Work Text:
When you realized what was happening it was too late.
You had of course known something was happening today, Paradise was a small town after all and not a particularly quiet one. Notably there were a lot of police cars on the road that evening. You had heard some people talking about a housing dispute gone wrong. But you didn't pick up any details.
You assumed it was just another case of a crack-head causing havoc for the neighbors, not any of your business. Plus they were all going in the opposite direction as you, into the mountains somewhere. So you paid it no mind as you drove into the truck stop.
After getting gas you took your time to peruse the aisles of shitty junk food and car accessories when you heard gunshots. Coming suddenly from close by, maybe even next door.
“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”
It was the voice of the cashier, a louder spray of bullets followed and ripped through everything. The large glass window reduced to shards in a second. You heard screaming around you as the other handful of people in the store dropped to the ground, some intentionally and some not.
It didn't register that one of the screams was your own until your own body hit the linoleum floor with a thud, knocking the wind out of your lungs and momentarily silenced you. Quiet enveloped everything, for a moment you fear you've gone deaf.
You've been shot.
You glanced down, not daring to lift your head from the floor. You could see blood rushing down from a mess of fabric and skin in your side, you think the bullet didn't exit, lodged in your ribcage somewhere. The pain was still being delayed by the adrenaline, you knew it was only gonna get worse.
You moved your eyes around the room. Ahead you could just barely make out the cashier's body slumped over the counter. You were pretty sure he's not breathing anymore. You thought the same of the woman behind you, body like a rag-doll tossed on the ground, face thankfully turned away.
moments ago you had awkwardly apologized for accidentally bumping into her as you walked past, now her once bleach blonde hair stained near black with the blood that poured out of her collapsed skull.
You slowly closed your eyes, and gingerly moved your hand down where the bullet hole was, pressing down tightly to try and stop the bleeding. You felt sick as warm blood oozed between your fingertips. You shifted; pressing your body against the shelf, trying to remain steady.
The bell on the door rings as it opens, the sound of boots crunching broken glass causes your eyes to fly open. For a moment you feared you gave yourself away, but the footsteps remained steady as they moved across the store.
You start to plan; if you have to, could you run? You suspected the cashier to have a gun hidden under the counter but you doubt you could get it now. No, it was safer to play dead.
You did your best to stay still, letting your body go limp again, cringing in pain as that meant taking the pressure of your wound. You stared straight ahead, allowing your eyes to go out of focus, trying to mimic death's sightless gaze.
You hear the shooter walk down the aisle next to you. You swore you heard him muttering under his breath. You strain to listen only for you to suddenly hear a cry of pain followed by a gunshot. Your ears started ringing again.
The shooter finally walked into your view and he entered the aisle. Standing tall despite his very poor posture. His lanky auburn hair brushed the tips of his shoulders. He wore a thick leather trench coat over a crimson button up. A cross hung from his neck and a machine gun was strapped to his back.
He was familiar, at least in the sense you'd seen him around town before. He always seemed very cagey, kept to himself. You remember he would occasionally attend church for the Sunday mass, sitting in the back huddled down until he was barely visible. Your clearest memory of him was at this very gas station, a car had backfired nearby and he reacted to the sudden sound by covering his ears and hunching over, that was only a few weeks ago. You tried to remember his name but nothing came to you.
His eyes were obscured by dark sunglasses, making it hard to see where his gaze landed. You stayed as still as you could, fighting your muscles as they started to tremor and spasm. It was pure agony, the thought entered your head that you may as well let him finish you off.
No, no i have to survive this
The man seemed to divert his attention towards the shelves, he grabbed a packet of jerky and ripped it open with his hands, grabbing a handful and shoved it in his mouth before discarding the bag on the ground. He started muttering again, this time you could pick up parts:
“..._______ They never liked you ___________No______ Only my weapon understands me…”
You watched him as he crouched down next to the body of the woman. His head crooked to the side in a grisly display of curiosity. His gloves hand gingerly touched her hair and dipped his fingers into the mess of blood. He seemed to be examining her, his muttering continued but quieter now. You felt sick as you watched him slowly push her denim miniskirt up. Moving his head down to look between her legs.
Sick fucking bastard
Anger boiled over, cutting through the fog of pain and weakness, you forgot yourself. You picked up the nearest item on the ground, a can of soup, and threw it at him.
It connected with his shoulder and he stumbled back, only just catching himself from falling over. His head swiveling around, eyes locked on you. His mouth, previously expressionless, now twisted into a snarl.
He stood up and started stalking towards you, by impulse you tried to drag yourself backwards, propping yourself slightly up against a large box of stock next to the shelf. But it did nothing to stop his boot from colliding with your stomach. The wind knocked out of you again as he started to kick you repeatedly.
