Archive of Our Own ^beta

It had been such a slow few weeks, and Wilbur Soot, a dark eyed brunette with an appetite for something always more, was looking for what he desired most. That next show, that applause, that delicious attention . He craved what was out of reach, craved what was sick and twisted, craved like a lion tearing apart a gazelle. His next meal.

Wiping a strand of drool from his hungry mouth, fangs pointed downward and ready to rip flesh, Wilbur hissed in dismay at the lack of food satisfying enough for him. His last had gone completely down his maw, like he had stated, weeks ago, and the bubbling of stomach acid melted through that person what felt quicker than most in the past. It was a gnawing, dreadful, numbing sensation of dull pain and stomach aches that clouded his mind once more. 

Scrolling through his phone, a list of potential “dates” flickered by, and each looked worse than the last. Sneering, Wilbur flung them away until he finally reached on a man gullible looking, dumb, easy .

It was a simple choice, his hunger reminded him what he needed to do, and he quickly got to messaging the poor man, shooting his shot. Texting the puppy-faced, sorry sucker, Charlie Slimecicle (what a poor name, to match), Wilbur gave his best. A wordy paragraph, listing what he did find attractive and comparing Charlie’s beauty to a description of moonlight. A response made its way back quickly, clearly swooning and sickened by sweetness. The man seemed genuinely excited replying, as they set up the time and place together. Wilbur left on a sing-songy note, cheerful smile for all the wrong reasons on his face.

His long scaly tail slithered along the floor over to his wheelchair, in the corner, and he picked himself up, sitting down on the mobility aid. His long tail-end wrapped around and stuffed itself into the pocket area in the back, flipping around so that it was completely tucked away. Finally, a blanket rested upon his snake side, perfect setup to fool everyone. 

See, Wilbur was a naga, a deadly creature made of flesh, scales, and a thirst for blood. A monster hiding in plain sight, under the guise of being a tragic man, and a disabled person. It was a mask worn perfectly by the naga, treating himself as this pathetic sad sack of a human, when in actuality, he was a predator waiting in the shadows, moving from town to town and leaving a trail of disappearances where he slithered along. Emotionally quiet, disgustingly deceitful, and sickeningly evil. Wilbur held pride in his cruelty. Excited at the thought and thrill of the manipulation, the chase, the first bite .

Instead of prolonging the hunt longer, he slipped on a hoodie and took to strolling down the street in his chair. He pushed himself along, whistling a soft and foreboding tune through his lips. 

The coffee shop came into view, and he pushed open the door, feeling the awkward bump make him jump as he rolled into the store. A soft bell rang out, gently alerting the workers of the customer. The TV played untouched in the corner of the ceiling, the recent attack still going on. The giant reptilian monster smashed into the side of a glass office building on the screen, and screams played ironically quiet on the device.

Wilbur rolled his eyes at the annoying happenings, and took a spot at the one table, pushing the chair out of the way for him to take its place. The waiting game began now, sitting as patient as he could muster while pangs of hunger ate away at him. Wilbur was bothered, to say the least, to stay still and daydream about how the old days must have been, nagas wild and hundreds of feet tall, swallowing entire civilizations whole with ease.

He sighed, popping the thought bubble and making his way up to the counter, where a tempered brunette with goggles, for some reason, took his order. Wilbur sat there, shit-eating grin on his face as he listed the most complex and contradicting coffee he could think up. The worker, George , sat there bewildered and dramatically frowning as he tried to keep up, typing in and then removing things furiously.

“-And an extra shot of sugar twice removed,” He finished.

“So,” George let out exasperated, “A black coffee?”

A deep sigh, “I guess a black coffee will do.”

The worker took a second, turned around, and screamed into the wall.

With a dumb smirk tearing a crescent through his face, Wilbur took his seat and waited for the ridiculous coffee order. The drink came out and was placed in front of him, by the very pissed George, after several minutes. Wilbur didn’t doubt there was spit in it, but he was more disgusting than saliva in a drink, so he took a sip, satisfaction travelling down his throat. Another few moments of idly watching the TV flick between commercials and the news, and Wilbur realised with a slight growl of his stomach, that his date wasn’t showing up.

