DISCLAIMER: this one has heavy non-con and impreg, please heed the tags!

CONTENT: Non-con, rough oral sex, forced pregnancy, possessive behavior, mentioned suicide attempt, emotional manipulation, codenpendency, come inflation, tentacles, non-human genitalia, human-monster relationship, fluff & smut & angst

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Mark stares out into the dark hallway, gun in hand, silent and still as he waits for the alternate to make a move.

One minute stretches into two... or has it been longer? Time seems to stretch and distort and wrap itself around his mind, constricting his consciousness like a python. Maybe he's just trapped in the same repeating minute, looped over and over. Maybe he's already in Hell. Three minutes, four minutes... maybe it isn't real, maybe this has all just been a nightmare, a hallucination. Mark feels his eyes slip shut, static overwhelming his mind. The alternate still doesn't move.

Until it does.

Before Mark can even open his eyes, it lunges at him from the shadows, tackling him to the floor. He wheezes as the air is knocked out of his lungs, and realizes with horror that the gun has been knocked out of his hands. He tries to reach behind him for the firearm, but the alternate grabs him by the hips and yanks Mark towards itself. He yells as it slams its hands onto his shoulders, pinning him to the floor underneath it.

He doesn't want to look up, but he can't help it. Hovering above him, the alternate gouges into his soul with its stare; eyes gleaming with a frenzied and sharp delight. He cowers under its gaze as it sizes him up like a piece of meat, licking it lips and smirking as he catches a glimpse of its overabundance of teeth.

"It's rude to keep a guest waiting, you know," it growls, static lacing its words. "I was starting to think you didn't want to see me, Mark." It cocks its head to the side, like a perplexed animal, "we're friends, aren't we?"

"P-please, just- just let me go, I don't-"

"You're avoiding my question, Mark," the alternate cuts off his rambling with a low grumble. It leans closer to him, their faces almost touching as it pins him with its gaze, "we're friends, aren't we?"

As much as he wants to play along and attempt to please the alternate, he has a feeling that he should avoid lying to this thing at all costs. "N-no," he whimpers, "you're not Cesar, you're not my friend."

It stares at him blankly, then its face splits into a grin so wide it looks painful. "Well, of course. I'm better than Cesar, and we're more than just friends... don't you agree?"

"W-what?" Mark whispers, still too high on adrenaline to really follow along with the conversation.

"I know what you fantasize about, whose face appears in your daydreams," it purrs, "I know what you really want..."

Mark freezes and feels his face heat up as the alternate shoves its tongue against his throat, trailing it upwards agonizingly slowly. The muscle drags over his adam's apple as it bobs from swallowing his fear down, and presses into the skin under his jawbone. The shift in mood is giving him whiplash, he feels like a deer in headlights about to be run down by a semi-truck.

"...and I can give it to you," it drones, grinding its hips into his crotch. He gasps from the unexpected contact, terror making his throat close up as he chokes on air.

"What do you say, Mark?" it asks, nibbling his earlobe. "I can make all your dreams come true, I can give you more pleasure than Cesar ever could... if you let me."

He's too shocked to speak at first, and the silence stretches on for an eternity as the alternate continues its tantalizing movements and touches. He gasps for breath, gathering up whatever strength he can muster, and breaks the silence.

"S-stop," Mark wheezes, chest heaving. "No, no, I... I don't want this, just let me go, just-"

"Hm, how disappointing," it tuts, ignoring his continuous babbling, "but you never had a say in this anyways."

It fists a hand into his unkempt locks, making him cry out as it tugs his hair roughly. In one fluid movement it stands up, forcing Mark up onto his knees by his hair. He yelps as it yanks him forwards, his scalp stinging from the manhandling.

It presses his face directly into its crotch, pinning him there with its hands on the back of his head. Mark thrashes and tries to push himself away from it, but the alternate is impossibly strong, not even breaking a sweat. As he squirms uselessly in its grip, he realizes with mounting dread that he can feel something moving under the fabric of its dress pants. Something too big and too oddly shaped to be human rubs itself against his face through the cloth, and he feels complete and utter terror surge through his veins.

