#yantober25

Which is why you ached when reading the smutty, arousing words of a new steamy romance novel on your phone.

“You’ve been rather antsy today; what is it, something ‘human’ related?” The symbiote had a touch of mockery in its tone, snaking out from under your shorts as you scrolled through chapters on your screen. 

You had gotten used to it traveling your flesh, running over your skin with its gooey, smooth texture. The sight of its red ‘body’ out of the corner of your eye used to frighten you; now, you’re worried if you haven’t seen it pop out in a while. 

“I guess you could say that,” You shove your legs together, eyes focused on the poorly written porn. You knew you shouldn’t have been reading it, not when you were too embarrassed to take care of yourself in front of this ‘thing’. It had been over a month since you touched yourself, since your body was taken over by this extraterrestrial creature. The alien didn’t exactly give you ‘alone time,’ with it being stuck to your body and all. “It’s just a hormonal thing. I’m uh… ovulating. It’ll go away in a few days.”

“How does it work?” 

The symbiote crawls back up your thigh, sliding onto your bare hip. You shivered, reacting to its cold touch; you never got used to how close it prodded the areas you said were off limits, testing the waters of how far it could go before you said something.

“It’s kind of complicated-- it has to do with, well, that menstrual cycle I was talking about earlier.” You fiddle with the hem of your shirt, eyes glazing over the enlarged text on your phone. You could feel the wetness pooling in your underwear, clinging it to you. “It makes humans feel different than normal, more, um, needy? I guess you could say.” 

You weren’t sure how to word it-- the symbiote certainly wouldn’t understand all of the textbook jargon you could throw at it about ovulating and human eggs, but you couldn’t exactly say that you’re horny because of your body’s cycle, either. 

“Ah, needy for what?” 

The symbiote could hear a slight shift in your voice, the discomfort you felt on the topic. You had explained sex, romance between humans, almost everything under the sun-- but you didn’t want to delve into any topics that hit too close to home.

The alien slipped up your shirt, climbing beneath it to poke out from your pajama’s collar. 

“Physical….stimulation.” You finally respond, biting at your tongue.

The creature forms a humanoid, uncanny face in front of you, shaking as the eyes of something dark and unnatural stay locked onto yours.

“Hmm, how fitting. I had been waiting for you to say something.”

“Huh?”

“Did you think I couldn’t tell the way your body has changed? Hotter. Wetter, even.” The creature moves to travel down your body, dipping beneath your shorts with a purpose. “Especially beneath these loose garments you insist on wearing.” It slides over your underwear, a thick, curling limb pushing tight against your mound. “ This, is the culprit. What you desire to be relieved from, yes?”

You squeezed your thighs, feeling your neediness grow tenfold as the thought of sweet relief tempts your body. Fuck it, you couldn’t help yourself, the addictive pleasure of being touched luring you too much to hold back. 

“Yes… I just-- I need something, anything..” 

You attempt to slide your hand beneath your pants, feeling the temperate presence of your symbiote already layering itself there. 

But a shot of red forces your hand back, a goo-like substance keeping your arms pressed tight against your bed. 

“Let me explore this aspect you humans seem to take so much pleasure in… I don’t need you getting in the way.” The symbiote stretches over your body, transforming its own malleable ‘flesh’ into tentacle-like appendages. Two of them restrict your hands, a flurry of others roaming your flesh for a taste. “Besides, it looks as if you could use more than a few helping hands; so many fascinating areas are reacting.” 

A rush of ‘tentacles’ prods up your shirt, running over the rising nubs of your nipples, swirling and running smooth suckers over each peak.

“But you don’t even know how to--” 

“I’m sure I’ll learn. We’ve made it this far together, haven’t we?” The parasitic creature runs itself beneath your underwear, quick to stretch between your folds, rubbing hard against your aroused clit. You twitch at the sensation, letting it know just where you need to be touched. “If you’d like, you can tell me when I’ve hit a good spot, where I should press harder…” 

You nod your head, too overcome with the idea of riding out this pleasure to ignore how odd this was, how strange. You’ve still yet to fully accept the idea that you’re not insane and are truly sharing your body with something inhuman; getting off with the help of your parasitic guest was not something you could wrap your brain around-- not right now at least. 

The symbiote is quick to spread itself in you, finding your sopping entrance. It pushes its way in, melding and forming to effortlessly slink against your walls. 

“W-wait, hold on--” You cut yourself off with a moan, worried the ‘thing’ might burst inside of you, or gather itself too big than you could handle. But it swells to a moderate size, stretching you and pulsing inside. You rock back and forth in stuttered motions, desperately trying to thrust yourself onto it. 