His hunger worsened all in that instant, and pain flooded his senses at the exact moment the gentle bell jingled again.

Tommy was a bright eyed blonde, and he had a massive appetite for some damn good donuts. He took a breath of the fresh donut-y air. It smelled delicious in his favourite store, and he was excited to order his favourite chocolate glazed with sprinkles. George was banging his head off of the smooth surface of the counter, and Tommy marched up and attempted to cheer his kind-of-friend up. A joke here, a silly remark there, and George was rolling his eyes, letting Tommy know he was doing a good job. The teen ordered his donut, turning around and leaning back, he realised that there was a very miserable looking man in the crowd (of one person total).

“Actually, George, one more donut, uh,” He studied the man, “Vanilla glazed, with sprinkles . Stat .”

“Whatever, Tommy,” He smirked.

Moments later, two donuts in a baggie were handed over, and the blonde took great strides over to where the poor, poor, sad man was sitting, and invited himself to the seat across from him.

Wilbur looked up, something deep in his expression lighting up. Tommy was glad sitting with him made him so happy.

“Hello, pardon?”

“Thought you might need someone to sit with,” Tommy beat around the fact he considered the brooding man handsome, “I’m Tommy!”

“Wilbur Soot,” He took the blonde’s hand in his own hand and shook it firmly, “You know, you don’t have to do this, I know it’s the wheelchair making you so polite.”

Tommy panicked, “No! It’s not that! I-” he reached in the bag, cupping Wilbur Soot’s treat with a napkin and pulling it out, handing it over blushing, “I got you a donut! You look like a man in need of sprinkles. Desperate need.”

Wilbur scrunched up his nose and then tried to flatten out his face, but the look of cringe and almost disgust remained plastered there, “Thank you- it’s very kind…?”

“No problem, I do my best,” Tommy crossed his arms, back pressed against the booth.

“Tell me about yourself, Tommy , what makes you feel pride, what makes you tick?” Wilbur eyeballed the treat in his hand, questioning the secret power of sprinkles as some cure-all for depression, “Talk to this poor sad man.”

“Of course!” He beamed, ready to cheer his fifteenth person of the day up, “Hm, well I really like my friends, I’m really good at being a great and awesome person. I do it so well. And … Kind of everything pisses me off, HAHAH!”

Wilbur sat and listened, carefully analysing every single decision the boy was making, from the chosen words, to the placement of his hands in conversation, but especially his words. Checking each individual definition over in his head, turning everything over on how he could possibly get this Tommy into his home, and into his mouth. He salivated over the idea of devouring the teen.

“So,” Tommy leaned on his hand, “Why are you here?”

Wilbur sighed, playing up his horrible story, “My date left me…” He consciously emphasised his wheelchair by rolling backwards slightly, trying to imply to Tommy what the reason might be for abandoning this sad man.

The blonde took a deep inhale and blurted out, “Can I be your date?”

“ You ,” Wilbur pretended to be agasp, “Want to be my date?”

He nodded furiously, “At least to pay me back,” he joked, pointing to the donut.

With dismay, Wilbur realised the teen was actually expecting him to eat the treat. He knew his body wouldn’t handle digesting all that sugar, as it was built for flesh. However, Tommy was giving the biggest puppy eyes possible, bigger than Charlie’s profile picture. 

Hesitating, Wilbur bit back, “I shouldn’t, I’m… on a diet.”

“Please? One donut can’t hurt that much!” His eyes dilated even further, and his bottom lip puffed out needily.

It was useless to make up more excuses, as that might drive his meal away. Cringing, Wilbur had to open his mouth and lean forward, lips awkwardly shifting around his fangs to hide them from the teen. He gulped hard before a single bite chomped down into the sugary thing. It tasted so violently sweet and made Wilbur frown, face squeezing and distorting to Tommy’s absolute pleasure. It was nauseating, and he knew that he was going to make this boy’s death as miserable and sufferable as possible for how his stomach would soon churn and gag over this “gift”.