The terror increases twice-fold when tentacles slither out of its back, lightly touching his body as they try to find a way to restrain him. There's two of them, each are around three inches thick and taper off to a point at the end, and there seems to be no limit to their length as they continue to slide out of the alternate's back. Its tentacles begin to wrap around his neck and shoulders, the tips of them worming their way under his shirt. Mark tries hitting and scratching at anything he can reach, but it's no use, the alternate doesn't so much as flinch.

"Come on now, Mark, there's no need for that," the alternate snickers, "I have a surprise for you, after all, and I think you'll like it."

The alternate finally eases up on the grip it has on Mark's head, but the tentacles hold him firmly in place, rendering him immobile. The most he can do is move his head back so his face isn't smooshed into the alternate's pelvis. He thrashes regardless, but stiffens in fear as it undoes the the button and zipper of its dress pants, and pulls out... something.

In its hand it holds a writhing tentacle the color of a nasty bruise, mottled black and purple and blue; with dark red veins visible through the slightly translucent skin of it. The shaft has grooves running along the underside of it, two rows of lines that meet in the middle to make a 'v' pattern. The head somewhat resembles that of a human penis, but it has a large opening in place of a slit that pulses rhythmically, and Mark shivers as he realizes it reminds him of a leech. The tentacle seems to emerge from some sort of opening, like a sheath, and it's covered in some sort of shiny, slick substance. The worst part is how it writhes around, lashing out into the cool air hungrily as if it has a mind of its own. It's absolutely disgusting, and Mark nearly retches at the sight of it.

The alternate flashes a too-wide grin at his revulsion. "Like what you see?" it sneers, "I made it just for you."

"F-fuck you," Mark splutters, "Fuck you."

"Well, that's not very nice," it tuts, cocking its head to the side, "It's rude to reject a gift, you know."

"Fuck off," he shouts, "Fuck you, fucking bastard, piece of shit monster-"

"Oh, we can't have that," it hisses back, "you'll wake up the neighbors with all that racket, Mark. Really, at this hour, you should be more considerate of people trying to sleep."

"Fuck-" Mark is cut off before he can get another word in. The alternate snatches his jaw with one hand, and wrenches his head forward with another, forcing his mouth to open. Mark barely has time to react before he feels the wet slide of the tentacle entering his mouth. He panics, trying in vain to reel back, but between the larger tentacles binding his torso and the alternate's hands on the back of his head, he's completely helpless. It squirms from side to side, seemingly exploring his mouth, leaving a slimy residue everywhere it touches. Mark balks at the feeling, absolutely revolted by the texture and movements of it. He doesn't want to think about how the thing in his mouth looks like it carries fifty different diseases, but it seems like that's all he can think about.

Mark gags as it starts to delicately prod at the back of his throat, languidly crawling down his gullet. How long is this thing? he thinks to himself, wondering if he's going to suffocate on the alternate's dick. The slime filling his mouth is forcing him to swallow around it, and he winces as he feels the thick substance go down his throat. The alternate starts rocking its hips back and forth slowly, the tentacle sliding in and out of his mouth at a sluggish pace. It's incredibly humiliating, and a bit terrifying, but somehow he's still able to breathe through his nose, at least. He tries to calm down, force down the panic and think of anything that could get him out of this situation and-

"All settled in? Now we can really start to have some fun," the alternate purrs.

It yanks his head towards itself at the same time it snaps its hips forwards, burrowing its cock into the wet heat of his mouth until the shaft slides down his throat. Mark lets out a muffled scream, gagging around it as it rubs against his tonsils. The alternate then tugs his head back until its dick slides out of his mouth, only the tip still inside. Mark barely gets a chance to cough and wheeze before it plunges its cock back down his throat again, slamming his nose into its pelvis.

"Mhh... see, it's so much nicer without all your yelling, you were really ruining the mood," the alternate quips at him as it starts to find a rhythm. "Although, I must say, the noises you're making now are much nicer."

Mark sobs in response, tears already gathering in his eyes as his throat is abused like a fleshlight. He tries biting down, pushing it out with his tongue, anything, but the alternate only reacts with a moan.

