#IM LOSING MY MIND 10 O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING
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it's all so incredibly loud
Part 6: there's a flood coming to sweep us away
Pairing: wanda maximoff x black!fem!reader
Rating: M (sexual content, language)
Warnings: sex, not very descriptive but still evident, vaginal fingering (r receiving), pietro is the best wing man ever, he's going to make sure his sister gets laid or die trying
Wrd Cnt: 1.9k?
Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Notes: one more chapter (unless i decide on an epilogue) to go! The song is teenage dream but specifically the glee version (stop looking at me like that) 18+ only im so serious
"I'ma get your heart racing in my skin-tight jeans. Be your teenage dream tonight."
You had gotten maybe an hour of sleep all night. First, the fiasco with the boys, and then with Wanda less than a foot away from you, relaxation was hard to come by.
You told her you needed her with you to calm down, and in all honesty, you thought you were telling the truth. But the opposite had occured. As soon as you heard her soft breathy snorts of air, you were riddled with energy.
Sleep didn't find you until the 10 O'clock hour in the morning. After Pietro came into the room with Alexis hanging off of his hip, chewing on his shirt. He told you he'd take the boys out to a 24 hour arcade he saw during his 6 am run. Promising to feed them, give them a stern Uncle Talk (TM), and thus giving you space to rest for as long as he could keep their attention.
You whispered a small, grateful 'Thank you' and Wanda grunted out something unintelligible. Otherwise, she had been dead to the world all night and well into the morning.
Wanda slept like she hadn't slept in months. And you did too, for an hour.
At 11: 06, you awoke to an arm tightening around your waist. Wanda also awoke to an arm tightening around your waist.
She tried to peel away from you, "Shit, Y/N. I'm sorry. Force of habit I guess."
You stopped her with a grip onto her wrist that presented itself more forceful than you intended, "No don't. Please."
Wanda replaced her arm, "Ok. I'm not going anywhere."
You had no business feeling this vulnerable. No business feeling like your ex-wife was the only thing anchoring you to the ground so you wouldn't float away into the stratosphere.
And yet...
That's exactly how you felt.
You felt like you needed to roll over and bury your face into Wanda's neck or else you would lose your mind. So, you did. And Wanda let you because she understood. She just got you.
You reveled in it.
If Wanda hadn't started speaking you would have gotten your second hour of sleep.
"Are you okay?"
And of all the things she could have asked, she chose something hard. You would have been better off with a calculus word problem.
You shrugged, "No. Yes. I don't know. I just feel, y'know?"
"Yes. I do. I just feel all the time."
"How do you deal with it?"
You could feel Wanda's eyelashes flutter on the side of your forehead, "Well, lately? By talking about it. Normally, figuring out why I feel like that helps a lot."
Could you tell Wanda why you felt the way you felt? Could you tell her how your stubbornness was leading to your children thinking they were a burden? Could you tell her that in some ass backwards turn of events it was you who dreaded when she had to leave, and prayed for her return?
Could you tell her that Pietro took the boys out to the arcade so they didn't get the wrong idea seeing the two of you in the same bed, and now it seemed he should have taken you too because you were getting the wrong idea seeing the two of you in the same bed?
"I feel-I feel like I should have gone to therapy too."
Wanda laughed at that, "Don't go to Dr. Raynor. She just looks at you until you realize what you just said was stupid."
But you don't laugh, "I feel like I missed you. I feel like I missed this... being with you. I feel like I shouldn't feel those things. But I also feel like it doesn't matter if I shouldn't because I already do."
Wanda shrugged you away from her side so she could look at you better. The two of you mirroring each other on your sides.
"Can I tell you something?"
You nodded with a look of concern, "You can tell me anything." And you've meant that for years. You've never stopped.
"When I went off the deep end and Strange helped me come back to myself, and I said I'd never use my powers again unless it was the last resort...that flipped something in me. I had just lost my family and then I couldn't use the tools I was gifted to protect them if it ever happened again..."
Tears crawled slowly out of the corners of Wanda's eyes but she didn't bother swiping them away and neither did you.
"...that ruined me. Last night was the first time I've slept throughout the night in a very long time."
You grabbed at Wanda's face, your thumbs sliding over her cheekbones and smearing tear tracks in their wake, "Wanda, why didn't you tell me?"
"Didn't want to seem weak. I didn't want you to worry about my problems. Yes, I realize how stupid that sounds now."
"We're a team, you know that, right?"
"I do, I just got a little lost somewhere in there."
"Good."
You assume that the fact that you can't tell who leans in first, probably insinuates that you both do at the same time.
But it ultimately doesn't matter when your lips touch for the first time in months, and as your hand trails down from her face to fist into her T-shirt, you realize just how lost you had been too.