The teen was nodding with satisfaction and delight printed on his cheeks, “Sprinkles make you a happy person, you’re probably so depressed ‘cause you’re deprivin’ yourself of the delicacy that is donuts. Especially from George,” he waved in the direction of the annoyed barista, “I knew you’d enjoy it.”

It was almost as if Tommy had completely blocked out the expression on Wilbur’s face, which had twisted from sick to beyond bewildered. He couldn’t believe the audacity of this child, and wanted to hurt him so badly now. He couldn’t wait moments more to experience the pure content and fulfilment of the boy’s terrified bloody screams, begging and pleading for his very life, up until acid melted through his skin enough to shut him up for good.

That made him drool more than the donut. Disgusting pastry of sprinkles and nausea.

“Where are we headin’ for our date then?” Tommy stood, slamming his palms onto the table with unconstrained excitement.

Wheeling backwards with a slight left turn, Wilbur had a sly look in those dark pools, hiding true intentions with gorgeous exteriors, “My house works, if that’s okay? I have games and we can order pizza,” Teens like pizza and video games, right? Judging by the way Tommy squealed under his breath, he’d take it as a yes.

Walking alongside the mobility aid, Tommy and Wilbur headed down the sidewalk along the street, pointing out different signs and reading them in either a funny American accent or mispronouncing them horribly so. It was an enjoyable moment of serenity, Wilbur getting a kick out of the blonde exaggerating each syllable and word in the collection of signs. Though it wasn’t a long walk, it was a fun one. Wilbur, however, still would not be changing his mind when it came to the next few moments he’d get to swallow Tommy. The crime of giving him sugary filled indigestion was one unforgiven.

Reaching his house, Wilbur was practically jumping out of his skin to cherish this meal, claws digging into his left arm at the thoughts that were pestering him the moment the jingle had sounded. He had to bring Tommy further in, and offered to go to the bedroom.

“Here, I’ve got an XBOX, we can play Minecraft,” He lied through his fangs.

“Oh! I love Minecraft!” The boy screeched and ran into the direction, flinging open the door and rushing inside like his life was over. Which, surprise, it would be very soon. As if you weren’t reading thus far…

The teen practically cornered himself into the bedroom, looking around with a grin that slowly faded second by second as he searched. Wilbur’s smirk, however, grew as wide as day as the soft creak of his wheelchair being discarded sounded like a gunshot, and his tail end became prominent, showing off his teeth with joy. As he lifted from the ground, side to side as he slithered devilishly, Tommy let out a piercing scream. One that Wilbur recalled from his memories so many times before, all the way since childhood. One that was fond and dear to him. One that pleased him greatly to take advantage of, to play with, to dig into.

The blonde was backing into the corner of the room, eyes darting wildly from side to side. He reached desperately for anything to grab, throwing it across the room at the naga. The snake expertly avoided each object that was tossed his way, and he hissed out, grin ever widening. 

He suddenly exploded forward with such speed, darting into Tommy’s direct space. The teen screamed out horrified, tears shooting out his eyes as they squeezed tight, and his entire body flinched downwards. Tommy’s breath was shaky and hitched as his arms came around his head. Terror shook through his entire being. He was living through pure horror, as Wilbur leaned down, looming over him.

“ Say goodbye, Tommy ,” The naga used his entire weight to wrap around the teen. He hissed and his forked tongue flicked over Tommy’s cheek.

A wad of saliva dripped down to his chin and he let out a pained sob, “Please, please , I have friends! I- I thought we were-”

His own screams cut him off while Wilbur lifted the blonde’s body into the air. He was soon dangling above Wilbur’s maw, kicking and flailing with tears falling all about the floor. Wilbur’s jaw unhinged to Tommy’s complete sheer fright. Anxiety and adrenaline rushed through his veins, and he kicked harder, striking Wilbur’s arm to no response. Violent sobs tore through his whole self and he held his body as tight as humanly possible, comfort in the only thing he had left. Knowing his body, which was left up in the air of life or death, would soon be digested alive, was the scariest thing he could possibly imagine. And imagine he wouldn’t have to do for long. 

