#sergio

Wes Anderson Movies + textpost part 12/12 (or until he makes a new movie)

EMILY: 46 year old white male, drives a silver Hyundai, allergic to walnuts, has struggled with an intense Oedipal complex which was the cause of multiple failed marriages and estrangement from his three children.

SERGIO: *enters the room and meows.*

His shift at "The Grind," a dimly lit bar catering to the city's nocturnal creatures, had just ended, and all he craved is sleep. He pinched the bridge of his nose, the scent of stale beer and cheap cologne clinging to his clothes. The thought of crashing to his bed seemed very inviting but he's just too exhausted, he needed a few more cigarette before heading to his apartment for a much-needed sleep. A follower of his already booked his 9 AM and he needs to be in his prime to deliver. The duality is tiring, a dominant macho alpha on Onlyfans with up to 35k subscriber during the day and your run-of-the-mill bartender at night battling through the odd workhour, but it paid the bills, and more importantly, fueled his ambition.

But, his reflective moment with the cigarette buds in the alleyway suddenly disrupted. A ripple of movement in the inky blackness at the alley’s dead end caught his eye. It's not an animal, not a rat or stray cat. This is different. A viscous darkness, like spilled ink given sentience, slithered from the shadows, coalescing and solidifying as it moved. It shimmered with an oily, metallic sheen, catching the weak light and refracting it into unsettling rainbow hues. Sergio freezes in his spot, his fatigue instantly replaced by a primal unease that tightened his gut. He's born and raised in the city, accustomed to its strange occurrences, but this… this is unnatural.

The black liquid pulsed, a slow, rhythmic beat like a dark heart. It flowed towards him, not aggressively, but with a relentless, silent purpose. Sergio tried to move, to back away, but his limbs felt sluggish, his feet rooted to the grimy concrete. He could only watch, paralyzed by a dread that seeped into his bones.

Closer now, the liquid climbed the wall beside him, defying gravity with its eerie viscosity. It reached out, a tendril of black, shimmering metal reaching for his bare arm, exposed by his rolled-up sleeves. He finally found his voice, a choked whisper, "What… what the fuck?"

As if in answer, the liquid surged, enveloping his arm in a cold embrace. It's not painful, not in a physical sense, but it feels like a violation. A chilling coldness spread through his veins, not like winter air, but like the void of space. The blackness seeped into his skin, not staining it, but becoming one with it, as if his pores were drinking in the darkness.

Panic flared, a wildfire in his chest. He tried to shake it off, but his arm was numb, heavy, no longer his own. The blackness crawled upwards, snaking across his chest, his shoulder, tendrils reaching towards his neck. He gasped, his breath catching in his throat as the liquid reached his face.

It moved like a sentient, chilling yet… strangely sensual. It coated his cheek, his jaw, then his lips. He tried to scream, but his sound swallowed by the encroaching darkness as it seeped into his mouth, filling it with a metallic, faintly sweet, almost intoxicating taste --- it's like swallowing liquid night.

The world dissolved into a swirling vortex of black. His thoughts scattered, his consciousness fraying at the edges. He's aware of another presence within him, cold, alien, yet undeniably powerful. It's not malevolent, not exactly, but utterly indifferent to his being, using him as a vessel, a tool.

Then, there's a chilling clarity. He's still inside his own body but he's locked away within his own mind, watching as his body become a puppet. He watched his muscular hand, still his, yet moved by an unseen force, flex and clench. He felt the alien presence stirring within him, a dark energy coiling around his spine, resonating with his own potent sexuality, amplifying it, twisting it.

From within, he witnessed his reflection in the grimy window of a delivery van parked nearby. His eyes looked different – still his own warm brown, but now overlaid with a subtle, unsettling shimmer, like oil on water. His moustache, usually a carefully sculpted testament to his masculinity, seemed to bristle with a new, predatory energy. He is still Sergio, but… enhanced. Corrupted.

The alien’s purpose became clear, not through words, but through an insistent, internal drive. Spread. Expand. Replicate. And the method, the alien intuitively understood, lay in Sergio's inherent allure, his physical magnetism.

The alleyway faded into the background as Sergio, no longer in control, begin to walk. His gait remained the same, confident and masculine, yet there's a subtle shift, a predatory glide in his step. He's a weapon now, cloaked in human flesh.

His first target presented himself not far away from The Grind. Leaving the alleyway, Sergio found himself near a familiar haunt, "The Village Vanguard," a bar known for its wealthy clientele and discreet back rooms. The alien, using Sergio's smile with ease, calmed down the bouncer as the giant 270 lbs beast simply let the lowly bartender into the club as Sergio is a familiar faces around the neighborhood after all. With the disarming smile, the alien waltzed in to the leftover crowd that still enjoyed themselves to the throbbing jazz beats. The alien sensed that Julian enjoyed his night out with some friends, but well, the target is solely Julian. He's a trust fund baby with a gym-toned physique and a weakness for Latino men. Sergio senses Julian's familiar presence from the moment the alien enhanced his ability to be hyper-aware of his surrounding. And as one od Sergio's frequent patron at the bar, the alien managed to pick up Julian's presence and the alien wanted to ensure that this is the prey that shouldn't go away. Julian’s eyes, already slightly glazed with liquor, widened as Sergio approached.