"Fuck, do that again, good boy," it praises him. Mark wants to wail in despair, but it won't even grant him that, only allowing him to make obscene, choked yelps and whimpering.

The moment seems to go on for an eternity, and Mark is hyper-aware of every sensation. He can feel the ribbed texture of the tentacle's dick gliding across his tongue, the slick and spit dripping down his chin as it rams down his throat, then pulls out. Feels the way it jabs the back of his throat with each shove, before plummeting downwards, leaving a visible bulge in his neck. He can hear every embarrassingly vulgar slurp and squelch his mouth makes around it, as if the rest of the world has gone silent just to listen to Mark be violated.

He loses track of time, the only things that exist are his mouth and the appendage defiling him. It could have gone on for a minute or an hour, Mark would believe either. Mark's eyes widen as the alternate's thrusts begin to get sloppier and quicker, regaining awareness of himself as it draws closer to its release. He struggles, giving one last attempt to escape his fate, but the alternate just digs its fingers deeper into his scalp.

"You better be a good boy and swallow it," it growls, "all of it."

It shoves its length all the way down his throat, forcing Mark's face against its sheath as it comes thick ropes down his gullet. Mark reflexively swallows, not able to do much else when its cock is so far down his throat. He feels the thing twitching in his mouth as it shoots its load into him, feels the warm liquid spill into his stomach as it rocks its hips forwards minutely.

It takes Mark about 30 seconds to realize it's still going, pumping an absurd amount of cum into him. How much longer is this going to go on for? Panic creeps in as one minute turns into two, two turn into three, and the alternate still shows no sign of stopping. His stomach is starting to feel full, and he's not sure how much more of this he can take.

"Mmf, so good, letting me fill you up," it moans, "You're gonna look so pretty when I'm done."

Mark can feel his stomach start to stretch from the strain of being so full, and he starts sobbing again. Despite how horrifying it is, the weight building in his gut feels oddly... good. The realization that he's starting to enjoy this makes his face burn with shame. He tries to suppress muffled moans of pleasure and discomfort as his belly grows more and more, but he just gets louder and louder the more the alternate fills him.

The alternate pets his hair lovingly, giggling as it feels the vibrations from his moans on its cock. "Mhh, there you go... feels good, doesn't it?" It cups his face in its hands, and Mark is too exhausted to recoil from the touch. "Just let me make you feel good, Mark, enjoy my gift to you."

Through the cloudy haze of pleasure he's in, Mark feels anxiety bubble under his skin as the moment stretches on and on. He's starting to think he's going to burst open before the alternate finishes, but it never happens. His stomach just grows further and further beyond what he thought was possible. Each time he thinks he's nearing his limit and begins to squirm, the alternate shushes him and rubs its thumbs over his cheeks, telling him it'll be done soon. He gives up quickly, he's too drained to put up much of a fight in this state. He just hopes it won't be much longer, the weight in his stomach is starting to get unbearable.

Finally, Mark feels the alternate stops coming down his throat, the last drops of its seed smearing onto his tongue as it pulls out. The slimy appendage slides out of his mouth and he gives out a few weak coughs, gasping and panting for air. Just keeping his head up takes so much effort, the strain on his body has left him exhausted. He groans, if the alternate's tentacles weren't holding him upright, he's pretty sure he would collapse onto the floor.

"There you go, that wasn't so bad, was it?" It coos at him. "Take a look at yourself, you did so well."

Mark looks down, and is immediately hit by a wave of nausea by the sight that greets him.

"Wh... what did you do to me?" Mark asks, his voice hoarse. His belly is round and full, swollen so much that his shirt rides up to his chest, unable to fit around the new girth. He wasn't exactly skinny before this, but the way his stomach bulges out looks unnatural, and strangely... familiar. He feels sickened as he realizes that it looks like he's pregnant, and the sick feeling increases as he feels the liquid sloshing inside of him with each minute movement he makes. The alternate leans down and rubs a hand over his distended stomach and he shivers, unable to stop himself from letting out a quiet whimper as it tucks its head into his neck.

