Try Me | David (Don't Eat The Cashier)
David Rivera/f!Reader (Don't Eat The Cashier) | 4.3k | read it on ao3 | smut, piv, semi-public sesx, creampie, finger sucking, spanking, no use of y/n
Minding your business while working at the gas station shop when a hot vampire comes in and makes your shift better? It's more likely than you think...
(Written for the fantastic visual novel game Don't Eat The Cashier - available on itch.io)
𓇼 ⋆.˚ masterlist < moved to the new blog
"Imagine it — you never get tired. You can party all night long. Fuck all night long."
He says it with such a smug tone that it's nearly impossible not to feel the heat rise into your cheeks. David only smirks, tilting his head slightly to the side almost like he's thoroughly enjoying seeing you pick your words. And you sure have to pick them, what with the constant mantra of don't die that's been spinning in your mind ever since Bob the manager threatened you. Multiple times. In several primordial languages and most likely a few dead dialects that might or might not have raised some demons from a nearby cemetery. Don't die. Get tips in the jar. Something something. Cleaning a toilet with a fork for 2510 years. Nowhere in his very short and very useless tutorial on how to work in this place did it say don't fuck a vampire. In fact, he specifically mentioned making your customers happy. Finally, stopping the nervous glances away from David's piercing eyes, you realise that the way to make this specific customer, and to be completely fair you as well, the happiest might just be to crawl over the counter and forget about the politeness. To hell with it all, your fingers tap a familiar melody on the stained surface as he leans forward on his elbows. Teasing. Challenging. Come at me if you dare.
"What if I'm not one for parties?" You cock an eyebrow, feeling a traitorous quirk of the corner of your mouth as his lips stretch into a more self-satisfied smile.
"There's still the other thing—"
"All night, yeah, I've heard that one before." And then he laughs. Sincerely. His eyes close and nose crinkles, and for a moment there he looks completely human. Mortal. You wonder if he would have some of this cockiness in him even if he hadn't been turned.
"Try me." He sighs, lips still stretched in a wide grin, seeing the interest spark in your eyes, the same one that's been there, lying somewhat dormant since he came back to the counter with a freshly washed and slightly regenerated face. He can clearly tell from the sharp breath you intake that he's hit the spot, that you're most likely already imagining him bending you over the counter and making you see your maker with your eyes rolled all the way back in your skull that they may never get back to normal. You're so fucking obvious, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, trying to subtly rub your thighs together but he can already smell the want in the air. It overpowers the stench of expired liver-flavoured lollipops on the shelf to his left and the blood from the bottle you passed him earlier, liquid Michael, whose last few drops left a smudge on the tiled floor, red stain shaped like the toes of David's left shoe.
"You're making a mess, my boss is gonna kill me." The distance between your faces is almost negligible now, existing purely for your breaths to mix together while the flickering fluorescent light overhead dles everything in its power to highlight the pale skin on his cheek, every blue blood vessel giving him a cool tint. You can smell the blood soaking his shirt and jacket, some dried, some still bright and sinking into the fabric that must be soft and comfortable under a gentle touch, at least it feels like it will be.
"Now that's not very polite, is it?" He chuckles, tilting his head almost to regain some of that distance, to tease you, make you chase his lips and the promise of what they can bring. "I heard that the customer is always right."
"That only applies when the customer isn't a major asshole."
Damn it, he knows what he's doing, with the snark in his voice as low as he can make it, raspy in an almost whispering tone, something that's too capable of sending shivers through your entire body. Like you're tethered to him, your head moves with his head, retaking space to feel the breath he exhales in the crevices of your lips. "'m gonna tell your boss you said that." He opens his eyes, bold enough to lean his forehead against yours. "What a naughty cashier he hired, so mean to this innocent customer."