You're still not too keen on telling her how her bottom lip between your own felt like coming home. And that her solid grip on your barely covered waist practically had you purring.
You sure as hell weren't going to tell her the last time you had been touched this way was by Sharon all those weeks ago and it didn't feel even a bit like this at all.
Though, when she repositions you onto your back to kiss at that spot below your ear, and you moan breathily into hers, you have a feeling she somehow knows.
Wanda's hand slithers up to your chest, raising your shirt up as it goes. Eventually, Wanda gets tired of the garment and slips it easily over your head. Her own following suit soon after.
Her hand tweaked at a nipple, smiling at your squeak of a response, "You're beautiful."
Another unoccupied hand trailed over your stomach before stopping at the hem of your shorts and underwear.
You've got the sudden urge to scream, maybe even beg, "Wanda...please."
"Are you sure?"
What about any of your body language in that current moment said 'unsure'?
"I'm sure. Touch me."
It's not make-up sex that you're having. At least, not really. Not...yet. It's more of 'thank god you're here with me and not letting me slip into a state of mortal peril' sex. Which is, of course, the next best thing.
When Wanda does finally slip underneath your thin garments, and the pads of her fingers trace delicately over your center, you think you might cry.
Whether it be from relief or some other feeling is the least of your worries at the moment.
In some way, you feel bad for Wanda, there's no way she doesn't feel your nails currently digging into her arm, but judging from the glimpse you get every time you manage to pry your eyes open, she seems pretty pleased with herself despite any pain she may be feeling.
The worst part? She's not even inside of you yet.
You're losing your mind over her fingers circling your clit and slipping, sliding over your lips. And you're drenched. Dripping some might even say.
"You're soaked, Detka..." Is what Wanda ends up whispering over your parted mouth. And you have no choice but to cosign.
You could feel her fingertips teasing at your entrance and your chest heaved. It took everything in you not to buck your hips to speed the process along. Only because you know Wanda. You know she likes to bask in your impatience. In your neediness. You know she likes it when you beg.
And you can't find it in you to do anything but.
"Wands, please fuck me."
She's leaning over you now. She had forgone general confidence and went straight to cocky, for lack of a better word. There's no need to pretend like you don't like it.
"Open your eyes." A simple request, it would seem. But it was easier said than done.
Soon, you manage to open your eyes, unfocused as they are. You stare back at Wanda with a bite to your lip and a strain to your neck.
"Say it again."
The words dribble from your lips like milk down a chin, "Wanda, please fuck me. I need-"
Your expletives cut off in exchange for a sharp inhale of breath.
Her fingers slipped into you easily, your resulting moan is the loudest one yet and just as sinful as your whimpers.
Wanda eyed you through her eyelashes, most of your energy was being used to stare back at her.
Her fingers rutted out, then back in. Pumping into you with enough force for your breath to hitch in rhythm.
You whimpered and panted, urging Wanda to pick up the pace. And she happily obliged.
"You look so gorgeous like this." The praise fluttering throught your ear and wrapped softly around your chest.
The hand that wasn't permanently glued to Wanda's poor bicep, reached for her neck, bringing her down into a deliriously arousing kiss.
She pumped into you, as firmly as your underwear allowed. Your bud caught against her palm. It was almost too much for you.
Your hips rolled against her hand, moans increasing in pitch and volume until Wanda had no choice but to muffle the sound with her lips again.
"God...Wanda!"
The kids may be gone, but you did still have neighbors.
It's not much longer after that you let go into Wanda's hand. Your legs trembling and your mouth falling open in a silent scream.
Wanda brought you down softly. Her hand on your waist to keep you from moving.
"But-"
"I'm good. Get some rest. I know you didn't sleep. I thought you would pass out somewhere in the middle of that, if I'm being honest."
You pouted and playfully swatted at her shoulder, "You snore and I got unused to it."
"That's not why you didn't sleep."
You bit the inside of your cheek, "It's not. I find your hog calling cute for some reason."
Wanda ignored the insistence that she snored, "What kept you awake?"
You weren't exactly sure what to say. The simple answer; you had been thinking all night. Too much and too little.
The complicated answer; you missed your fucking wife. And then, she was right there next to you and you didn't know what to feel. You didn't know if you wanted her back permanently or just needed the temporary comfort.
There was still a big question about this entire situation that you had yet to receive an answer to, and maybe then you could begin to figure things out.
"It's my turn to tell you something." You breathed out softly.
"Tell me everything."
You swallowed around the metaphorical lump obstructing your throat, "When I found out about...y'know....I couldn't help but think it was my fault, it was something I did to push you away. I thought that, and even though I didn't know what it was, I still tried to fix it, to fix me. And, that wasn't good...I-I just need to know if it was something I did."
