that he'll probably die soon, and it's too hot for him to go outside and look at his country before he does.

Anyway, right as I left, that's when you called. I literally opened my car door, slung the specimen bag of blood in the basket I keep in the passenger footwell so I can just take the basket into the hospital and dump them in the specimen tray in the path lab, and stepped into my car, and the phone rang. It was doing that horrible blublublublub ringing sound like someone putting their finger on their lips and going blublublublub. It was the ringing sound it makes when it's not a phonecall phonecall, but coming from an app. A messenger app or something. Gross. But then I saw the picture and I knew that overly sharp chin, and the blonde hair. Fuck, we had messaged some over the years, especially when I came out of the hospital in 2016, but not that much. I almost didn't want to answer. But I did, of course. It's you.

I hardly had to speak, which was helpful. Honestly, I get fed up of talking to people. Especially over the phone. If someone wants to speak with me over a fucking messaging app, or over the phone these days they can pretty much blow it out of their ass. I would have gone back to not having a phone again, anyways, if it wasn't for work and my research. Who needs one. Endless grief. You got straight to the point, probably because just like anyone's oldest friends do, you know me and what I hate pretty well. You told me where you were going to be in six days. You told me, hottest weather since records began be damned, your lot were coming where I was living. I asked you, oh, so you still work for the carnival then? I was trying to sound nonchalant like it didn't bother me. You reminded me that it's only for half the year. The other half you're still maintaining people's boats for them. You didn't see, because we were talking on the phone but that made me roll my eyes back into my goddamn skull. You told me then that you were just letting me know where you were going to be. It's actually not my town, exactly, but the one next to it. We talked only a little bit more and then we hung up.

I acted pretty normal, I think, when I went home. C was in the kitchen making a salad. We pretty much just eat salad at the moment because it's too fucking hot. I stopped drinking since a couple of months ago. I just have ice-cold coke zero, in a glass with a slice of lemon. Or cherry cola. There's watermelon in the fridge. I was never big on it, but sometimes with the heat putting you off your food and all, ice-cold watermelon just helps you to feel like there's something inside you. Ballast. We started talking about random shit like we always do, and then we ate some really simple fish and the salad and laid out by the pool. The sun was finally going down, and I got in the water for a while. I can't stand being too hot for too long. I used to love the nights here because they would feel so cold compared to the daytime, but lately, they just feel stuffy and hot too. We went out at the start of summer and bought a load of fans for the villa. It was a little too hot to fuck, honestly, but we still did.

I dreamed about France almost every night that week. You, and me, cycling around because we were bored. You, an English kid plopped in a French village, and me; a French kid that had been plopped in an English village. But for two summers, a Halloween and one Easter we were in the same place. The bits in between I had to go back, but the holidays were all ours. Honestly, I sometimes wonder if I was even me yet back then. I suppose I must have been. I liked a lot of the same things I like now. You were kind of sad. I could tell back then, but I didn't say anything about it because we were thirteen, and it would have humiliated you. Supposedly. That had been my understanding of boys up until that point. Your Mum just took you to France, and now she was married to that French guy and had his kid. The kid was cute but it must have made you feel left out. I dreamed about those English kids, my foster family's nieces and nephews. Those total little scumbags. I dreamed about them, driving us crazy, and how we always cooked up some revenge plot. It made me feel better, at the time.

I actually saw posters for your shitty carnival popping up on the roads around the coast. The stupid clown face. There is no fucking clown, as I recall. It's not a circus, it's a fair. Rides, candyfloss. Hook the duck. On day six I swung by and I saw all the weirdly folded-up rides, and the little caravans on the beige, desiccated grass. I wondered which one was yours. In a couple of days, it would be all set up, and people would flock here. Even though it's too hot. They'd still come in the evening for a ride and a shitty hotdog or something. The kids would, anyway. I wasn't ready to walk up onto the fairground yet. I went and found a tree, and after considering it for a moment, slightly childishly climbed up into it, and laid on my front on one of the larger branches to watch. I wondered if I would see you, from this vantage, where you wouldn't see me. I wondered if you felt like you were waiting for me. Why else would you have told me you'd be here? I wouldn't have guessed it was your carnival, by any stretch. You told me because you wanted to see me.

I drove past each day after that. Watching for it to be ready and open. I supposed when it was open, I would go in and get on the Ferris wheel, or ruin some kid's time on the bumper cars by harassing them with bump after bump. I've lost interest in growing up, ever. I don't think it's for me. The first day it was open, I couldn't go in. It's been such a long time. The last time we spoke on Facetime I was fat in the face from the steroids, so I knew I wouldn't look bad by any stretch to you now, skinny and all. It wasn't that. When I feel like this; like I can't do something I actually quite want to do deep down, since I had all that therapy, I've been trying to figure out what it is that's making me feel like I can't just go ahead and do the thing. I sat in my dusty car and thought about it, with the car door open so I wouldn't roast alive. I think it's because of how accidentally well you know me. I know it's the same the other way around too, and we didn't try on purpose for that to happen. But it's almost embarrassing, isn't it. I drove away and promised myself one more night and then I would do it quick.

I was quite surprised the next day when I actually did it. I drove up to the fair. I threw on a sundress because it was too hot and uncomfortable to wear anything but that or shorts, and I didn't want to walk up to you in shorts because I still look about twelve anyway and it would be too gross to walk up to you wearing shorts and a T-shirt exactly like I might have when we were thirteen. It felt obscene. So anyway, I wore a sundress. It came to just above my knees. I had my sunglasses on, and before I got out of the car I pulled the visor down so I could re-apply my lipstick in the mirror. I've worn the same shade most days since I was about nineteen. I have others that I wear when I go out, of course. But this is the one that's always in my bag or my pocket or whatever. I don't carry a handbag, but I mean if I have a bag with me. My hair is short now, and it wasn't when you last saw me. When you saw me on the FaceTime, it was down to my ass. The heat makes it do that slight curling thing that drives me nuts, but all my lovers seem to like it. I stepped out and walked across the scrub-brush into the gaudy lights of the fair. I felt a little anxious, I'll admit that. I rarely feel anxious. Maybe it wasn't anxious, even. Agitated. I started walking around, looking at the rides and looking at the carnies working the rides. They all look pretty dirty. I figured, suddenly, that you'll probably look pretty dirty too. I felt a little bad about my dress, then. Like I'm gonna seem like I'm trying to be all high and mighty. That's just how I dress, though.

