Venom

The San Francisco night was cold, and for a duo consisting of a down-on-their-luck journalist and a hungry alien symbiote, it was synonymous with misery.
"Hungry. We have to eat, Eddie," Venom's guttural voice echoed in Eddie Brock's mind, mixed with the sound of grinding teeth.
"We're going, man! Try to relax, okay? Chocolate, remember? That chemical in chocolate..." Eddie muttered, quickening his pace towards the gas station ahead.
They entered the brightly lit convenience store. The aroma of stale coffee and baked goods hung in the air. Eddie grabbed a stack of chocolate bars (Venom's surrogate "brain") and two bags of chips. As he turned to the cashier, Venom's hunger and noises instantly silenced.
The attendant was the only one there. She had short, curly hair, framing a friendly face. Her lips were full and inviting, and her uniform didn't hide her soft curves—a soft, plump, pear-shaped body that made something in Eddie jump. She was, undeniably, his ideal type.
In Eddie's inner darkness, Venom roared, but not from hunger: "MATE! Eddie! She's the perfect mate! Look at her, she's soft, round... our biology cries out for her!"
Eddie blushed violently."Shut up, you perverted alien!" he hissed in thought.
The attendant smiled, her brow furrowed. "Is everything okay, sir? You're a little red."
Eddie nervously threw his groceries on the counter. "Yes! Yes, okay. Just... hurry! Hurry!" He could barely look at her as she passed the items. Venom, through Eddie's skin, tried to manifest itself, stretching a small tentacle, but Eddie suppressed it with all his willpower.
"That'll be $24.50," she said, and her smile was so warm it seemed to light up the entire gas station.
Eddie paid, took the change and left hurriedly, almost tripping at the door. As soon as they were on the street, Venom's black form slid over him, irritated