"No. No, it was never you. After Strange, I guess I just felt like I wasn't enough. Like I couldn't be enough. And instead of talking to you about that like a normal person, I got so drunk I couldn't see straight and went home with someone who couldnt either. Fuck, I am so sorry I made you feel like that. I promise it was never you. You're perfect."
Your tears soak into the skin of Wanda's neck. Marking her in a way you've never done.
The silence that results is somewhere between comfortable and not, but Wanda breaks it anyway.
"Go on a date with me."
You hum, that time you really were seconds from passing out, "A date?"
"Yes. A date. I think we've changed a lot and should probably reintroduce ourselves to each other."
You nodded slowly, "Okay. You have to find a babysitter though and it can't be Pietro because he needs a babysitter too most days. I have a feeling he let Alexis chew his shirt right off his body today."
"Deal."
Another bout of silence. This time, you're the one who breaks it.
"Fuck, we're going to need so much therapy."
Wanda laughs.
"I'm sorry."
"I know." And you do. You know she is.
Eventually, you do fall asleep, and right before Pietro and the kids get home, Wanda slips out of your room into the livingroom. Making it look like she was there the entire morning.
#wanda maximoff x you#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maxmoff x y/n#wanda maximoff#marvel female reader insert#marvel fanfiction#wlw fiction#jessicas fanfic#its all so incredibly loud
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Paint My Spirit Gold
Dukeceit Week Day 2: Green/Yellow
Fans of the YouTubers "Deceit" and Remus "The Duke" Sanders start to suspect that maybe, just maybe, the two of them are more than simple internet pals.
AO3 Link: [here]
Word Count: 2187
Warnings: n/a
@dukeceitweek <3
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[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a watercolor-style painting of a snake. The snake appears to be made of melting chocolate, and there is a large bite taken out of its tail. Cherries and jam are leaking out of the snake at the bite wound. The snake's expression of horror is overly-exaggerated to the point of comedy. The caption reads: "liked your snake boi, @SerpenThyme. thanks for the inspo." /end ID]
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A notification ding cut Janus off mid-sentence.
“Wow, someone left their cell phone on, so professional,” he said, giving the camera a dramatic eye roll. That someone was him, of course, because he was the only one in the apartment- just him and the running livestream- but that was no excuse not to be a drama queen about it. He finished wiping flour off his hands and grabbed his phone to silence it; but the notification made him pause. He flicked his eyes up toward the camera and gave a slight smirk.
“My goodness, I’m famous,” he drawled. “The Duke himself has graced little old me with some fan art.”
Most of the comments in the chat wanted him to show it, so Janus opened up Twitter to see the full post he’d been tagged in. It was a watercolor painting of the coiled-snake chocolate sculpture- lovingly named Jake by his viewers- he’d made for his YouTube video last week; it was wearing an expression of such comedic horror that Janus had to stifle a laugh. He flicked his phone screen toward the close-up camera on his counter so his viewers could see.
“How kind of you, Remus,” he said. “All of you should go scold him for what he’s done to poor Jake here.”
Most of his viewers would know he was joking- after all, they were the ones to nickname him Deceit when he provided neither a real or fake name for his online persona. They knew full well what he was like by now.
The oven timer dinged. Janus silenced his phone and set it aside.
“And our first batch of cookies is done. You know, why don’t we show the Duke some appreciation?”
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[ID: An Instagram post by user @SerpenThyme. The photo is an artistically-framed shot of a stack of sugar cookies with green, yellow, and pink icing. Propped up against the stack is another cookie, with an intricate icing-drawing of an octopus. The photo appears to have been color corrected to have high contrast, low saturation, and a dark vignette at the edges. The Instagram user @OctoDukie is tagged. No caption. /end ID]
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“You know, I have often been accused of actually being a little old lady, what with my fondness for knitted jumpers, rocking chairs, and incredibly fucked up murder mystery books. Today I am doing nothing to dispel this accusation, by making soup.”
The studio was dark and empty aside from Remus' workspace. Everyone else had left long ago, even his own brother, which meant that it was officially ass-o'clock in the morning (or, as most people called it, somewhere between 1 and 2 a.m.) But Remus was stuck in hyperfocus, honed in on putting the last touches on a commission that he'd been putting off for weeks. It's not that it was a tough painting- once he'd gotten started, it was actually a very creatively satisfying piece- but man, executive dysfunction could go suck a dick
“French onion soup, specifically. Because while I do like to pretend I am a classy bitch, I am also, regrettably, a lazy bitch with a distaste for anything that takes longer than one bottle of wine to make.”