I walked past a waltzer, and I saw something familiar. This tragic, scratty dog, sort of tan and white with long fur; kind of like Lassie if she had the mange. I'd seen that dog. On the call with you, and in the pictures you sent me. So I knew it was yours. It's so weird because normally I know all my friends and my lover's dogs. Like, if I walk in somewhere and one of their dogs is there, it knows me straight away and runs over to say hi. But yours doesn't know me. At all.

I followed the wretched dog, because you can pretty much just follow a dog and it's not considered rude, and I watched it then run up to the open door of a caravan. The caravan had once been green I think but it was cruddy with dirt, and sun-faded. I could hear movement inside. I said your name, once, sharply and loudly. The dog came running back out, and a moment later you appeared in the doorway. We looked at one another for a moment, and then you began to walk down the steps. I felt embarrassed at myself when I noticed your limp. I suppose, if I'd had even half a fucking brain in that moment, I'd have expected you to limp. I knew the whole story. But I hadn't seen you in person. You really only absorb that someone probably has a limp once you've seen it with your own eyes. So I hadn't actually expected it. You limped down the steps and grabbed a crutch that was leaning against the side of the caravan. "I don't need this," you said "I only use it sometimes"

I nodded, and you gestured to some foldable lawn chairs that were set out a little further, behind another caravan, out of sight of the people on the rides at the fair. Apart from maybe the people at the top of the Ferris wheel. They might have been able to see.

We started talking about this and that. Asking one another if so and so is okay and are you still in touch with such and such. Pretty inane chatter. When I finally got around to it, I whispered "Do you still have pins in it?" and gestured to your bad leg. You nodded. I smiled and called you Frankenstein. You told me I could fuck off. I told you I liked it, and that people who have a bad leg normally have an interesting story to tell and that makes me like them more. You asked me then if I'd seen those nephews and nieces of my foster parents any time recently. I told you, only back when my grandfather died. I told you my grandmother died too last year. I saw her, but I didn't see any of the others. "I liked her" you said, simply. I smiled and said "Me too".

You got us some drinks from your caravan. You offered me a beer at first, but then I told you I'm trying not to drink for a while. You didn't question it. It's funny how only certain kinds of people don't question something like that. Most people make such a fuss. But you just switched it to a Coke, and that was that. You went back inside the caravan for a moment, and when you came back out you threw me something. It was a peach. You've always remembered my favourite foods. I smiled at you all teeth then, and bit into it. We talked about C a little bit. You wanted to know about him and what does he do. I said you could meet him, but you just gave a thin smile and shrugged. I knew when I said it that you wouldn't want to. I just didn't want you to think that I wouldn't want you to.

I had some things I wanted to say to you. I hadn't said them yet, and I knew we wouldn't be able to just sit here on lawn chairs for eternity drinking beer and coke and just talking about bullshit. I knew you would have to work at some point. But I was finding it hard to say the things I wanted to say. I told you what I'm doing now. What I'm working towards, and you told me that's great. Then I told you I'm also trying to write a book. Your head snapped towards me at that. What kind of book, you wanted to know.

"A Novel" I told you.

You nodded at me. I told you I still had your books. The ones you loaned me when we were thirteen. I told you I kept them safe, and you can have them back any time you want. You told me to keep them because if I gave them back to you, you'd sell them for cash. You said they're better kept with me, where they won't get sold to some asshole who's only gonna pay almost nothing at all for them.

"You know, your foster dad sent me money last year" you said, out of the blue.

I laughed dourly and told you "Well he never gave me any". You smiled a little at that and told me he gave it to you to go and get your leg looked at again but that you never did and you just spent it on living. That you just stopped returning his messages. You asked if that made me angry. I laughed and said not one bit.

I told you then, about my mother. Everything that had happened in the last year, out of the blue. Everything about her shitty, rotting brain. You listened calmly, and when I was finished you told me you would have left her to rot. I know you would have. I should have. I knew I mustn't offer you money. We weren't going to have that sort of a relationship, one where I give you money and you spend it and then eventually we both feel bad about it for our own reasons and eventually lose touch. So I didn't offer you any money. You didn't ask for any, either.

The thing is, we weren't going to change one another's lives again. I have my life, and you have yours. Whatever I think about your life, you chose it and it's none of my business. Whatever you think about mine, it's the same thing. This is all it's going to be now. But I guess what matters is that once, it was a lot.

Once, I sat in the backseat of a people carrier, my heart skipping with excitement at seeing you again, and I was young. I had nothing else to look forward to. We had sat, for hours at a time, out of sight of the adults by some tree reading separately but together. You have always been smart, one of the only people that read as much as I did when we were kids. We would cycle around, bored. Ask each other stupid questions. You told me about how you'd had sex already a bunch of times. I liked you back then because I knew you weren't telling me a load of horseshit. When other boys told me they'd had all this sex at that age, they were lying. But you were an English boy with shitty parents and an even shittier step-parent, who was using his status as a foreigner for the only thing it was good for; having sex with the French girls at school. It wasn't like English schools. They fucked weirdly young in my ancestral home. You were raking in the benefits. But it was just something to do. That's how I knew we were really friends. You didn't say creepy things to me to try and get me to have sex with you. You sat quietly and read with me instead, listened to my music, and rode around with me on our bikes.

We started writing stories for one another. You told me I should be a writer. I didn't listen to you back then, or for years. Sorry. You helped me with maths problems. You were better at them than I was. You were there the day one of the nephews attacked me, kicking me and punching me. The little shit had no idea who you really were. You were so much smarter than him. You came over to me and got me up off the floor, and walked me away. Took your T-shirt off and wiped my face and my arms clean, until your T-shirt was cruddy with my blood. That would have been enough for me, I'd have appreciated you even for that.

But you had your own ideas. You invited that little prick fishing, which he didn't know how to do being a city kid from London town. I remember being so fucking betrayed that you had asked him. I thought you were going onto his side which, looking back, was stupid. I'll never forget his mother's face when he came back, crying despite being nearly sixteen years of age, bruised and scratched and with a fishhook stuck under his pointer fingernail. You little beast. It was sadism only a child or a madman could muster. Whatever you said to him, he was too scared to tell his mother anything. She knew it was you though. Rich people get so angry when their monstrous kids get what's coming to them. She threatened to call the Gendarmes. It's so sad that one of the nicest things anyone's ever done for me was the beginning of the end for you.