You're so gone now, taken in and he hasn't even had to use persuasion on you, that is a feeling you don't want to experience again. The way your feet carried you away with one thought in your head, find blood, was enough to make you shudder, but now… the shudder is a good one. David's cold skin grounds you in the moment, and you wonder if he's just enough of a masochist to put himself through flirting with you at your cursed workplace, if he thinks that folding you in half in this stuffy little gas station shop is worth facing a disgusting toilet armed with nothing but a fork.
"I think this particular customer likes it. Maybe even a little too much."
His hand cups your warm cheek, warmer by the second with how close you are, and how good it feels to be just out of reach, in a perpetual moment between yes and no, between a breath and a kiss, with the tips of your noses brushing against each other so torturously it takes you significant effort not to just crash into his mouth. The pad of his thumb is rough, but it carries the scent of that cheap soap that's sitting on the too-small sink in the toilets. Surprising, because you almost expected the iron scent of blood, so you fight with the instinct to lean into the comfortable touch.
"Maybe I do." He murmurs, quiet enough that you feel the vibrations of his voice on your skin. "And maybe you deserve a reward for it… that is if ya think you can handle it."
"Try me."
It takes barely half a second for him to close the distance between you, to take the breath right from your mouth, making you feel light-headed from the sheer intensity of his kiss. You expect to taste the blood he drank earlier, but the taste of his flesh is much more intoxicating. David's tongue parts your lips with adamant need, like a taste of your mouth will sustain him more than drinking blood ever will. And aside from the brief shock, the surprise that has your hands linger in the air uselessly, it's so easy to melt into him, to cling to the sound of his sharp breath in between hard, fast kisses that have your lips tingling, your eyes closing, your mind spinning. The gas station shop disappears around you, the only remaining part is the counter that divides you, but even that disappears when David's restless hands leave your cheeks and grab you by the front of your shirt, dragging your all too eager body over the surface and placing you on top of it. It's almost laughable how quickly your instinct takes over and you wrap around his waist, tugging him closer. His lips gladly stretch into a grin against your mouth when he feels the warmth radiating from your willing body against him, such need in the simple act of locking your ankles behind his back, such certainty that there's no backing out of this.
"Does this count as tryin' you, then?" He murmurs against your lips before claiming the bottom one between his teeth, gently nipping it without drawing blood… yet.
Your hands work quickly to rid him of the blood stained leather jacket, letting it land on the floor with an unceremonious thud. More damned layers, more fabric preventing your hands from feeling his skin underneath. Like he's reading your intentions, his hands wrap around your wrists and lead them down to the hemline of his t-shirt, letting you slide your palms up against his abdomen until he lets go of you and pulls away slightly. Your breath lands on his cheek, ragged and warm, heavy with anticipation while his hands trail down your sides and rest on the softness of your thighs, rubbing small circles on them.
"Depends…" you finally answer, lifting your head slightly, "you enjoying what you're tasting?"
"Leaving me wantin' more… putting that in the review."
He grins like a bastard and dives right back for another hungry kiss, dragging moan after moan from your throat, reaching up with one hand to tilt your face how he wants it, thumb resting almost threateningly under your chin, pressing ever so slightly to taste your reaction on his tongue. The flutter of your eyelashes is followed by a gasp, and he follows the line of your gaze to see the battered old security camera lazily blinking red, looking right at you. As if glaring with a disapproving frown, it points at the spot on the counter where you're sitting, but now that you've had a moment of surprise, you doubt that raggedy thing even works. David returns his eyes to you, and holds you by your chin to make you face him instead.
"You asked what kinda powers I had… Let's just say I'm useful." He smirks and looks at the camera again, this time frowning in concentration, and within a few short seconds the red light goes off and the screen cracks. "Ah shit… overdid it," he sighs, "where were we?"
"You were about to give me a preview of how you can fuck all night, according to your own words."
He seems to enjoy the way you embraced the want, even asking for it so openly. And who is he to deny you? When your eyes reflect those dimmed fluorescent light bulbs on the ceiling, and you're so much brighter than the night he thought he'd have, so much more vibrant, making the stillness in his chest feel almost alive when he catches a glimpse of your smirk.