Remus hated working in silence. It was stifling, almost suffocating. His brain needed noise like his lungs needed air. So when the studio had grown still and silent, Remus had flipped open his laptop and queued up some YouTube videos.
“So we have here three pounds of onions that we need to slice up, pole to pole. You’re going to cry no matter what, so if you have any memories you’ve been repressing since middle school, now is an excellent time to dredge those up.”
And if it happened to be 90% SerpenThyme videos, well. Sue him.
“Now the first rule of caramelizing onions: fast and sloppy is always better than slow and thorough… at least, that’s what every man I’ve ever slept with tells me.”
Remus choked and glanced over to his laptop screen just in time to catch Deceit's trademark smirk directed at the audience just for a moment. It was the deadpan delivery that always got him. Remus could barely hold onto a joke long enough to get through it without cackling mid-punchline, but this fucker could say the funniest shit like an off-hand comment.
He wiped his hands off on his jeans (what use were clothes if you couldn't use them as paint rags?) and pulled his laptop across the table. He typed out a quick comment, citing the timestamp of the joke, and after it was posted, he shut his laptop.
'Cause ass-o'clock was short for "get-your-ass-home-or-I’ll-kick-it" o'clock.
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[ID: A screenshot of a YouTube comments section. The first comment is by user TheDuke, and reads: "10:42 wow, rude." The second comment is a reply by user SerpenThyme, and simply reads ";)" /end ID]
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Janus plopped down on the couch with a slight groan. He didn’t need to stream today, but he really hated missing days. Besides… he was fine. Really.
He adjusted the camera until he was happy with the framing, and then checked the settings on his streaming software. Satisfied, he started the stream, and watched as his usual viewers rolled in.
“What do you mean I’m not in my kitchen?” Janus drawled, addressing the chat. He glanced around with an expression of faux-shock on his face. “My goodness, when did that happen?”
He chuckled, and then gestured to his surroundings. “Yes, we are in my living room today. If you must know, my closest and most trusted friend tried to murder me today- yes, Virgil, it was attempted murder and nothing less- and I survived with nary a scratch… and a broken foot, but that is beside the point. Anyway, I’m not allowed to stand for long periods of time, and I may or may not be somewhat inebriated by pain pills and couldn’t stand even if I wanted to. So we are cooking from my couch today.”
Janus paused for a few moments to read the chat messages as they popped up. A few get well soon’s, a few theories about the “attempted murder,” Virgil- who moderated his chat for him- vehemently denying the “attempted murder” but otherwise refusing to clarify the event, and a large volume of wtf why are you streaming today, take care of yourself comments, which made him smile. But one particular comment caught his eye, almost lost amid the torrent of an active chat: wait this kinda looks like the Duke’s living room?
“Oh, VampSuga,” he said, addressing that commenter in particular with a slight smirk. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Anyway, since I can’t reach my oven from here, I thought some no-bake cookies were in order. For these you will need-”
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[ID: A screenshot of a Discord conversation. The text reads:
“VampSuga: Ok ok hear me out. Dukeceit.
Starstruck96: who?
IneffableSnek: lmao
FeralBeauYasha: lol
VampSuga: Deceit and Remus Sanders! They’re totally dating. I will die on this hill.
FeralBeauYasha: Isn’t the duke w/ PatPat?
IneffableSnek: no thats his brothers bf
FeralBeauYasha: ohh
VampSuga: Did anyone see Deceit’s stream today? I swear that’s the Duke’s livingroom.
StarStruck96: idk that seems like a stretch
IneffableSnek: no wait i kno what u mean
IneffableSnek: im watching the duke’s old videos and that one where he shows off all his old weapons he’s in a living room kinda like deceit’s
FeralBeauYasha: They were acting all cute on twitter too
VampSuga: DUKECEIT” /end ID]
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"Hey guys, been a while since you've seen my face and not just whatever my hands are busy with, when it's within YouTube's terms and conditions I mean. They used to be way more lenient…" Remus trailed off for a moment, then shook his head sharply and plastered on a grin.
"Anyway! In June me and a few other creators did a fundraiser for the Trevor Project, and y'all smashed the goal, so I let you decide what video I'd make this month." He paused, and gestured to the mountain of clothes piled behind him on the bed. "And you had so many juicy ideas to choose from, but you decided to dress me up like a Barbie instead."
Remus paused to scroll through his phone for a few moments. "Ah, ok, here we go. Twitter user YoonIsMyCat- oh, BTS, nice- sent in this first outfit. Uh… future Remus, put up the post here somewhere." He gestured vaguely to his right. "Y'all went with either a fuckton more clothes or a fuckton less clothes, which I respect. Apparently this outfit is called…” He squinted at his phone. “Amish chic? I take it back, no respect at all.”