“Right here is where you’re the most sensitive, I can feel it.” The creature wraps around your thighs, grinding itself hard against your tender walls. You can’t help but release a heavy cry, noticing the sudden and quick rise of your orgasm. It had barely been inside you for a short minute, but you always came faster when you were ovulating, persistently aroused and easy to make cum. 

You finish hard, desperate, clinging to the bedsheets. How did it know? Easily finding all the right places that your body called to be touched? To be played with and rubbed at?

The symbiote doesn’t slow as your hips do, abusing the sensitive areas inside of you and wrapping itself around your clit. You gasp as another tentacle-like feeler makes its way below your entrance, calling out to your other hole. You can tell the ideas it's having, the way it's traveling closer, nearer. 

“Hold on, not there, that’s--” 

It pushes its way inside your asshole, thin and wet like it had with your cunt. It slides deeper in without hesitation, repeating in coordinated thrusts as the first ‘tentacle’ did. 

You could feel another orgasm building, too intense this time as you tried to pull off the red, sticky limbs holding you down. 

“What’re you trying to do? Why, I thought this is what you wanted?” The symbiote continues, and you can hear its voice grow distorted, restless. “Don’t tell me you’re done, when I haven’t even had half my fun… I hope you do remember that I’m the one allowing you to exist like this. Letting you live freely without being completely destroyed by me.” 

You babble out pleas, gripping at the sheets that have gotten thoroughly soaked by you and the secretion of the symbiote. It dripped clear stains, coating your body in something that reminded you of cooking oil-- it never fully washed from your skin. 

The creature tugged harder on your clit, letting out a strong laugh as you yelped. Your heart pounded in your chest, ringing in your ears as the wet, crude sounds of the symbiote pumping into you resounded in your room. 

“Not-- like this. Didn’t mean f-for it like this--” 

“I guess that’s too bad. You humans can be so selfish, never knowing what’s good for you. I’m making you feel all the bliss you wanted. And why, I’m learning so much about you too! All these new spots you never let me see.” The symbiote plunged harder, growing its two tentacles thicker inside of you. “Too bad you’re so naive you thought I’d never venture here-- you really never woke up when I touched these spots in the middle of the night, did you?”

You cry out at the sensation of your orgasm snapping, wracking through your body with twitches and shakes. But the symbiote doesn’t stop, grinding out your orgasm until you’re crying from the sheer sensation of it gliding over your body. 

“Please, that’s enough now, thank you, I’m-I’m done.” 

You try to slink away, to grip at the slippery red pieces of alien pulled over your hips, playing with your clit and keeping you latched onto the mattress.

The parasite doesn’t budge, nearly melding in with your own skin as it strains tighter around you.

You could still see the limp he had occasionally, one you couldn’t quite place. Your fiancé  commented bitterly that he must’ve gotten his legs done, making him the same height as his brother. At this point you weren’t sure if you could put it past him with the way he looked.

This wasn’t the man you had learned to know, the twin brother that joined you and your fiancé  on midnight ice cream runs, whose eyes lit up when you came into his workplace to drop off some extra food. He had a crush on you, you could flatter yourself that much; but, changing his entire self to appear like your fiancé, his fraternal sibling? This was something else entirely. 

He turned around to make eye contact with you, avoiding the harsh, pissed glare of his brother. Your fiancé grabbed at your elbow, holding you close to him. He wasn’t going to let his infatuated idiot of a brother try to take you away with such a ridiculous scheme. You had chosen him. Not his brother. No amount of surgery or hair dye could change that. 

Despite the intense facial and bodily procedures you could tell he’d overgone-- eyelid lift, facelift, cheek augmentation, hair bleaching, contacts-- he still had that eager grin, stretching the layered skin of his face from beneath all of the healed stitching and glueing. 

“Have you two been avoiding me?” 

A playful lilt adds to his tone, his voice reaching the normal, higher depths it usually was in despite his attempts at deepening it all evening. 

“No more than usual.” You poke back, shuffling forward to offer him a hug. He accepts it warmly, ignoring the pop his shoulders give. His arms wrap around your waist, intimately pushing you against his chest. It’s hard, firm, unlike the soft pudge he used to have. He had lost so much weight, it was actually frightening. 

“I’d say you’ve been avoiding us. Gone for months without a word, and you come back like this?”

Your fiancé’s twin doesn’t let go. 

“What? I have to tell you every time I go for a little spa retreat?” 

He laughs a little at the end, sounding eerily like your partner’s boyish giggle. Just how much had he changed?