"Nice to know you ain't gonna run from a good time."
"Good time? That's for me to deci—"
He doesn't even let you finish the sentence before you're dragged off the counter and twirled around, with his crotch pressed against your ass, living proof that he isn't messing around. His hands wrap around your front, gliding over your body like he's mapping you out, feeling for the hitch in your breath so he knows just how to play you. Leaning his head down, his lips trail across your neck, and for a moment it's uncertain if he'll bite you or just tease, for the trail of kisses is so tender, ghosting your skin leaving shivering need in its wake.
You gasp as his cold fingers indent the soft flesh of your breast, the temperature contrasting the warmth that dances under your skin, blooming like a meadow in spring, almost searing under his icy fingertips. As you press against him, almost desperate to tuck yourself into his tight embrace, his other hand travels down, down, catching your jeans button between two fingers that undo it almost with a snap. With impressive speed, his hand tugs your jeans down and slides over your panties, testing out the waters with a finger between your folds, chuckling as he gathers the wetness there like an achievement before he even enters you.
"Oh you want it so bad," he laughs, and it feels more alive than any other sound, "look at you, wet just from some kissing… Am I that good?"
You roll your eyes, wishing you could say something smart, but the truth is so much worse than that. There's no way you can live down or justify getting butterflies in your pussy just from seeing him splattered in blood. No. There has to be something wrong with you to be down bad like that, and there's certainly no way you can say that to him.
"Keep telling yourself that, dude." You say instead, scoffing despite being so obviously, clearly, palpably impatient to have his cock inside you already. "It's been a dry month, and your face is nice to look at."
"Tell you what's the opposite of dry then," he punctures the sentence with sliding one finger under the elastic of your panties, wasting no time to rub along your glistening slit and dipping it inside you, almost laughing as your greedy pussy sucks it in, "this sweet little thing. She's not talking back, is she? Callin' me dude like I'm not about to rock your shit…"
Slowly he adds another finger, working them in and out of you until he feels you tense, knowing he's found the spot that's going to make you melt. Impatiently pulling your panties down, his hands graze along your thighs, so full of anticipation that they nearly shiver at the touch, those long fingers of his so clearly made to be gripping your soft and tender flesh in a better light than these cold, eerie bulbs that only amplify the bleak surroundings. But it will hardly matter, you think, when you finally have him inside you and you can forget the impending doom and the almost certain punishment that awaits you for 2510 years. While you're collecting yourself, reaching to hold onto the edge of the counter you've luckily wiped down after David smeared the blood from his sleeves on it, he's undoing his belt, you hear it clatter on its way down to the floor, making contact with the tiles in a promising echo.
Suddenly, without warning and snapping you out of listening to the sound of his jeans pooling around his feet, the tip of his cock rubs against you. It's warmer than you expect, slick with his such obvious want that beads on the very end of it, and you can't help but wonder how it would feel against your tongue. How it would feel to kneel between David's thighs and make him swallow every cocky word, every snarky phrase, every sassy thing he's been saying to you while your mouth warms his thickness, while your drool coats him and you make him die again. But you'll settle for this for now, you'll welcome his cock with your needy, fluttering walls as you did his fingers, and next time you'll have your way. He's taking his sweet time. Dragging just past your dripping hole, making it clench around nothing while he makes you lean forward and rest your elbows on the counter, wincing every time he drags his tip against your clit.
"Fucking tease," you hiss through your teeth, chin leaning on your forearms resting firmly against the counter, "'s like you don't have any other game."
A cold palm lands on your ass cheek, from the corner of your eye you see the smirk that grows on his face like it's pulled by a thread. Like he's been waiting for you to get smart with him again, to give him an excuse—like he needed an excuse anyway— to show you how seriously he takes this, the back and forth, the give and take, seeing you shoot daggers at him from your eyes before they inevitably roll back… when he finally gives you some respite from being a little shit.
"You got quite the mouth on you, don't ya?" David speaks into your ear, leaning over your back and, at the same time, snapping his hips forward… only a little. "Oh, what was that?"