Remus cycled through the outfits his viewers sent in, which ranged from the aforementioned “Amish chic” to “2008 rave attire” to “ok now you guys are just fucking with me” (which consisted of one of those big puffy snow coats, lime green in color; booty shorts with the shrug text emoji across the ass; fuzzy pink boots; and a yellow cowboy hat to top off the whole thing. It was awful. Remus loved it.) The mountain of clothes on the bed gradually became a mess of clothes spread across the floor instead, until there was just one outfit left.
“Ok so Twitter user VampSuga sent me this outfit that I’m gonna call ‘sexy librarian.’ I couldn’t find this exact sweater online, but-” he paused for dramatic effect, before brandishing a sweater toward the camera like a bullfighter. “My boyfriend had something that was close enough.”
Remus hopped up from the bed and switched off the camera so he could change.
“They’re going to lose their minds,” a voice drawled from the doorway. Remus threw his shirt at him.
“Shoo, I’m getting naked.”
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[ID: A Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a selfie of YouTuber Remus “The Duke” Sanders, a Hispanic man with his hair dyed green and styled into a spiked mohawk. He is wearing a yellow knitted cardigan over a black button-up shirt. He is grinning widely at the camera. The caption reads: “my viewers pick my outfits! now live on youtube. go see what i look like as a sexy librarian!” /end ID]
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DukeceitStan
first and only dukeceit shipper ig
DukeceitStan
wow there’s so many of you now! Hi!!
DukeceitStan
i want this to be canon so bad omg
DukeceitStan
i mean just look
[image]
how
[image]
cute
[image]
[ID: A series of three gifs featuring Youtubers SerpenThyme, aka Deceit, and TheDuke, aka Remus Sanders. Deceit is a black man with long, dreadlocked hair, and vitiligo patches along the left side of his face. Remus is a Hispanic man with green-dyed hair styled into a mohawk, many ear and facial piercings, and tattoos covering both arms. Each gif is edited so that the highlights are tinged yellow when Deceit is seen, and tinged green when Remus is seen.
The first gif depicts a close-up shot of Deceit’s hands as he carefully decorates a cookie with green and yellow icing. The cookie art he is working on appears to be a half-finished octopus. The gif then fades into a mid-shot of Remus, with his back to the camera, facing a canvas. The canvas is blank, and Remus appears to be laying out paints on a table to his left.
The second gif depicts Deceit seated at his couch, facing the camera. He has many ingredients spread across his coffee table (including oats, cocoa powder, and butter) and appears to be in the process of laying out several more. The gif fades to show Remus seated at a similar couch with a similar coffee table in front of him. The camera is angled slightly downward to better show the myriad of knives spread out across the table. Remus is gesturing wildly with a morning star held in his hand.
The third gif depicts Deceit in his kitchen. He is pulling on a bright, yellow knitted cardigan, and smirking toward the camera. The gif fades to show Remus in his bedroom, seated on his bed. He is holding up a similar-looking cardigan toward the camera and grinning. /end ID]
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“Remus, it’s almost two in the morning. Come to bed.”
“I’m coming, sorry. Twitter distracted me.”
“Mm. I can’t believe the bird app is more distracting than I am.”
“You should try harder.”
“Come to bed and maybe I will.”
“Ok, ok, I’m coming. Hang on though, is it cool if I post this?”
“Sure. They figured it out anyway.”
“Sweet. Ok, Jannie, I’m coming.”
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[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It reads: “Dukeceit is canon.” /end ID]
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How to Lose a Lover in 10 Days or Less: A Comprehensive Guide to Becoming a Future Romantic Failure (Chapter Two)
AO3
Fandom: Homestuck
Summary: How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days AU Dave needs to win a bet; Karkat needs to write an article. Shenanigans ensue.
Tags: Humanstuck, alternate universe - no sburb session, POV switches galore, implied/referenced child abuse Author’s note: This story is the result of a jam session I did with aceAdoxography on the davekat thirst federation discord server. This one's a little out of my usual wheelhouse, but I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. New chapters every Saturday/Sunday.
Didn’t bother with the formatting this time: You want the fancy formatting, go to AO3 :D
Day 1:
Despite his slacker appearance (and life-style, to be honest), Dave was always punctual. He'd even made an effort to look the part of a guy going on a date with another guy: jeans with only a few holes at the knees, his favorite record shirt, and a red hoodie—all freshly cleaned. So freshly cleaned that the sweater was still very slightly damp. Well, whatever, it'd be fine. They were having dinner first, and that meant he'd have plenty of time for the thing to dry out before they went to the movies where the main thrust of Dave's doki-doki plan would commence.