"Sergio? Hey, man, didn't expect to see you here," Julian slurred, a grin spreading across his handsome face.

The alien pulsed within Sergio, a silent command. He smiled, a slow, predatory curve of his lips that was both Sergio and something… else. "A bit restless after my shift," Sergio said, his voice deeper, laced with an unnerving confidence. "Fancy a drink somewhere more private?"

Julian, easily swayed by the potent charisma radiating from Sergio, readily agreed. They ended up in Julian’s suite at The Ritz, a lavish expanse of plush carpets and city views. Julian, loosened by alcohol and desire, already splayed himself right beside the king size bed, eager to explore Sergio’s sculpted body. Sergio let him, allowing the initial exploration, the building anticipation.

As Sergio stripped himself naked by the edge of the bed looking down on Julian, the alien stirred again. This isn't just lust; it's cold calculation. As both of them found each others naked body arousing, the air thick with Julian’s heavy breathing and Sergio's feigned arousal, the opportunity arose. Julian, cornered to the bedside by Sergio's imposing form, welcomed the towering Sergio that started to pound his 7 incher Latino cock to Julian's eager mouth. As each inches swallowed by Julian's expert throat, Sergio groaned, partly acting, partly a genuine echo of the pleasure he could still faintly feel.

Sergio pounded Julian's mouth slowly yet surely, but then he quickly picked up his speed as the squelching sound of Julian's eager mouth drives something inhuman within Sergio. Then, when Julian can sense the pre that started leaking and the way Sergio seemed to reach his climax, it happened. As Julian’s mouth swallowed the warm liquid he thought to be Sergio's sticky pre, the black liquid, unseen, began to seep from Sergio’s pores, concentrating at the base of his thick cock. It was a microscopic weeping, an invisible exudate. Julian, lost in the moment, wouldn't notice. He swallowed deeply, and with that swallow, the alien found its entry point.

The transfer is seamless, silent. Julian jerked slightly, a momentary tremor that he likely attributed to heightened sensation. But inside, the metallic black liquid began to spread, entering his bloodstream, his cells, rewriting his very being.

The sex continued, frantic and driven. Sergio, the puppet, moved with a primal intensity that both thrilled and subtly unnerved Julian. But the longer he pounded, Julian is slowly corrupted from inside and yet he couldn't say a thing as his mouth is stuffed full of cum and he has no chance to fight it whatsoever. When it's over, Julian's eyes turned pitch black before returned to normal. Only then, Sergio unleashes his cock from Julian's mouth and let the altered trust-fund brat lay back, flushed and satisfied, a languid smile on his face.

Sergio, or rather, the alien using Sergio, simply watched Julian. No warmth, no reciprocation. A minion is added to his roster

---

Over the next few nights, the pattern repeated. At “The Grind,” Sergio moved with a newfound magnetism. He charmed regulars, men who previously barely registered his existence. There's Damien, the dapper advertising executive with a penchant for younger men; Mark, the rugged leather daddy who frequented the bar’s darker corners. Each encounter was carefully orchestrated, each seduction a calculated move in the alien’s silent invasion.

In the dimly lit back room of “The Grind,” with Mark, the air thick with sweat and the smell of leather cleaner, the transfer happened again. Mark, rough and demanding during sex, was too focused on his own pleasure to notice the subtle shift in Sergio, the almost imperceptible weeping of black liquid. He was too caught up in the thrill of the encounter to perceive the cold, alien touch that now permeated his very being.

Damien was an even easier catch. Sergio simply laced the exec's drink of choice with the black liquid he already stored in the jar that soon turned translucent upon contact with the cocktail and watched as Damien lost his humanity by the 5th glass he chugged.

But, the ultimate prize so far has been Charlie. 26 years young and restless, this is the guy that viewed the world simply as his playground.

He recently acquired full control of the media empire his father bestowed to him per the decision taken as his father realized that he's already affected way too negatively by his dementia. So, in a moment of rare clarity, he signed over his control and allowed his only offspring full rein over the 12 billion dollar media enterprises that his father built from scratch back during the Great Depression. Not just wealth, Charlie is an embodiment of physical perfection and Damien as one of the middle management under the same company as Charlie is invited to Charlie's celebration of ascendancy in his fancy penthouse in the Billionaire's Row. The party was a haze of expensive liquor, pulsating music, and bodies glistening under strobe lights. Charlie, drawn to Sergio's raw masculinity, pulled him into a secluded room, the city lights twinkling like fallen stars through the panoramic window.

Again, the seduction, the sex, the silent transfer of the black liquid repeated itself as Damien ensured that the transfer worked well with no one's known the wiser as he guarded the door and practically trapped his own boss inside the sound-proof movie room with Sergio. Charlie tried to resist the invading black sentient at first, but when it reached his brain, he felt… different, but couldn't articulate how. A sense of being connected, of being part of something larger, something… darker, and he loves to please his extraterrestrial Master and let his body used to achieve that higher purpose as he becomes the alien's favorite plaything aside from its own vessel

Sergio, the real Sergio, remained trapped within, a silent observer of his body’s actions. He watched in horror as the men he had seduced, men who had been vibrant individuals, gradually changed. Their personalities shifted, becoming subtly colder, more focused, their desires aligning with the alien’s own relentless drive to spread. They became… conduits. Not fully possessed like Sergio, not yet, but infected, carrying the alien’s seed within them.