You whimper, closing your eyes as his tip pushes just past your entrance, a soft inaudible pop you could hear as he breaches the line he's been dancing on for way too long. And shit, it feels almost too good, too much to ignore, to pretend he's gonna have to try harder, because he can see it in the way your lashes flutter against the tops of your cheeks.
"Fuuuck." you breathe out, as slowly as he moves, getting closer to pressing his hips against your ass.
"What was that, hm?" That bastard enjoys your reluctance to give him a break way too much, nipping the shell of your ear ever so gently, just to make you shiver under him. "You gonna give me something back? Gonna admit you're feelin' good? 'Cause babe… you're squeezin' me sooo tight…"
He's buried inside you fully now, listening to your breathing as his hands trail up your torso, cupping your breasts. A contrast to how he's talking to you, the touch is gentle, soft kneading of your flesh nearly enough to make you forget that he's asked you a question.
"Say it's good… say it like ya mean it and I'll move."
"Fine…" you murmur, decisive in staying a brat until the end, until he has you drooling over the counter, until he's got you reduced to a puddle you'd have to mop up. "Feels good."
"You can do better, can't you?" He pinches your nipple, almost like trying to prove a point, feel you clench around him. And you do, yelping in surprise, but he only chuckles into your ear. "Tell me what's good about it…"
An almost-moan leaves your throat, a pretty sound that makes him dart out his tongue and lick a strip up your neck, all the way to the perfect spot to suck a bruise into your skin just under the ear. You swallow. Head spinning. The fluorescent flickering light above the cash register doesn't help. His hands are so comfortable on your breasts, holding them like his hands crave the warmth. As his lips detach from your neck, you swallow again, willing your mouth to form something coherent.
"You feel… really good. So big, just right, wanna… wanna feel you move." Hoping it's enough to get him to have mercy on you, to give you relief from the tightness curling in your abdomen, you tilt your head to the side, catching a glimpse of David's smile, those sharp fangs poking past his bottom lip as he smiles, satisfied with your answer.
"Atta girl, was that so hard?" He almost coos, lifting his body off your back and sliding his hands down your stomach, settling them on your hips, gripping tightly as he moves.
Every thrust precise like there's a target inside you. He grunts quietly, fucking into you like he's warming up for something, keeping the pace slow but making sure each movement elicits a sugary moan from your throat. The store is so quiet, allowing for the lewd noises to echo in it, bouncing off the shelves with jojoba oil and juicy juices, returning to you amplified, whimpers, groans, flesh snapping against flesh, breath knocked from your lungs as he speeds up. Your tip jar rocks recklessly a few times, toppling over as he fucks into you harder, and you can't do anything other than stare in horror as it hurls towards the floor. Until it stops, and floats back to the surface unscathed. David's thrusts have slowed down, his focus on the fragile glass jar that you've expressed is quite important so you don't get cursed to clean toilets for a couple of millennia, but now that you sigh in relief, he speeds up again, almost punishing your cunt with his thick cock. Relentlessly, he grips you so hard that you can feel his fingertips form bruises on your skin, little trophies from the first shift so far survived, so far excelled, getting yourself bent over just because you wanted it, thriving with your mouth open and tongue rolling that fist desperate syllable of his name.
"D-Da—"
His hands leave your hips, one snakes around your front and pulls you up against his chest by your neck, the other reaches to grab your breast again, kneading it like comfort as he presses you against that cold counter.
"What's that, babe?" He hisses into your ear, thumb holding your jaw in place as he snaps his hips faster, getting you to squirm on his cock. "You tryina say who's makin' you feel good, huh?" He chuckles, licking your neck before sucking another bruise into it, humming against your skin. "Try that again, do it right this time."
When he grunts into your ear again, you feel your eyes roll back in pleasure. His cock so ruthlessly hits your sweet spots now, making you pulse around him and try to curl your toes inside your shoes. Mouth open, tongue uselessly trying to touch your teeth to form that first delicious sound.