We had to cycle out alone to meet each other secretly after that. We didn't have mobile phones or anything. It was difficult to orchestrate. Your leg was fine back then, and we would climb trees, go swimming. I dared you to skinny dip. You said only if I did.

My naked body had only known violence up until then. You don't know what it meant for me to not fear being naked then, with you. We were so solemn, looking at one another's eyes the whole time we undressed, and hardly straying below the shoulders once it was done. I didn't have to ask you if I was different to the other girls you had been with, I already knew. We jumped into the lake, together, and laughed stupidly, trying to dunk one another's heads under the water. We were doing normal kid stuff, just doing it naked. It didn't feel wrong. We laid in the late afternoon sun, drying, still naked on the lake shore. There was never anybody around. It wasn't a tourist town. Just pure cow country. Private.

That night, I laid on my belly in bed writing a story about that day. To give to you. But this time, in the story, we didn't just swim and play around naked. We did those things, but then I did something I had never done before; or even considered that I would do. I wrote a love scene. I wrote about us kissing in the water, and touching one another under it. I gave that story to you, the day I had to leave. Folded up so no-one would catch sight of the smut.

We never really kissed. We never really touched one another. We never went all the way. You told me in an email over the course of that next year about how things were really bad there, and that you didn't know if you could stand staying but that you were trying so we could see each other again.

My foster father was the one who told me she had thrown you out. He didn't spare any details. Told me she had given you a hundred euros and a tent, and told you to go away. My stomach felt low and heavy when I heard that, and I imagined you cycling away on your bike not knowing where you were going. It was crazy when I got that next email from you. I had resigned myself to maybe never hearing from you again. I kept the fish hook. I still have it, actually. They pulled it out of that little shit's finger, and then what with all the blood that came out afterward they were distracted, and I don't know why I did but I just wanted it. The blood went black and started to flake off whenever I moved it.

Anyway, you emailed me again and told me you were saving up to come and see me. That you were in Spain. You told me you were gonna fly over. I asked you were would you stay, and you said youth hostels. I agreed that was a great idea; there were loads in the Lake District. You emailed me around once a week when you came into a town with an internet cafe. Those were way more common in mainland Europe. In England, they only really had them in the bigger towns. You kept me updated. You had found work with a travelling carnival. Helping to set up and then run the rides. They were teaching you mechanics. One day, you sent me a digital photograph of a motorbike. You told me proudly that you'd got her for only fifty euros and that you'd still be able to afford to come and see me in the summer. It made boarding school easier, knowing at some point I'd be seeing you.

But you came off your motorbike in Ibiza, and broke your femur. I didn't hear from you for a month, but then my foster father told me what had happened, because the hospital in Ibiza had told your mother, and your mother had told him. You had broken your femur, and your tibia, and they were putting pins in it, but it would need further surgeries to fix it and you only had the money for that one surgery. No one else wanted to pay. I didn't have much money, but I wanted to send you what I had. In the end, I got an address for the hospital where you were and I posted you my money and my walkman, but I don't know if you ever got it, and I felt embarrassed to ask. It was all I had, at the time.

I wanted to say things to you, sat in those lawn chairs. I wanted to say that it was only because of our ages, and the distance, that nothing ever happened for us. I wanted to say that I didn't give a shit if you wanted to work for a travelling carnival all your life, and never have enough money to get your leg properly fixed, and you just wanted to get high every week. The only reason it's a shame that you want to work for a carnival your whole life, is because I know you have a great brain. If you'd have made it to the UK, and we'd spent a couple of weeks with you staying in a hostel and me visiting you, maybe borrowing a bike from someone so we could pedal around, I don't know what would have happened. Maybe we'd have consummated our relationship. Probably. I probably would have wanted to. Even though everything to do with sex had been bad for me up until that point, I probably still would have wanted to. If we had, maybe that would have been it. Maybe we'd have still been together, now. Or maybe not. I don't know. I just wanted to somehow tell you that it mattered, to me. It matters enough to me that in one of my boxes of trinkets, there's a fish hook with the blood of my sworn enemy on it, and sometimes I take it out in the dark and prick my finger on it, imagining the pain of it being stuck under my fingernail, and in the searing pain of that, I see how much you cared about me, to do that to another human being because he hit and kicked and scratched me. You hit and kicked and scratched him, to teach him not to do it to me. You penetrated him with the fish hook, and I almost feel jealous. Isn't that fucked?

We're sitting in these lawn chairs, and we're talking about books. You're still reading, when you can get new books. Mostly drifters give you a book, in exchange for one of yours. You ask me if you can read mine. I tell you "Of course, I'll send it to you when it's ready." You limp over to your caravan and pull out a wrinkled exercise book. You've written some stuff in there, and you want me to see it. Keep it, you tell me. You'll fill another one, you say. I ask you if you'll be sorry you gave it to me, though, once you've left. You tell me things are safer with me. I nod and hold it to my chest. It smells dirty and old. But I want to take it into my villa, and read it.

I ask you how long you'll be here. You say not long, less than a week. You guys mainly do a long weekend, and then you leave. To the next place. Some places get a week. But this isn't one of them. The sky is fully dark now, and the mad carnival music is loud behind us where the rides are endlessly churning, and kids are shrieking in delight. I can smell candy floss. I know C will wonder where I am, which isn't a problem; he won't be angry. But I get to thinking maybe I'm on a precipice, and I should leave before I do anything chaotic. I think you sense this. I realise at once you've given me a peach, coke, and the exercise book full of your writing. I haven't given you anything. I feel embarrassed that I didn't bring you anything. Why didn't I? I think I was just too preoccupied with getting here at all. I cast about for something. I don't really have anything. The necklace I'm wearing is worthless other than its sentimental value to C and me. So I do something so cliche it makes me want to puke, but I can't stand the thought of you going away with less in your caravan after seeing me. I take my earrings out and hold them out to you. They're real silver. Two silver swallows. I tell you that you can keep them or sell them if you need to. You tell me you'll keep them.

