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Eyes, Lungs, Pancreas

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Black as a sea after an oil spill it swirls inside him, something once supporting life now made deadly, leaving a trail of things without a heartbeat in its path. It rushes through his bloodstream and it wants and it is ravenous.

We are hungry, it says. The words pulse through Will’s veins, sweet and cajoling, a request within a statement.

“You are always hungry.” Will opens his mouth with its thirty-two teeth, with its hundreds of teeth, licks at the backs of them with his tongue, the muscle wet and glistening as it writhes inside the cavern of his gaping maw like an eel on a hunt.

WE are always hungry, it insists sullenly. Will soothes it with a thought, with a nod, with his voice.

“Easy, my love. Let’s go out.”


The sickening scrunch of breaking bones reverberates through the alley as teeth and hands shred loose pieces of the doomed pig who found itself caught in their black waters. Will used to get nauseated by the sound, and though the phantom taste of stomach acid still rises to the back of his throat, he otherwise barely even shudders now, having grown so accustomed to the noise and feel of bones crushing into dust between their powerful jaws that it fails to pull a physical reaction out of him anymore.

Will knows it’s fucked up, to find torn skin and mauled flesh part of the norm.

Will doesn’t care.

All there is is the hunger, and it demands to be satisfied.


After the kill it is sated and full so it fills every part of Will ‘cause it wants Will to be the same too.

Back at his apartment, Will is coaxed to strip and settle on his back on his unmade bed. It is easier this way, for Will, to have the illusion that this is purely its idea; it knows and plays along, lets Will pretend like this isn’t exactly what he needs, though they both know differently.

Black tendrils manifest themselves from Will’s hips, smoothly writhing along his skin as they circle around his thighs and calves. His legs are arranged and spread and he is held still and entered, his hole made to stretch impossibly wide around the two thick tendrils pushing their way in, their endless lengths filling him up, coiling inside till Will can see their slithering shapes moving beneath the skin of his bulging stomach.

Will touches his belly and the tendrils push upwards against the barrier of flesh, greeting his hands.

“So full,” Will gasps in a broken voice. He can’t draw enough air into his lungs to breathe properly, to cry and scream as he so desperately wants to; he needs to make noise, he needs to yell till his throat burns with it, he needs to empty himself through sound to make room for this unbearable invasion lest it tears him apart from the inside.

His breath hitches and rattles and he sobs and there are tears in his eyes and there is not enough room.

We are okay, darling. More black tendrils rise from Will’s chest. They wrap around Will’s wrists and forearms, lift his frantically pawing hands from his stomach and place them above his head, keeping them still against the mattress. We are happy, yes? This pleases us.

Will draws a shaking breath in and doesn’t answer because it is Will and Will is it and they both know that their truths are the same; there is no hiding when the thing cohabiting your body knows your thoughts as well as its own.

We are okay, darling, it repeats, its voice an echoing purr inside Will’s head. One tendril slips past his lax lips into his panting mouth while another finds its way inside the slit at the crown of his cock. The thin tendril persistently wriggles down the urethra, continuing past his prostate till it enters Will's bladder.

Will’s body is completely flooded with unescapable stimulation, the sensations so intense and all encompassing he can’t differentiate whether it’s pleasure or pain that he’s feeling.

Will cannot scream like this and he cannot move but he needs to do something, so he bites down on the thing stretching his lips obscenely wide around its slippery girth, bites down hard enough to sever a finger, a cock. His dull teeth fail to leave any marks on the tendril, the thing inside him made of something much stronger than mere human flesh.

It chuckles, delighted and fond. The tendril makes its way past his gag reflex, sliding down his throat with terrifying ease. If Will could move his hands, he’s sure he’d feel the shape of it through the length of his neck just as surely as he could see and trace by touch those squirming inside his abdomen.

With his mouth full Will can only breathe through his nostrils and even that seems close to impossible. He imagines dying like this, slowly suffocating as he’s filled and stretched and fucked, the tendrils not ceasing with their unbearable penetration even as his body falls limp in their hold.

We would never let that happen, darling. The tendrils inside his cock and mouth pull out, smearing precum and spit on his skin as they slither like snakes across his torso. Will’s cock jerks as the tendril exiting it purposefully rubs against his prostate on its way out, so close to coming he can almost taste it.

Will desperately gulps for air once his mouth is freed, each inhale scraping like sandpaper against his bruised throat. He feels both relieved and disappointed when the white noise that’s been buzzing in his head from the lack of oxygen begins to fade away.

Don’t fret, darling. We’ll take care of us.

The tendrils that are still inside him start pulsating rhythmically, increasing in size as even more of their lengths force their way in where Will is already so full it shouldn’t be possible for them to do so. One tendril wraps around his neck and it tightens and it squeezes.

Will comes so hard that, just for a moment, his vision blacks out.

A handful of minutes pass in a peaceful haze before Will gets his bearings back. He finds himself covered by the black sea, its comforting weight pressing him to the mattress, engulfing him in its embrace. He is tight and healed where he should be torn and gaping, and Will is grateful for that; he’s not sure he could have borne the hollow emptiness after being so excruciatingly full.

It ripples around Will, cooling his sweaty skin, caressing and soothing the parts of him that should be mottled with bruises till Will is almost lulled to sleep by its touch.

We are hungry, it whispers. It’s not the coaxing plea of before but a statement of a fact.

Will curls his fingers and the blackness curls back, holds onto him with the grounding touch of a lover. Will sighs and lets his eyes fall shut, his very bones aching with the need for sleep.

“I know, my love. We are always hungry.”