“Spa retreat? Don’t come with that bullshit.”

You push away, trying to get out of the long-standing hug. He looks down at you with such an adoring smile, it churns something in you as you go to stand next to your fiancé. 

“What the fuck have you been doing with your time? Why do you look like this? And you got a new job, too? I don’t even know what you’re trying to be.”

“Stop it,” You murmur, the room’s air growing thick as family members start to drift away, staring out of the corner of their eyes. It used to be at you, the  soon-to-be family addition, but now your fiancé’s brother took the cake as the gossiped outsider.

 Not that he behaved as if he didn’t belong. Where did all this newfound confidence come from?

“I think he looks great,” You compliment through your teeth. “Clearly you’ve gone through a lot, and… you look happier.” 

His eyes light.

“You really think so?”

There he was. Underneath it all, that desire for approval, to be more than just a third wheel to his brother and you, desperate for attention.

“I mean, maybe blonde has been your color all along.” You reach up to ruffle at the hairsprayed locks. They felt synthetic, rough. “You and your brother have the right undertone for it.”

“I just felt like I needed a change, you know?” He shrugged, casual. With a pedicured hand he pushed your fingers further into his hair, drawling in a low whisper. “Needed to be the man you deserved.” 

The words almost fumble into gibberish you wouldn’t have caught if he didn’t keep you locked in with an intense gaze, focusing on every syllable.

“Watch out, you’re looking a little too close to their type.” Your fiancé seethes, pushing a drink in his brother’s face.

 He keeps his eyes on you, ignoring the awkward tension. It takes your fiancé nearly boiling over for his brother to let you go, accepting the drink with unusual grace. 

You’re left no longer hostage as the twins stare, gripping their plastic cups. They have their own silent conversation, faces riddled with pure disgust, and emptiness. There would clearly be no peace resolved, not when your fiancé’s near-identical face stared back at him. 

“I don’t know why you’re so irritated; quite a few people seem to enjoy my change.” He straightens, pushing his shoulders back in a way that reminds you of a peacock. “Jealous, perhaps? You have always been the successful, praised one. Maybe it feels strange being at the bottom.”

His brother tilts his head in suggestion, taking a sip of his drink. 

You wanted to go home now, to escape this alternate universe you must’ve stepped into. What happened to your soon-to-be brother-in-law, and what replaced him? 

Silence buried the conversation with a heavy pause.

You were left to fiddle with your hair as a means to ignore the awkwardness. 

“I think you should leave.” Is all your fiancé utters, taking another up and down look at his brother. It sickened him. Enraged him. 

“I see this isn’t something you’re going to get used to.” He sighs, setting his drink down on the dining table beside him. “But that’s alright, I really didn’t do it for you.”

Your fiance’s brother opens his arms, gesturing at you. You followed the ritual like clockwork despite your uncertainty, giving him a full hug as that look of longing came across his face.

 You knew he had a small crush on you, that maybe a hug was all that you could give him before to ease the inevitable rejection-- but now it felt different. It felt like he was indulging in you, doing more than sniffing your hair or neck like he had. He was pressing you to him, laying his hands on your hips as if you were his. 

Leaning into your ear, he brushed his cheek against the soft of yours. 

“I did it for you; all of this. But I’m not done yet.”

You gasp loud enough for him to hear, but you say nothing. Stunned into silence, you feel him slide his hands across the silk of your clothes.

He lets go earlier than before, smiling down at you and brushing your shoulders. He gave them a tender squeeze, his hands shaking as they hesitantly pulled away. 

“I’ll see you soon.”

He made it sound like a promise, like it was foretold.

 With that he walked out of the gathering. Not a word to the family members perusing the kitchen, or his mother fussing with the dining table’s dishes.

You turn to watch him walk away with your fiancé, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. 

“I don’t like it,” He chimed, his voice childlike in irritation. “Do you see what he’s turning into? What he’s trying to do, to us?” 

You couldn’t find the words to argue, merely holding his hand as you watched the man walk to his car. 

Your fiancé didn’t realize his own brother would become competition, his face mingling between previous men he had rid the world of. 

Now, he knew, he’d have to do something more than ignore his brother’s incessant, needy crush on you. You wouldn’t be taken so cheaply by a mere disguise; yet it was clear, this wasn’t the end.

Each time, no matter how recklessly and carelessly he disposed of his last body, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes and fall back into his lukewarm arms, his body slowly becoming chillier and pulseless; a walking corpse. 