Karkat arrived a few minutes later. He wasn't dressed to the nines, but it was at least to the sevens. It occurred to Dave, as he watched him approach, that he hadn't known how tall Karkat was. The answer was slightly shorter than Dave but with a more solid build. Stocky. Or maybe that was just the black sweater he was wearing. Then again, his legs looked pretty solid in the black pants he was wearing, too. Either way, he looked good.
Dave gave him an appreciative whistle which made Karkat's eyes narrow. Not the reaction he'd wanted. “Looking good, Karkat,” he said quickly, hoping to smooth over any feathers he might have inadvertently ruffled. “I'm digging the whole sexy college professor thing you've got going.”
“Uh, thanks,” Karkat said with evident disbelief. “You, uh, you look good, too.” He straightened up. “You said we were doing dinner first.”
“Yep.” Dave held out his arm. “I’m taking you to my favorite place. A lot of people think it’s wack, but I’m buying, so if you really don’t like it, at least it didn’t cost you anything.” When his date didn't immediately take his offered arm, he shook it invitingly. “It's not too far from here.”
Karkat looked from Dave's arm to Dave, suspicious. Then he sighed and laid his hand on Dave's arm, his hold tighter than Dave had expected it to be considering his earlier hesitation. “Okay. Fine. Sounds great. Let's go.”
---
The first thing Karkat noticed when he took Dave's arm was that his sleeve was damp. Then he noticed the feeling of the arm beneath his fingers. Despite looking thin enough to break, there was some muscle here. As they walked to what was apparently Dave’s favorite restaurant, Dave just kept talking. If Karkat had been offered a thousand dollars, he doubted he could have remembered any specific details of the inanity he'd been subjected to. A nervous talker. He'd have to put that down in his notes.
Dinner went much the same. Dave talked at him while Karkat sat there trying to eat his food (overpriced, faux Italian—of all the places Dave could have chosen, he'd picked a fucking Olive Garden? That was going in his notes, too.). In all honesty, Karkat tried not to pay too much attention to what was being said. First, he'd already determined that most of what came out of this man's mouth was completely meaningless nonsense, and second, if he actually listened to any of it, he'd be hard pressed not to respond to the idiocy. While Dave had no evident compunction about swearing, Karkat wanted to get through at least this first date without screaming.
All right, so that was an exaggeration. Some of what Dave said was actually pretty funny. In a hopelessly awkward sort of way. Karkat hated that Dave's clumsy compliments were making him blush. Clearly, the man had brain damage... which also explained the rapping that Dave kept doing (completely unprovoked!). By the time dinner was over, Karkat was only too grateful that their next destination meant that Dave would have to stop talking.
---
Since Dave had picked the restaurant, Karkat had picked the movie. Some romantic comedy chick flick Dave couldn't be bothered to remember the title of. Still, it gave him an opportunity to sit right tight next to Karkat and eat his weight in popped, buttery goodness, so he really couldn't complain.
“What’s the deal with that dude?” Dave whispered. “I thought he was already tight with that other chick. What gives? Is he cheating on her?”
Karkat made a noise like a cat being stepped on but softer. “Dave,” he whispered back, his tone full of the same sing-songy patient impatience that Rose would use when she thought Dave was being particularly dim, “if you were paying attention, you'd already know that that 'dude' is that 'other chick's' cousin. They are probably not romantically involved. I know you're from Texas, but that's not how it works above the Mason Dixon line.” Then he ducked his head and took a long drink from his soda. “Sorry. Just-just watch the movie and be quiet.”
Dave blinked. He'd been starting to think Karkat wasn't going to open up at all. At least, he'd had fuck all to say during dinner. Even if it had been an incest joke at his expense, it still was nice to hear Karkat say something. Something that wasn't just non-committal noises or unenthusiastic agreements. He leaned against Karkat's shoulder to whisper, “It's not true, you know. About Texas. We don't fuck our cousins; I mean, we do, but not first cousins. We're strictly second cousins only. It's a rule. Of course, none of my second cousins are as hot as you, so I'd be willing to make an exception. Just this once.”
This earned him a light elbowing to the gut and a low growl, but Karkat didn't push him off.
By the end of the movie, Dave had gotten five more elbows to the gut, three startled bursts of laughter, two creative insults (quickly joined by muttered apologies), and one “Will you please just let me watch this movie?” Over all, Dave felt like he'd succeeded in charming the hell out of this motherfucker, thank you very much.
They'd walked out into the open air, a nice breeze whisking away the smell of popcorn and sweat from the movie theater. “I had a lot of fun, Karkat. Thanks for coming on this date with me. Do you think we could do this again sometime?”
Karkat blinked at him, a clear look of surprise on his face. “Oh, uh, sure.” He shook his head. “I mean, yes, I'd love to go on another date with you.”