I don't know whether to hug you or not. I hate saying goodbye when I actually give a fuck about the person. It's hard, and I often would try to fuck everything up on purpose so I can be angry instead of sad. Or to make the other person sadder than I am. I end up doing this thing I learned in Sri Lanka, where you sort of hug but you press your cheek to the other person's cheek. Then you do it on the other side. You laugh and tell me I'm so weird, but then you do it back to me. I'm not really supposed to kiss you, although in this situation I know C wouldn't mind at all. I don't though. You kind of belong to thirteen-year-old me. I sort of don't want to take that away from her. It was all she had.

I leave you with your carnival family. You guys communicate in grunts. It's still hot as hell but I feel a little chill that I feel sometimes when I actually see someone from my past; because I don't do that much. I have the exercise book and the peach pit which I sucked clean. I won't put the peach pit with my other peach pit. I want to know which peach pit is which. It's important. I didn't tell you any of the stuff that was really on my mind.

I think you already know it all.

#creative writing #dark carnival #nostalgia #first love #abuse survivor #my writing #writing #bittersweet #book lover #unsent letters

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kayluh1915 · 3 years

Text

More Than Anything

Words: 3,813

Pairing(s): Pedro Pascal/Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ Only!

While enjoying a long awaited drink, you find yourself entertained by the young bartender with horrible jokes. Pedro, however, doesn't see the humor in the situation.

DISCLAIMER

This fic is a part of my "Pedro y su Abeja🐝" series. You don't have to read the previous stories to understand this one, but they're there if anyone would like to give them a glance with your peepers. I write them as a reader insert, but they can also be read as an original character. It's up to you.

Follow me on Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok if you'd like. I'm pretty boring but I try. You can also checkout my Pedro Pascal Masterlist if you'd like to read some more Pedro works by me.

Enjoy!

Read on AO3

Additional Warnings: Daddy kink, dom/sub undertones, oral sex (female receiving), dirty talk, hair pulling, vaginal sex, and creampie.

London was beautiful.

Maybe a bit too cold for your tastes, but beautiful nonetheless.

It was your first time ever in the city… actually, it was your first time out of the States period. You always loved to travel, but never had the time or the money to invest in it. So, being in a new city and a new country was extremely exciting.

Big Ben was gorgeous, the London Eye was romantic, and Buckingham Palace was elegant. So many new and exciting sights all around you and yet your only focus was on Pedro, holding on tightly to his arm as he escorted you down the red carpet.

“Okay?” He asked, turning his attention towards you for a moment. You smiled up at him and nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you did so. The red carpet still made you incredibly uncomfortable, but you had gotten better at it since Oscar night. It’s not something you enjoy, but you didn’t mind it as long as Pedro was there for you to follow and hold onto.

“After I finish presenting, we can head to the afterparty if you want. There’s really no need to stay if you’re not feeling it.” He offered once you were finally away from the blinding cameras.

“That sounds great, actually. I could use a drink."

"Yeah? What're you feeling?" You pondered for a moment.

"Honestly, I'm not really sure. Maybe something with vodka or bourbon."

"Bourbon, huh? Are you homesick?" You scoffed playfully and rolled your eyes with your tongue stuck out at him, earning a deep chuckle as he placed a kiss on your temple.

He teases you about that every time bourbon is brought up.

After the usual press interviews and greetings with Pedro’s peers, you were finally able to take your seats, getting as close to him as possible while he draped his arm across the back of your seat.

Before meeting Pedro, you loved award shows. It was an excuse to get off your ass with friends and shit on the biased bastards who clearly chose the winners on other criteria besides which film had been best crafted.

Now, you fucking hated them. Having to sit still in a seat and listen to these rich snobs drone on and on about nothing important for hours on end with no booze or idiotic friends to laugh with made it damn near unbearable for you. Pedro knew this and picked up on your fidgeting about 40 minutes into the show. He placed his hand on your bouncing knee, gently rubbing his thumb over it.

"You can go on to the party if you want, Abeja. I still have a bit before my presentation and I know how restless you get with these things.” You shook your head, going back to bouncing your knee, but a bit gentler this time.

“Nah. I want to stay here with you and show my support.” He chuckled.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me and you know that." A split second of silence fell between you as you weighed your options, but he wasn't having it.

"Go. Have a drink and loosen up a bit. I’ll come find you after I present and we can watch the clip together on YouTube later.”

Normally, you wouldn’t listen to him and would tough it out. Pedro lit up like a kid on Christmas anytime he was on camera and you loved to see it, but he was right. The video of him presenting would be on YouTube within minutes of it being aired so you’d still be able to see it.

"... Okay. I have my phone if you want me to come back." You offered.

"Alright. I’ll see you in a bit, honey." You exchanged a quick kiss, bunched your dress up in both hands, and nearly booked it out of the theatre, more than happy to finally be away from all the formal shit.

You were the first one at the party, rushing over the bartender and ordering some Jim Beam and Coke. Pretty basic, but it was just something to get you started.

"Your accent is lovely." The bartender complimented as he slid your drink to you.

"Oh, this ugly thing?" You gestured to your vocal chords. "I respectfully disagree, but thank you. I’d much rather have one like yours. Sounds much nicer than deep fried hick." The young man laughed, resting his elbow on the bar.

"Where you from?" You took a sip of the concoction before answering.

"Kentucky. Born and raised." The bartender looked at your drink and then back at you.

"You're not a little homesick are ya?" He asked, gesturing to your drink. You groaned, rolling your eyes and laying your head on the bar.

"Why does everyone ask me that? I just like bourbon, okay?" The bartender laughed again as you took another sip.

"Yes ma'am. I apologize. I'm Brice." He held his hand out for you to shake. You did, giving him your name in return. "So, this your first time in the UK?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The afterparty had a lot more people now, the three drinks you've had relaxing you and tinting your cheeks blush red. It wasn't enough for you to ditch your filter, but it did make you quite giggly.

Brice especially found your giggle fits endearing. He had been talking to you the entire time you’d been there, only leaving to serve the other guests before coming back over to you. He'd lean on the marble bar as you spoke and he started telling you bad jokes just to get you to giggle. He seemed like a pretty cool dude.

"Can I ask you something?" He asked, watching you closely as you down your shot of whiskey. You put the glass back on the bar with a clank, letting out a sigh as you felt the liquor run warm down to your stomach.