The first few days were always the hardest to adjust to, but sometimes they could be the best; he felt the healthiest, the most capable. He could lift you without a forethought, without the unnatural cracking of bone or sickly color in the pads of his fingers. So your anger never lasted, even if you tried to pout at the dinner table, a clothespin shutting your nostrils tightly.

“So many theatrics,” He takes a pair of tongs and places a large piece of chicken on your plate, his apron clean and a freshly pressed shirt untainted. He must’ve gotten cleaned up right after. “It’ll be gone by tomorrow, love. And you know, I feel really good about this one! I mean look at me, aren’t I glowing?” 

He does a little spin, clean and bare faced as he struts for you. He does look good-- unnaturally so. Some of the hosts left him rotted and grey the second he switched to them; but this one… it looked like it was him. That’s what he belonged inside of, what his true self should be. 

Green-grey eyes and soft skin, hair covering his forearms up his bouldered shoulders. He was husky, built with strength and handsomeness that most men enviously attempted to emulate.

“You do look rather healthy,” You comment, your voice nasal and clogged from the clothespin. “But our house still stinks of a dead body. How are you going to make it up to me?” 

Your husband lifts the plate of meat, proposing another one of his meals as a way to satisfy you. You loved him, but you loved being able to breathe without deadly suffocation more. 

Shaking your head, you fold your arms over your chest, no longer hungry as the sharp twinge of acid sits in your throat. 

Your husband heaves a loud sigh, throwing back his head.

So much for ‘your’ theatrics. 

“What If I make it up to you, using this brand new body of mine.” He says, drawing closer and lingering from above the dining chair you sat in. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by what this can offer.” 

He gestures to himself, almost like a prize to be won. You had never needed to play a game to win him as your prize, your ownership of him as your spouse and soulmate having been concluded since the moment he met you. That factor doubled down tenfold the moment you discovered his parasitic nature, shrugging and seeing it as merely an advantageous quirk. 

Your parasitic husband pulls the clothespin from your nose, sticking it behind him before he plants a quick kiss on your lips. He isn’t cold yet, his body still slightly temperate and soft. Maybe if this one takes, he won’t ever get cold.

“Are you really trying to sell yourself out just to appease me?” You mumble, judgemental and baffled as his face indiscreetly leans towards yours. A dark, earthy brown fills the greens of his eyes; it looks like he was already starting to shift the body’s genetics. 

“Is it working?” He asks, tilting his head, eager to press his forehead against yours.

You take a beat to answer; he was unusually handsome tonight, in a good mood, and not nearly as clingy as usual. Not to mention, you did want to see all that his new body had to offer. 

“...Maybe.” You mumble. You were insatiably strung on his charisma, his charm and sweetness. He always snagged you in, even after you’ve witnessed him break bones, watching as the life drains from some of his host's eyes when he strips from their bodies.

You didn’t know some of them were still alive when he wore them; that was if they could hold on long enough until he needed a new body, and theirs had begun to decay. 

You didn’t tend to linger on it too much.

He tries to kiss you again, one hand resting on the back of your chair as he grips onto it, tight. 

Charismatic, sweet, and oh so proprietorial. 

You let him draw you in again, a possessive, sweet kiss that faintly tasted of bleach entering your mouth. It was worth it, with how he let out a relieved hum, desperate to have you just for himself. How lucky did he become, to have a spouse that not only watched as he shredded grown men into nothing but pieces after parading around in them, but also held and caressed him at night, easing his obsessive fears of you leaving him, of having to drag you by the ankles to keep you in his life?

It wasn’t easy to keep an unquenchable, leeching parasite. Especially with so many weaknesses in taking bodies that often won’t cooperate, and the terrifying state he landed in if he didn’t move bodies in time, or one began to rot much faster than expected.

He could take your teasing and belittling on how violent and wretched his ‘sheddings’ could be, so long as by the end of the night you were kissing his new vessel and praising him for how good he picked this one out, how pretty it was to you. He knew what you truly loved was what lied underneath, the dark and eldritch black that filled the host’s veins and muscles and inch of blood flow beneath the skin. 

“Mmm, sure you’re still hungry? I could put it away, just have the rest of the night for the two of us…” He murmured, ready to have your gentle eyes and hands fawn over the body he felt euphoric inside. He couldn’t wait to show you the things he couldn’t do with the last one, the hidden tongue piercing you would’ve never expected on such a refined host. You might tease him about it, but it’d only make him all the giddier.

“How convenient for you, wouldn’t that be?” You laugh, watching as his downturned eyes are like that of a puppy dog, the veins lining beneath his eyes and throat having become a sickly grey. You traced them with a finger, down to his collar. It made him shudder; delighted. “But I’m afraid there’s something I have to take care of before you try to cheat out from making my meal.”