Dave's heart leapt. “Awesome. You can hit me up on Pesterchum. Or I can hit you up. How about I hit you up?”
“Fine, that's... that's fine.” Karkat's smile seemed uneven. “I'll be looking forward to it.”
Although Dave was tempted to try for a kiss, he didn't think he ought to press his luck so far on the first date. Karkat had loosened up some while they'd been in the theater, but out here under the streetlight, he looked nervous again. The last thing Dave wanted to do was chase him away. “Okay then. I guess I'll see you later?”
A slow nod. “Yeah, later.” Karkat was stilted and contained again. Restricted, like a hermit crab stuck in a shell that was too tight. It wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all. Dave had caught a few glimpses of the real Karkat tonight, and the sight made him hungry to see more.
Dave watched him walk away, admiring the view with a new goal in mind: he was going to get Karkat Vantas out of his shell if it was the last thing he did. Getting to rub him in Rose’s face at her wedding was only going to be a bonus.
---
* Never shuts up. Not even during movies. Especially during movies. Attention span of a gnat. From Texas. Doesn't know how to use a dryer. Finds me attractive. Probable brain damage. Funny. Charming. Obnoxious. Never takes off sunglasses. Olive Garden.
Karkat sighed and set down his pen. He'd tried his best to be as cordial as he knew how to be, and he still hadn't managed to last for the entire four hours without insulting his date. Multiple times. Oh well. At least Dave was apparently brain damaged enough to find rudeness terribly amusing (if the way he'd kept bugging Karkat during the movie had been any indication).
He'd been surprised when Dave had actually asked if they could go on another date. Karkat knew he hadn't made the best impression, and yet Dave wanted to spend more time with him? He looked over his notes, trying to ignore the surge of happiness that filled him at the thought. It didn't mean anything: Dave was clearly an idiot, and after a few more days, Karkat was going to start on the offensive. Whatever meager promise there would have been in this fledgling romance, it was still doomed from the start: like all of Karkat's relationships.
Day 2:
It was all Dave could do to wait until the next day to pester Karkat. He didn't want to come off as too eager, after all. Didn't want to put Karkat off. But Dave was only so strong.
TG: so i was thinking
TG: if youre not busy
TG: we could go to the park this afternoon
TG: watch the grifters and maybe get robbed
TG: or you could come to my place and hang
TG: is it too soon to do that?
TG: asking for a friend
TG: this is dave by the way
TG: i dont know how many people youre talking to
TG: not that its any of my business
TG: i wouldnt want you up in my grill asking me who im talking to
CG: IT IS SIX O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING ON SUNDAY.
TG: yea and youre up anyway
CG: BECAUSE YOU WOKE ME UP. WITH YOUR TEXTS. THAT YOU SENT JUST NOW.
TG: oh shit sorry
CG: IT'S FINE. I NEEDED TO GET UP ANYWAY.
CG: YOU WANT TO HANG OUT WITH ME? WHY?
Dave frowned down at his phone. Was Karkat fishing for compliments or was he being serious?
TG: because its fun to hang out with you
TG: thats how this works right?
TG: i thought we could watch another movie
TG: at my place
TG: or your place i guess if that works better for you
TG: ive got popcorn if that sweetens the deal at all
CG: YES. BECAUSE THE WAY TO MY HEART IS MICROWAVED POPCORN.
TG: fucking called it
CG: …
CG: FINE. I'LL MEET YOU AT THE PARK AT 2:30PM. IS THAT ACCEPTABLE?
TG: perfect ill meet you by the giant yo
CG: YOU MEAN THE OY/YO.
TG: tomatoes tomotoes karkat
Dave watched the little “CG is typing” message run for almost a minute, feeling his nervousness grow. What had he said that required a novel length response? He managed to reign in the impulse to apologize preemptively, but it was a struggle.
CG: OKAY. WHATEVER. I'LL MEET YOU THERE.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Fine, good then. Nothing was wrong.
TG: im looking forward to it
TG: its not hard to intuit
TG: when we come out to debut
TG: sit by the yo then well go round
TG: downtown get the lowdown
TG: before we get busy in the hissie
TG: partake of the fizzie cause we got a duty
TG: to watch the fuck out of this movie
CG: RIGHT. SEE YOU THEN. BYE.
Dave shrugged. He couldn't expect Karkat to really appreciate his off the cuff rhymes so soon after waking up, he supposed. Maybe they'd land better later. Flat reception or not, the important thing was he'd gotten Karkat to agree to come to his apartment. He looked around, frowning. Maybe he should clean up a little.