Tommy’s body was being lowered at such a teasing pace, it shook through his lungs like hell. Fire scorched past his veins and breaths felt nauseating, taking everything out of his energy just to fight. Surviving was all his mind would allow, all his body could do, all his soul would muster. 

As his lower half was dipped like a strawberry into chocolate, Tommy had to face the fact that this was the last he would ever be seen. The last few short breaths he’d take. The last moments alive he’d be able to enjoy. Something died before he could, something deep inside that wanted nothing more than to survive and keep fighting on. It perished there inside him, and his inhales started to fall apart. His hands splayed out in front of his body and he gave up. Gave up right before he could feel the mouth swallowing down his feet and legs together. Tommy gaped at the horrors, sighing in defeat as tears stained his shirt.

Wilbur’s mouth worked its way up the boy’s body, eating him up slowly to cause his suffering to unfold tenfold. Desire fueled his sensations and made them feral and heighted. The taste of the teen was delectable, far more appetising than the donut he’d been forced into eating. Devouring the boy was everything he wanted and more . His hunger subsided quickly, meanwhile delighted moans spilled around the body in his mouth. The naga’s maw begged for more, and he happily obliged, giving in further and deeper, tragic child being fed to this evil snake. 

The hungry predator gulped around the body, his head being the only thing now poking out, while his legs and torso caused a huge bump in his humanoid throat and stomach area. The area stretched out impossibly so, bloating Wilbur’s stomach out and making him feel so satisfied to touch his bulged tummy. He slapped across the skin that was exposed and continued on shoving Tommy’s head down. Eventually, he got to the point his mouth would finally shut, and he snapped his jaw back in place with a horrible crunch. His stomach jiggled with the newfound weight, and another harsh swallow sent Tommy to his place. The naga laughed wickedly, knowing the teen was finding his final resting spot to be quite the prison. Sick laughter filled the stale air, Wilbur was beyond proud. Another victim, another trophy, another meal. While it was all the same, he would forever remember each face that was licked and swallowed and digested into bits. Something about Tommy stood out. Probably the fact he was a raving bitch, forcing that pastry down Wilbur’s gullet.

Groaning out long and concentrated, Wilbur held his full stomach, ready to honestly take a nap.

Just as he was ready to find a hiding spot to curl up in, his phone alerted him to a notification.

“Hey!! Did you see traffic downtown from NOT GODZILLA? Crazy, right! Anyway, I was totally excited for the date, can we please reschedule??” The message from Charlie was polluted with emojis every other word, somehow. It was insane how a person could function with so many emojis in the middle of their texts. Weird.

The snake bit down on the phone, snapping it completely in half. No trace of evidence here, no sir. Assuring that the device was completely destroyed, he nodded to himself and swallowed what was left of it. Yes, he could swallow phones just fine, but donuts? Evil. Hell-spawn.

Underneath Wilbur’s skin and flesh, the young blonde was suffering and losing faith in his chances each second that drug on. His skin was burning while he was still alive and Tommy was stuck in a pit of literal acid, tearing him apart each slow, slow moment. It was excruciating, every second spent where the liquid was breaking through his outer layer of flesh. He hoped he at least tasted good, for all the pain. No, no, he wished he tasted horrible . If he was going to die, which would be very soon judging by his thoughts losing their stability and his mobility failing, he hoped the experience was just as gross for the naga. His first layer of skin must have eroded by now, and he couldn’t even tell if he was screeching anymore or not. Fogginess ruined his mind, survival didn’t mean a thing anymore. It was all over.  

In the pile of mush and digestive fluids, a bit of that mixture got into his mouth. With the last bit of consciousness he had left, Tommy realised it was part of the donut he’d bought for the supposed sad man in the corner. It tasted like regret and sorrow. He sobbed. If only he’d minded his own damn business, fourteen people could have been happy and he would still be alive and with his friends. He should have gone somewhere over the spring break with them. He should have…

Tommy’s screams choked out. He was gone.