"I've made you mine," it whispers huskily into his ear, and Mark feels dread pool in his gut. "We're going to have so much fun together."

After that first night, Mark's stomach had stayed round and swollen no matter how much time had passed. It didn't go away on its own, and he can't seem to vomit it out no matter how much he tries. Despite everything he attempts in order to unburden himself of this misery, he remains uncomfortably full and bloated.

A part of him knows. A dread scratching at the back of his mind, screaming at him, telling him this isn't right and he knows that. He can guess what's happening to his body, even if whenever he asks the revolting creature keeping him captive it just smiles and gives a soft chuckle as it kisses his neck and tells him, "You'll see." He never dares to say it out loud, or think about it too much, for fear that if he acknowledges it then it will become true. But he knows.

He still isn't ready for it when about six weeks later, he feels his insides churn as something squirms and moves inside of him. The first time it happens, he dry heaves for thirty minutes, sobbing as tears bead up in the corners of his eyes from the force of his body trying to eject whatever the fuck is inside of him out of his stomach. The wretched alternate finds him on the floor and has the gall to rub his back and whisper sweet nothings into his ear as if it wasn't the one that did this to him in the first place.

It won't let him kill himself. The alternate is always a few feet away, watching his every move. Every time he reaches for a knife, or tries to bash his skull in on the kitchen counter, it stops him before he can even so much as hurt himself. He wails and screams at it each time it forces him into a hug meant to restrain him, but it just murmurs sweet words into his ears and gently rocks him back and forth. As much as he wants to tear the alternate apart, he eventually loses the will to keep fighting it. It's like a warm blanket settles over his mind, a cozy weight surrounding his soul. He hates it, he knows it must be fucking with his head somehow, but he always ends up leaning into its solace, going limp in its hold. He lets the consoling words comfort him, lets the warmth seep into his bones, lets the alternate kiss the back of his neck. Strangely, it apologizes to him sometimes, telling him it needs to do this to him, that this is for his own good. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, he doesn't understand why it almost sounds... guilty.

Mark gets used to it, sort of. He still gets hit by a wave of nausea whenever he feels the thing squirming around in his guts, but he doesn't dry heave anymore. He doesn't try to kill himself anymore either, he knows it's useless, and it only ever tires him out. The alternate praises him for it, tells him he's "Such a good boy," as its hands caress his swollen abdomen. It's sickening, it's nightmarish, but it's soothing despite it all, and he hates himself for almost enjoying it. Hates himself for not even putting up a fight anymore, instead just closing his eyes and leaning in to it, letting the rhythmic motions ease him into an uncomfortably comfortable calmness.

Eventually he begins poking and prodding at his swollen abdomen, then cautiously lays his hands flat on his belly. Tentatively runs his hands over the roundness of it, feels it move slightly in response, like he's petting it. He starts crying at some point, but just keeps petting the thing that has turned his body into something he doesn't recognize anymore. He pleads with it, begging it to have mercy on him, for it to die and disappear and let him go back to the way his life was before it became a living nightmare. Nothing answers his prayers, but the alternate pulls him into a soft hug, kisses his neck, licks the tears from his cheeks. Its presence feels like divine intervention, in a way.

Every night, the alternate gently tugs him into bed with it, and as time goes on he stops putting up a fight. It cuddles him, lightly kissing his face, his neck, his head. Runs its hands over his body in a way that makes him shiver with fear and pleasure. Nuzzles his stomach and tells him how good, how beautiful, how perfect he is. It's sickening. It's intoxicating. It's comforting. He hates it, and he hates himself even more. Hates himself for mumbling back to it sometimes, never anything comprehensible, but he knows if he was then he would be saying something along the lines of, "I love you." He doesn't know if that's the truth, if that's how he really feels or not, and thinking about it too much makes him feel ill.

He drifts off into another fitful sleep, wondering if one day the thing inside him will gnaw through his stomach or burst out of his chest like some sort of horror movie parasite, killing him and leaving him to rot. He's not sure if the idea of it is terrifying or relieving.