"Sure. What's on your mind?" You answer. Brice takes the glass from you and washes it quickly, drying it off with a towel as he seems to ponder on how to say what he's about to say.

"You know, you're pretty awesome and I would love to get to know you better away from all of this." He started, gesturing around the party atmosphere. "So, I was wondering if you would like to exchange phone numbers? Maybe socials as well?"

Ah Lord. You were nowhere near drunk enough to deal with this shit. Brice seemed like a cool guy, but you didn't think you were coming off that way and immediately felt terrible for leading him on. You opened your mouth to say… something. You weren't really sure, but it was going to be better than dumbass silence. However, you didn't even get a word out before you felt a familiar hand on your back and Pedro’s voice right by your ear.

Perfect. Just in time to be used as a gentle decline.

"There you are, I've been looking everywhere for you." You spun around to come face to face with Pedro, your face instantly lighting up as soon as you saw him. He looked you over with a smile, noticing your flushed cheeks and drunken giggles.

"I see you've had your drink." You nodded, holding up four fingers. "Oh, four. Excuussse me."

Pedro looked over to Brice and ordered his own drink. He noticed that the young man had a melancholy look to him, his blue eyes shifting right back to you as soon as he acknowledged his drink order.

"Is he bothering you?" Pedro whispered, not taking his eyes off of the bartender as he made his drink. You gasped, pretending to be offended.

"Nooooo! Brice would never!"

Pedro wasn't usually a jealous man, but something about the current situation was making his blood boil. He concealed it well and thanked "Brice" when he handed him his drink.

"I'm going to go say hi to some friends. You wanna come with me?" You groaned, not really wanting to put your formal face back on, but your desire to be around Pedro as much as possible outweighed all of it.

“Fiiinnee. I’m not talking, though.” He held his hand out for you to take, helping you down from the bar stool before placing his hand on your lower back. He gave the bartender one last glance, trying his best not to feel the pride swell in his chest when he saw how devastated the poor guy looked.

About an hour had passed when you returned to the bar for another drink, Brice apologizing for being forward as he slid you your shot.

“I didn’t know you were with someone. I’m sorry.” You fanned your hand at him, downing your shot in one go.

“It’s no big deal. I didn’t say anything so you couldn’t have known. For what it’s worth, I think you're an awesome dude and would love to exchange socials with you. You have a discord?” Brice’s eyes lit up as he nodded, grabbing a pen and paper to write his username on.

After exchanging little scraps of paper, you continued chatting with him and ended up getting giggly again from the shot. Brice noticed and started telling his horrible jokes again, but your drunk ass still found them fucking hilarious. You were still sober enough to keep the filter, but you were talking and laughing pretty loudly.

Brice was in the middle of a joke when you felt Pedro’s large and warm hand wrap around your upper arm. You melted into him with a fit of giggles, Pedro laughing at how cute you were as he brushed a few strands of hair out of your eyes.

"C'mon, honey. I think it's time for us to turn in." Pedro said, a groan leaving your lips.

"Let Brice finish this last joke and then I'll come okay?"

This time, Pedro didn't hide his rage, looking up at Brice with the most intimidating look he could muster while he had you drunk in his arms. It definitely worked, the poor dude shrinking in on himself as his eyes widened with fear.

"A-actually I'll send it to you on Discord, okay? I think you should go with your boyfriend." Brice stuttered out, clearly intimidated by your sweet teddy bear which you found hilarious. So hilarious that you didn't even question why he was angry in the first place.

Pedro was satisfied with Brice's answer and deep down felt terrible for being such an asshole, turning his attention back to you leaning on him and still giggling.

"C'mon, Abeja. Let's go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door to your shared hotel room had barely shut before Pedro had you cornered, his eyes dark and the smell of his cologne dancing under your nostrils. You had sobered up a bit on the drive back to the hotel and was starting to feel tired.

You whine pitifully, mildly upset that he was keeping you from your plans of peaceful dreams.

"What is it, P? M'tired." You groaned. Pedro scoffed above you.

"Am I not enough for you?" He growled. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and look up at him.

"Huh? What're you tal-"

"Is this old man not enough for your little pussy? Huh?" You froze and swallowed hard, now understanding where he was going with this and you very much liked it, your exhaustion instantly forgotten.

"N-no… You're perfect." He chuckled darkly, leaning down to trail his lips gently over your neck. You moaned quietly, feeling his stubble tickle your sensitive skin.

"Really? Then why would you waste your time with that... boy?”

Ooohhhh. Brice.

"He-he was just being friendly. He seemed like a pretty cool guy an-"

Pedro interrupted you by slamming you against the door, pinning your wrists to the cold steel as he got close to you, his lips only inches away from yours.

"You have no idea what you'd be missing." He snarled, your pussy clenching hard from just his words and voice alone.

"... Show me, then.”

Pedro growls low in his throat and pushes you harder into the door, now holding both of your wrists in his left hand as he caresses your face and lifts his knee up to your clothed cunt.

"Gonna fuck you so good. Your young little pussy won't be able to take it all." You whined quietly, grinding yourself down onto his knee.

"Please..." Pedro's breath hitched, his grip tightening on your wrists.

"See, look at you... You're already coming apart and I've only given you my knee. That boy wouldn't even get you this close with his inexperience. Only I know exactly what you need." You were squirming at this point, your juices already starting to soak through your panties.

"Please, Daddy… Please..." You begged as he pressed his knee even harder into your dripping heat.

"Patience, my sweet Abeja. Daddy will give you everything soon."

He jerked your wrists forward, pulling you close as he let go of his hold to grab your ass and hoist you up. You quietly squeaked in surprise, wrapping your arms and legs around him as he quickly carried you over to the bed. He threw you down on it, the springs protesting lightly from the sudden weight as Pedro began to strip.

He almost had his undershirt unbuttoned when you sat up and tried to unzip your dress, but he stopped you by pinning your wrists to the mattress.

“Only Daddy’s allowed to take that dress off, baby girl.” You whined, another gush soaking your already damp panties.

He let go of your wrists again and continued to undress, looking over your body hungrily as he did so.

“I bet you’re soaked already, aren’t you, pretty girl?” You nodded rubbing your thighs together as your pussy clenched again. He parted your legs and haphazardly lifted your dress. He groaned at the sight of your heather gray panties darkening in color as your arousal continued to seep.