“Oh?” Your husband watches as you pull away, pushing on your slippers and heading to the garage door with another clothespin pulled from your pocket. You sigh, hoping the heavy dish gloves are still under the sink. 

“Where are you going?” 

He lets out a small laugh, the sight of your hand on the door handle causing an intense spike in his heart. No, he knew you better than that; right.. He just needed to be patient. Calm. Tensions rose higher with new bodies; he knew this.

“I’m not leaving that thing in our garage for it to continue to stink up the house, it at least needs to be in a garbage bag outside.” 

You snap the clothespin on your nose again, sighing as your husband's shoulders relax. He still didn’t seem to understand that you had seen all the horrors he had to offer, that if you had intended to run, you would not have idly sat by and remorselessly watched as he consumed the bodies and minds of countless men. 

Your husband picked up the platter of chicken, shuffling after you. 

You nod your head, metal staining your taste buds delectably. The meat grows warm and soft between your teeth, moving it around with your tongue and to the back of your throat.

“Good. Did everything taste okay? He was smoking a cigarette beforehand so I wasn't sure.”

“Delicious.” You say, mouth full and trying to wipe at your lips.

Your husband laughs, sweet and endearing. The overhead light makes him look taller, extending his shadows and the humorous smile on his lips. 

He crouches down in front of you, those pretty brown eyes enlarged by black-rimmed glasses, hair slick with sweat after a night of chasing down a man and slicing his ankles. Gas station attendants were always the easiest for dinner, but their bad habits sometimes reeked through their insides. This one was particularly prone to liquor, souring his liver to the point of you leaving it half-finished. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” He says, the surgical gown around his body already slick with blood. “Even if you did make a huge mess in the process.” 

He can’t help his playful sigh, looking at the deranged heap of splattered gore around the room. It appeared as if a bomb went off in the middle meat hunk on the tarp, spraying itself everywhere. 

“Sorry.” You apologize, only half genuine. You didn’t understand what the problem was; it was good meat, it would stay good, and you would eat it before it was rotten-- to your husband however, the scent of leftover meat in the basement wasn’t as freshly tantalizing. 

You swallow the fiber in your mouth, trying to give him a pretty grin. The light shown in your pitch black eyes was unnatural, a state of primal thirst that even you didn’t understand. But to him, it was all the more beautiful. 

Eyes that only looked at him. 

“What am I going to do with you?”  He murmurs, tugging at pieces of your hair caked with red and small bits. He’d have to clean the shower drain again, too. 

His hand was so warm, pulsing against your cheek, swiping blood away from your chin. 

“I wish you’d take those gloves off,” You huff, grabbing his hand. “I want to touch you.” 

Your teeth are stained red, begging to share the color as his lips part, his body leaning back as you try to push yourself forward on him. 

Your husband’s eyes gleam, traveling from your dirty lips to your eyes, satiated and yet. Still. Hungry.

“I’d prefer not to get blood under my nails again, sweetheart.” He was so kind-- so delicious--You’d tear into him right now if you could; it would be out of love, of course, of wanting him so much you just need a piece of him. But you’d regret it in the morning, crying of how you swore it wouldn’t happen again, how this was nothing like when you bit his ring finger off.  “How about a compromise?”

Your eyes darken, running your tongue along your teeth. Your stomach was full, but your need was not. 

“Wash off in the shower, and I’ll come up when I’m done. Then, you can have me all to yourself.” He tilts his head, running a gloved finger over your tender lips; your pupils were huge, blown wide. He just wanted to kiss your eyelids, to return you to a docile, adoring beast that craved him. “And I won’t leave your side.” 

You let go of his surgical gown and the soft button up beneath it, throwing him down harder than you meant.

“You’ll be quick?” 

He nods his head, matter-of-factly.

“Just going to put the leftovers in the fridge and mop up.” 

Leftovers. He had long grown uncaring toward the man who was nothing more than body parts now, pieces of muscle in your stomach despite having begged for his life mere hours ago. 

“Fine.” You sigh, swiping away another round of blood under your nose, though it only seemed to spread further up to your cheek. “But hurry.” 

You lean in, close to kissing your husband as he watches you, the blood drying on your shirt, up to your elbows. You know he’d let you kiss him if you wanted, despite the mess of your mouth-- but you weren’t all that of an animal. You knew your appetite wasn’t shared.

Kissing his cheek, you grinned at the faint lipstick-like mark on it made from blood.