After the third kick you vomited up blood, copper now permeated throughout your mouth. After the fourth kick he grabbed his side arm, a pistol, and aimed it at your head. You couldn't stop shaking at that point, you were surprised you weren't dead yet, but you were glad you would be.
Click
Click, click, click,
He threw the empty pistol at your head, missing. If you weren't in such agony it would almost have been comical. You waited for him to pull out one of his other guns but instead he crouched down again, his feet on either side of your legs. He was so extremely close to you, you could smell him, a mix of ash and gasoline and iron.
Slowly he reached out and poked at your bullet wound, prodding at its entrance with his pointer finger. He chuckles under his breath before inserting it into you. Your body had gone numb at this point, it felt surreal as he began pressing his finger against the wall of the wound. It wasn't pure pain anymore it was.. something strange, something that made you feel kinda sick.
He inserted his middle finger in as well, slowly forcing it in, stretching the wound out further. You let out a moan you weren't expecting and started to pant. It hit you that you felt hot, like your skin was on fire, your hair was soaked with sweat and..
God am I turned on by this? What the fuck
The realization hit and you felt like you might puke again. You gritted your teeth as he started to slowly piston his fingers, sticky blood soaking his hand and spilling onto the lower half of your body now. He kept a rhythmic pace of finger fucking your bullet hole and he started chucking under his breath.
He kept pushing himself deeper with each thrust, nails clawing at flesh never meant to be touched by anyone, fingertips brushing against your ribs. You felt like you were about to break, your brain screamed at your body to give up and let you die.
He suddenly seemed to grab and twist something inside you, feeling flesh tearing. With that he pulled himself out, you exhaled in relief. He held up a lump between his fingers, your eyes barely being able to focus. Eventually you worked out the spent bullet casting. He smirked and dropped it to the ground, the noise unheard over the sound of your own heartbeat.
You watched in horror as he placed the fingers in his mouth, his tongue coming out to leisurely lick at them, truly taking the taste in. before dropping his hand to his side. He spoke clearly then, his voice was almost bright, like he was discovering something;
“I can taste it, your blood doesn't taste human, not like mine.”
You don't respond, you can't, you can't even understand what he's saying at this point. The only thing your throat can muster is a pathetic whine.
“The sickness in you, the evil, it's tainting your body. It makes me wonder if you can taste it too.”
He reached towards you and quickly re-entered the wound. He re-coated his fingers with your blood before pressing them against your closed lips. You tried to keep them closed, but he used his other hand to yank your hair as he brute forced his way in.Your mouth was filled with the taste of more blood, and of him, you started to gag.
“See, you can taste your own sickness.”
You didn't have the strength to bite down; you were completely helpless to him as he forced his hand down your throat until you felt your gag reflect kick in fully. The perverse pleasure he was getting from watching you choke and struggle was obvious on his face, and his body.
You felt light-headed, the strange heat between your legs only getting worse, you couldn't take this anymore.
Eventually he withdrew his hand and another wave of blood and bile came up. You looked away from him and shut your eyes, you couldn't stand to look at his face, or risk glancing down and seeing the half-mast cock that pushed against the fabric of his cargo pants.
“You're making such a mess, what a pathetic simulacrum of a human...”
You heard noise of him shifting stuff around, laughing to himself again. It was only at the sound of a gun being cocked did your eyes open again, looking at him blankly. You didn't know what to feel; you didn't even know anything anymore, you just wanted it to be over.
He had pulled out his machine gun, aiming it point blank at your face. You looked down the barrel, vaguely wondering if you could see the bullet in there if you squinted, or if your mind was just playing with you.
He pressed the muzzle against your lips, a thought entered your head and made your thighs clench together. Your throat was so sore already…
Did he actually want me to..?
“you need to work on your gag reflex, why don't you try and get some practice.”
You didn't answer, only sighed and opened your mouth. He slowly pushes it in until it hits the back of your tongue. You wrapped your mouth around the barrel and started to suck it off, slowly moving your head up and down as if in a trace. you may as well have been. The movement of your body made your side alight with pain again but you just ignored it. Just do what he says until it's all over.
As you fellated the gun he started to use his other hand to rub against the bulge in his pants, already fully erect now. Multiple times he forced the metal deep into your throat till you gagged again, eyes blind with tears. You're so dizzy now. You vaguely recalled how much blood you’d lost and you swore you were about to faint.
You could hear him as he pleasured himself, his moans coming out almost strangled. Your movement became automatic, you could tell he was close. you feel the arousal rising in your own body as well, thighs impulsively rubbing together, friction trying to release the sexual frustration build up in your failing body.
You felt yourself close to orgasm when he let out a desperate sounding gasp, so loud you flinched. A wet spot formed under his zipper, the gun in his hand unsteady as he pushed the gun deeper, down your throat as far as it would go.
At that point you are finally brought over the edge of climax. In your haze of pleasure you don't notice him pull the trigger and you don't have a chance to process it before you fall into oblivion.