The stylist had highly advised you to wear sexy underwear with the dress, but you didn't care. You'd take comfort over looks anyday and Pedro didn't seem to have a problem with your choice of underwear.

He took his right pointer finger and ran it gently over the darkening patch, the bulge in his boxers twitching and somehow getting harder.

"Fuck, look at you. So shameless." He wraps his arms around your legs and pulls you to the side of the bed while getting down on his knees. You impatiently began to fidget, knowing exactly what he was doing. He pulled your panties aside, the sight of your glistening pussy spurring him on as he yanked you closer and licked you from your opening to your throbbing clit.

“Daddy…” You sighed, your hands instantly tangling in his hair. Pedro groaned, the vibrations and his facial hair feeling heavenly. He wrapped his arms around your thighs and threw them over his shoulders, pulling you even closer and pressing the pads of his fingers into your smooth skin.

“MMmmmm.” You whined, the sudden movement causing your pussy to clench around nothing. You spared a glance down to Pedro. You could only see his eyes, but that was more than enough, his dark chocolate orbs staring up at you with a dizzying mixture of adoration and lust.

Pedro loved how wreaked you looked, your mouth hung open and your eyes hooded. He took pride that he was the one making you feel this way, knowing that he was the only one who got to see you like this.

He’d had plans on taking his time with you, slowly bringing you to one orgasm after another with his tongue, fingers, and cock; but the sight of you losing yourself just on his tounge alone drove him crazy and he grew impatient.

He pulled away from you too soon for your liking, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal as he yanked off your underwear in one swoop. He discarded his boxers as he stood up, pinning you to the bed as he drug the head of his cock through your slick folds a few times.

“You’re mine, understand?” You nodded quickly, wanting so desperately for him to get on with it. “Say it.”

“I-I’m yours, Daddy… Please….” You begged.

“Please what?” Your mind was so fuzzy with arousal, that you could barely process the words he was saying, let alone compose some of your own, but Pedro wasn’t having it. He grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked it, the delicious mixture of pain and pleasure only making your neediness worse.

“Answer me.”

“Fuck me!” You whined, your voice hoarse and weak, but still loud enough for him to get the message. Pedro let go of your hair and caressed your face, the gentle gesture a far cry from how he’d pulled your hair barley seconds ago.

“Good girl.” When he finally pushed himself in, you both made noises of pleasure, Pedro wasting no time. "God, you feel so good, baby." He groaned, starting to thrust into you faster. Though you both were inpatient and did very little foreplay, you were still absolutely soaked.

“You hear that?” He gruffed, his facial hair tickling your jaw as the sounds of your wet pussy squelched almost musically. “That boy could never get you this wet. You’d probably have to- fuck- have to use lube just to get started.”

You were already close. It’d been a hot minute since you’ve seen each other, your music classes revving up for concert season and his schedule getting booked by the day. It was hard to be away from one another for so long, but this… this made it worthwhile. No toy or vibrator could ever top the way Pedro made you feel.

"Pedro…" You groaned.

"That's it. Scream Daddy's name, baby girl. Show the boys who you belong to."

His cock repeatedly rubbing against your g-spot sent waves of tingling pleasure all throughout your lower half, the intensity of it building higher and higher as he continued.

"Don't stop, Daddy. Please don't stop." You whined, your voice getting higher as your orgasm grew closer.”

"Cum on Daddy's cock, Abeja. Let him feel you drip." Like a rubber band being pulled too tight, you snapped, your back arching off the bed and your toes curling. It hit you hard, your pussy drenching his cock and throbbing relentlessly with wave after wave of chilling pleasure.

“Mmm, Daddy’s gonna cum, baby girl. Whe-where do you want it?” He panted, his movements slowing for a few seconds while he waited on your answer.

“Inside…” You whined, your orgasm still wreaking havoc as he sped back up.

“Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna… gonna…” He thrust his cock into you one last time, his own orgasm tearing through him with the same intensity as yours. The feeling of his cum warming your insides and his throbbing cock brought you to the peak for a second time. It wasn’t very intense, but getting filled up always made your orgasm even if they’re small.

Pedro collapsed onto you, his lips colliding with yours in a slow, passionate kiss. You laid your head back with a sigh on pleasure, Pedro chasing after you to gently kiss and nibble at your chin.

“I know you like me to stay in for a bit after we finish, but can we please make an exception this time? My back is killing me in this position.” You snorted.

“Oh my god, you’re so fucking old.” Pedro pulled out slowly, the feeling of his cum seeping out dazing you again for a moment. He smugly smirked at the sight, his hand gently caressing your upper thigh as he watched it trail down your folds.

“You weren't complaining about it earlier.”

A little later, you were laying on Pedro’s chest as he played with your hair, both of you just enjoying each other's company and the silence after a night of constant noise.

"Since when do you get jealous?" You finally asked, breaking the peace as his hand stilled in your hair.

"M'not… not usually anyway." You traced small circles on his chest for a moment.

"What was so different this time?" He sighed deeply, the silence returning as he thought of an answer.

“I dunno. I guess I just…” He sighed again, running a hand through his hair.

“There’s just... so many people out there… people who have their entire lives ahead of them, who doesn’t have back pain, who doesn’t have gray hair and wrinkles, and who doesn’t sound like rice crispies in the morning and…” He paused, his arms tightening around you.

“... Someone who has the time to give you all the attention you deserve. I feel so guilty knowing that I can’t wake you up with breakfast every morning, that I have to leave you alone for months and months at a time, and that you have to face so much scrutiny because of my age. When I saw you with Brice, you looked so happy and it made me think of all the things that I can’t give you…”

He was choking up at this point, his eyes glassy and brimming with tears. You sat up a bit to face him, your hand caressing his face and gently scratching his facial hair as you stared into his watery eyes.

“Pedro… don’t say things like that. You are more than enough for me. You’re so kind and smart and oh so sweet. You’ll come take care of me when I’m sick, you respect me and treat me as my own person, you spoil me even though I beg you not to, and you love me for who I am.” Pedro sniffled as you rested your forehead atop his.

“You are hands down the most amazing man I’ve ever met and no amount of scrutiny, grey hair, or rice crispy joints is going to change that. You may think that you can’t give me everything, but you give me more than enough and I love you more than anything on this Earth.”