"D— fuck— David—" the word explodes from your mouth and at that moment you gag, his two fingers press against your tongue like they're trying to rip another utterance from it.
"Suck on them." He orders, the snap of his hip bones against your ass like a period to the sentence. "There we go… good girl."
Your lips wrap around his digits. Tasting yourself, you're salivating between them as he holds you like treasure against him. You're safety in a storm, and he's clutching your warm, willing body as he fucks into you like he'll perish if he doesn't. He's louder now. Must've stopped caring that he's at your place of work, where anyone could walk in—not that it's been busy—all that matters is how your warm cunt feels fluttering around his eager cock. Fuck, he's thrusting like he wants to keep you around him forever, like the disastrous night he'd had until he came in here doesn't matter at all, his injuries long healed and disappeared, and the stamina regenerated together with the skin. Those little moans and huffs, the gasps from your darling throat seem to sustain him better than any blood can. So when you whine like a desperate little thing, needily writhing against him, like you're running away from his cock and trying to get more of it at the same time, the hand that's been so greedily kneading your tit slides down, across your stomach, parting those dripping, squishy folds, rubbing clever circles on your clit.
"You can come for me, can't you, babe?" David's voice turns pure velvet against you as he purrs into your ear, rubbing your reddened clit to get more of those sticky sugary whimpers that fall from your lips like flakes of gold. "Lemme hear it… one and I'll give you the other thousand next time."
He drags his fingers out of your mouth, lingering against the pout of your lips but pulls them away when you bite his fingertip just to mess with him. His low, raspy voice curses into your ear, his hand once again on your neck as if to keep you up, like you're a marionette with strings cut and you'll fall if he doesn't hold you. Come on, he grunts, rubbing your clit faster, frantically getting you to squeeze around his cock like he's about to burst. Fuck, come on, he moans, stuttering in the movements of his hips as he feels you flutter, tighten like you're trying to keep him inside you and never let him out. Come on, babe, he pleads, fucking you like he has something to prove to himself, as if your orgasm will make him worthy of this existence.
And so when you cry out something incoherent, when your eyes roll back again and lips part to give up a strained cry, he can't help but spill his cum inside you, where you squeeze him, where you keep him as he uselessly ruts against your ass more like a habit now than anything else, his thrusts already depleted. David pants hard, resting his forehead on your back and sagging his shoulders as he stills, slowly releasing you from his grip.
He pulls out reluctantly, but revels in the sight of his release slowly trickling out of you and onto the floor, onto the edge of your jeans. He smiles again, knowing he's left his mark here, but can't help the way his palm is already flying towards your ass, smacking it once more. For good luck.
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"Call me if you need a ride home from work. I've got a couple of ideas for what we could do before dawn." His hand rests atop yours for a few lingering moments. After the quiet, almost completely silent minutes it had taken you both to pull your clothes back on, he scribbled a string of numbers on a piece of napkin from the counter and slid it towards you.
The afterglow of a good orgasm looks good on him, you've told him so yourself, relishing in the flustered expression he wears on his face. Boyish, nervous, with his hand 'fixing' his hair a little over twice per minute until he's got you to say you would see him again. That bloodstained leather jacket is slung over his shoulder, offhandedly like he's not thinking about the fact it came off because he needed better motion of his arms to fuck you. He's almost shy about it, too, after talking such a big game and getting confident just because you were wet and needy for him. It's cute. Really cute.
"I will." You answer, growing more relaxed as you're back behind the counter.
He throws some notes into the tip jar, ignoring your protests and uncomfortable excuses. "Gotta make sure you don't get transported into another dimension to scrub toilets or whatever the fuck… need ya alive so we can continue this." With a wink he turns, but returns to lean over the counter for a kiss, pulling you closer by the front of your shirt like he's half-considering dragging you from the rest of your shift out into the night with him. And you return that kiss. And then another before he pulls away and walks out with a lighter step than when he came in. A more tender kiss. For good luck.
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