Pedro smiled a small smile, bringing up his left hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and caress your jaw as a tear fell down his cheek.

“I don’t deserve you…” He whispered. You wiped the tear away with your thumb and leaned down to kiss him for a bit.

"That, and you're such a DILF. I mean, did you see yourself in Narcos?" He laughed, wiping his eyes with his wrist as he got up to take a shower.

"Alright, bye. Your fangirl's coming out." You got up as well, hoping to finally take off that stupid dress and join him.

“You know you love it.” His arms suddenly wrap around you from behind, his lips pressing gentle kisses on your shoulders.

“More than anything.”

#my fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro y su abeja #more than anything

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starkerparkerstark · 4 years

Note

I want INCESTUOUS SMUT I want SO MUCH INCESTUOUS SMUT, lil squishy, words cannot EXPRESS how much incestuous smut I want. I want the DIRTY the FILTHY the HOT AND KRISPY KENTUCKY FRIED INCEST. I want Uncle Tony volunteering to watch Peter while May goes on a much needed vacation. I need them fucking on May's bed, on the couch, on the kitchen counter, they're like rabbits. Can you do it? Can I have it? Please?

So I have changed it so May has gone away for work 😆and I plan on making a second part to this to complete your request fully.💖🌸

❗️❗️Warning this contains Starker content and incest.❗️❗️

Tony smiled as he knocked on the front door of the apartment.

He could hear Peter laughing at something. Most likely one of the tv shows he likes.

“Peter can you get the door?” May yelled from inside.

Tony shook his head and chuckled.

The door swung open to reveal Peter in his pyjama shorts and oversized hoodie.

“Uncle Tony!” Peter yelled and rushed forward for a hug. He snuggled his face into the crook of his uncle’s neck. “I have missed you.”

Tony could smell the scent of Peter’s shampoo as they hugged “I missed you too buddy.”

Peter withdrew from the hug, leaving Tony wishing they could just stand there and hug for hour. He would deal with the sore legs if it meant he could stay that close to him.

“Come in. May has almost finished cooking.”

“Hmmmm…I hope it isn’t as black as last time.”

May scoffed as she rounded the corner “Hey! It added to the flavour.”

Peter was giggling at them both. “The flavour was pretty burnt like.”

May wacked him in the head with the hand towel playfully. “Cheeky. Now go wash your hands for dinner.”

Peter smirked and saluted before dashing off to the bathroom.

May shook her head and laughed. “How are you Tony?” she asked as she gave him a hug.

“Not too bad. Just busy with building new prototypes for the project I’m working on.”

May rose an eyebrow “Have you been getting sleep?”

“Yes I have.”

May pursed her lips and shook a finger “nuh uh. Liar. I can tell when you haven’t slept in a while.”

Tony held up his hands in surrender “Okay. You got me. I have been awake for 34 hours.”

May rolled her eyes. “Alright, we will talk about that later. First is dinner.”

Peter sprinted back around the corner, a huge smile on his face and his big bambi eyes looking right at Tony. “Come sit next to me Uncle Tony” Peter demanded and tugged on his hand, directing him to the seat at the table.

___________

May’s dinner turned out to be a success. Not burnt this time, which was rare. Tony and Peter seemed to have a good laugh and tease May about her many failures at cooking while they ate.

“Peter have you finished your homework for today?” May asked as she finished her glass of wine.

“aww but Uncle Tony is here. Can’t I do it tomorrow?”

Tony felt all giddy over the fact that Peter wanted to spend time with him. It was nice to be wanted.

“Nope. You get that done tonight.”

Peter let out a groan in annoyance.

Tony pat Peter on the back, gaining his attention. “Go on kid. You go finish it and then I will show you the project I have been working on. Plus I think May is about to give me a lecture about how I need sleep. Don’t think you want to sit through that.” Tony winked at him.

Peter’s cheeks went rosy and he nodded his head. “Okay. I will be back out soon. Thanks for dinner May!.”

May smiled as she watched Peter rush off to his room. “He’s a good kid.”

“Yeah he is.” Tony agreed

May looked to Tony and straightened up a bit. “Tony.”

Tony eyed her suspiciously and smiled “May”

May rolled her eyes “Don’t worry. I am not going to lecture you. I have just been meaning to ask a favour.”

Tony leaned forward, chin placed upon his entwined fingers “Sure, what is it?”

“My boss has asked me to go to a conference in Atlanta for a few days, but I don’t want to leave Peter here alone. I would be constantly worried and thinking about him. I was wondering, if you’re not too busy that is. Could you stay here with him while I’m gone?”

Tony smiled at May “Of course I’ll look after him. When are you leaving?”

May’s eyes lit up “Oh my gosh thank you Tony. You have no idea how much I appreciate you doing this for me. I leave on Thursday and won’t be back until Sunday night.”

“It’s no problem May. I’d do anything for that kid.”

May place her hands out and Tony held onto them.

“I know you would Tony. Thank you.”

——————-

It was another half hour before Peter emerged from his room. He looked a bit more tired than before he left. His curly brown locks fell in front of his face and he rubbed his eyes with the sleeves of his hoodie. Tony couldn’t help but think how cute he looked. He was just waiting for him to pout and complete the look.

Peter slumped down onto the couch and snuggled into Tony’s side. “Homework sucks” he mumbled.

This earned a chuckle from Tony as he wrapped his arm around Peter. “Yeah it does, but it is good you are getting it done.”

Peter seemed to snuggle in closer. “Can you show me what you were working on now?”

“Yeah of course.” Tony replied, pulling out his phone and starting to chat away about the project. Even while tired, Peter stayed focused on what Tony was saying and asked questions.

Peter’s light snores filled the room after an hour.

“Time for bed kiddo.”

Tony carefully moved out of Peters grip and then picked him up and carried him to his bed.

He brushed a curl and tucked it behind his ear before kissing his forehead. “Goodnight kid.”

—————-

Thursday came around pretty quickly, and honestly Tony was getting really excited to spend time with Peter.

Tony knocked on the front door once again and was greeted with Peter’s bright smile.

“Hey kid. Ready for babysitter Tony?” Tony laughed and opened his arms for a hug.

Peter just laughed at him and wrapped his arms around his uncle.

“I’m happy to have you here for a few days Uncle Tony.”

Tony pressed a kiss to the kid’s temple “I am happy to be here too.”

Peter became all giddy and bit his lower lip.

Tony had to force himself to look away from the boy. If he looked any longer he might just lose control and kiss him.

May rounded the corner with her bag. “Tony! Just in time. I was about to leave.”

“Do you have everything you need?” Tony asked her.

She smiled at him and pecked Tony and Peter’s cheek before going out into the corridor “Yep. I have everything. No big parties while I am gone” She pointed her finger at them and smirked.

“awwwww” Tony whined “but I had a guest list of over a hundred people”

May stuck her tongue out. “Okay I am going now! I’ll be back Sunday night. Call me if there are any problems.”

Tony rolled his eyes and wrapped his arm over Peter’s shoulder “We will be fine”

“Bye!” May waved as she left.

Tony looked down at Peter and clapped his hands together “Alright kid! What are we doing first?”

Peter stroked his chin in thought as they walked back into the apartment.

“Movie and order pizza?”

“Sounds good to me. Do you still have your disgusting pineapple one?”

Peter hit Tony’s chest playfully “it is not disgusting! And yes, that will be my order.”

Tony and Peter sat happily next to each other as they ate their pizza and a movie playing on the tv.

“Thank you again Uncle for ordering pizza.”

“Kid you don’t have to thank me.” Tony ruffled the boy’s hair as he bit into his pizza.

The cheese stretched between Peter’s lips and the pizza as he tried to eat it. He used his tongue to try and get it into his mouth properly. Tony felt himself start to harden while he watched Peter.

Distraction. Distraction now he ordered in his head.

“Uncle. Do you want to try some?”

Tony gulped “Huh?”

“You were watching me. Do you want to try some?”

Before he could even respond Peter placed his hand on Tony’s upper thigh as he leaned in close with the slice he had just bitten from.

Tony’s heart raced as Peter leaned closer.

“Don’t you want some uncle? Or were you wanting a piece of me?”

It was like time froze still for Tony. Did that really just happen?

“wh-what?” was all he could stutter out.

Peter smirked at him. “Do you want me? I have seen the way you look at me Uncle. And I am not so innocent that I can’t recognise that you’re hard right now.”

Tony was at a loss for words “Peter…I..”

Before Tony could even try to say anything Peter pressed his lips against his.

He pulled away after kissing him. Checking for his Uncle’s reaction.

“Fuck I’m going to hell.” Tony said before pulling Peter in to kiss again. Peter moaned as Tony explored his mouth.

Tony’s hand brushed down Peter’s neck and then wrapped around his back, pulling him closer.

Peter felt Tony tugging him closer. He lifted his leg and straddled him, slowly starting to grind against his clothed erection.

“Fuck Pete. I have wanted this for a while now.”

Peter kissed down his Uncle’s jaw “So have I.” he panted out. “Please uncle. I want you to fuck me.”

Tony’s hips thrusted upward at that. “Are you sure Pete? We can take this slow.”

Peter laughed a little and shook his head. “I have been masturbating and fucking myself with a dildo thinking it’s you for months now. I want you Uncle.”

Tony just about drooled at that. “Fuck baby. That’s so hot. You want me to fuck your tight hole?”

“Please” Peter begged.

“Bedroom Pete, now.”

Peter bit his lip. “My bed is a bit small though uncle.”

Tony smirked and grabbed his hips, lifting Peter with him as he stood and made his way to May’s room.

Peter giggled as he was tossed lightly onto the bed.

Tony bit his lip and leaned over him. “You are so pretty baby.” He whispered into his ear as his fingers caressed the boy’s inner thighs, making him pant and moan.

Tony’s fingers made their way to the hem of his shorts and he slowly pulled them down. Tony groaned and lowered his head against Peter’s thigh at the sight of him.

Peter was wearing red lace panties.

“Do you like them Uncle? I got your favourite colour.”

Tony nuzzled his face against the boy’s pantie covered cock, making him squirm and want him even more. “I love them baby.” He placed a kiss along his shaft.

“Such a good boy Pete.” Tony praised and started kissing up the boy’s stomach, pushing his shirt up and exposing his nipples. He ran his tongue over the nubs and slowly bit and sucked at them.

“Please…Tony. I want you inside me.”

Tony kissed his nipple and then went back down and removed the lace panties.

Peter opened his legs, showing Tony his hole.

Tony wasted no time and started licking at him. Getting it all wet and slick. He circled a finger around the entrance and then slowly pushed it inside.

Peter let out a gasp at the feeling of Tony’s finger. “More, please. I can take it.”

“I never realised how much of a slut you were for cock baby” Tony said as entered a second finger and started stretching his hole, placing slow agonising licks against it at the same time.

Peter was becoming a moaning mess on the bed. “Only for your cock. I want to cum while you’re inside me Uncle.”

Tony used a third finger to stretch him a bit more before pulling them out and spitting on his hole.

“You ready Pete?”

The boy nodded his head and bit his lip “Yes.”

Tony quickly unzipped his pants and took off all his clothes while Peter stared at him in awe.

He lined his cock up to Peter and sunk himself slowly into him.

“Fuck!”

Tony thrust in and out slowly but he couldn’t help but speed up quickly. He began fucking into him harder and faster.

“Feels so good Uncle!” Peter gasped out.

Tony leaned down and kissed into Peter’s mouth. The both of them gasped and moaned into each others mouths.

“Fuck Pete. I’m gonna cum”

“Cum uncle cum! Please I want you to fill me up.” Peter was begging him as he reached down and started pumping his own cock.

With one last thrust Tony moaned and came inside the boy.

“Fuckkkkk! Tony!” Peter yelled as he came all over his and Tony’s chest.

The pair were a panting mess as Tony slid out of Peter and then wrapped his arms around him, rolling him over so he lay against his chest.

“That was amazing baby.”

Peter lifted his head and smiled at his uncle. “When can you go again?”

Tony licked his lips and laughed.

“You give me a little bit to rest baby and then I will fuck you over every surface in this apartment.”

Peter pretty much drooled at that. “I want that very much.”

Tony laughed again and placed a kiss to the boy’s lips “we have until Sunday night to make sure we get everywhere”

#starker #tony stark #iron man #peter parker #starker fic #starker fanfiction #avengers #spiderman #ironspider

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