---
Jesus Fucking Christ. Karkat tossed his phone on the bedside table with a groan. It had been all that he could do not to curse out Dave like there would never be a tomorrow. Considering the fact that he was currently planning to go to the apartment of a practical stranger, that much might just be true for him. He lay in bed a little longer, out of spite mostly—he could never get back to sleep after being woken up—, before getting out from under the covers. First things first: notes.
* Inconsiderate asshole. Horrible rapper. Calls the OY/YO “the YO”. Doesn't know the right way to express “tomatoes, tomahtos”. Wants to spend time with me. Insane. We have that much in common.
Thanks to Dave's wake-up call, Karkat had plenty of time to eat a hearty breakfast and start his article.
“How to Lose a Lover in 10 Days or Less: A Comprehensive Guide to Becoming a Future Romantic Failure”
BY KARKAT VANTAS
Since you have decided to read this article, I will assume that you are looking to learn the art of ruining your relationships without the mess of all that trial and error. Maybe you enjoy breaking hearts. Maybe you are the kind of masochist who enjoys getting their heart broken but is at a loss as to how to properly sabotage your relationship yourself. If you can manage to follow these simple steps, you will be well on your way to the same bitter loneliness that usually only the most unlucky in love get the privilege to experience.
The first step is the victim. For the purposes of this article, I picked one that is particularly obnoxious and brain dead. You may have different qualities you are looking for in a potential short-term partner. Ultimately, the most important thing to consider when you plan to lose a guy (or gal or enby) is that you make certain they are one you do not mind losing. That way you can start the process without any regrets.
The second step is the hook. Laugh at their dumb jokes; accept their stupid compliments; ignore their mangling of the English language (in my case, his horrible rapping); and generally be as agreeable as you can manage. A severe lack of intelligence in your short-term partner can be a boon here, though you will find most people are not immune to flattery. You need to make certain that you have your short-term partner well and truly interested in you before you attempt to lose them. If you try to lose them too soon, you will miss out on the full relationship ruining experience.
A little too informal, maybe, but a fine start. Depending on how well this afternoon went (assuming he wasn't murdered and stuffed in a closet), maybe Karkat would be able to start on step three. He was able to stomp down his nascent guilt with ease. After all, Dave wouldn't have been interested in him after the novelty wore off anyway.
---
The afternoon was a little warmer than the evening had been, but Dave still wore his hoodie. It felt lucky, and it was still clean. More the latter than the former, but the point stood! He sat down on the bench next to the giant yellow YO installation and waited. While it was tempting to shoot a message to Karkat, he decided against it. He’d be seeing him in less than ten minutes, and he didn’t want him to think he was clingy. Which he wasn’t. Totally not. Dave Strider had never clung his whole life. Ask anyone. Except Jade. Don’t ask her.
He noticed his leg was bouncing and put a stop to that noise. He was a cool operator. He had this thing on lock. The date yesterday had gone good, right? Karkat wouldn’t have agreed to see him again if he’d had a terrible time. He pushed back his hood and ran a hand through his hair. Nothing to worry about. He’d have a date for Rose’s wedding and continue sorting out the mystery that was Karkat Vantas.
Dave heard the crunch of gravel and looked over to see Karkat approaching. Another sweater combo, but gray this time. The guy had a style he preferred, clearly. It was fine: he looked great. He stood and closed the distance between them. “Hey, Karkat.”
“Hey,” Karkat returned, frowning. Of course, that seemed to be his default expression. “I brought a movie to watch,” he said gruffly.
Although Dave had been hoping he’d be able to pick the movie this time, he wasn’t too cut up about it. It might be a little early in the relationship to bring out The Room anyway. He wouldn’t know. “Sounds great. My place isn’t too far from here.” He held his arm out. “Shall we?”
Again, Karkat regarded his arm with suspicion. “Why do you do this?”
“Do what?”
Karkat opened his mouth before seeming to think better of whatever he’d planned to say. “Never mind.” He took Dave’s arm. “Let’s get going.”
As they walked to his apartment, Dave tried to keep the conversation flowing, but Karkat’s subdued responses quickly killed his enthusiasm. “I feel like I’m talking too much,” he said finally.
Karkat mumbled something which sounded suspiciously like “You think?” before he shook his head. “No, of course not. I’m just a little too tired to, uh, participate, that’s all.”
Dave winced at the reminder of his first faux pas of the day. “No problem, dude. I got us covered. I got words for days.”
“Months even,” Karkat added before ducking his head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have--”
Nudging Karkat’s side, Dave laughed. “Nah, man it’s true. I’ve got words for fucking years.”
Karkat smiled slightly. “Decades.”
“Centuries.”
“Eons”
“Until the next motherfucking epoch, I’ve got words, Karkat. So many words. All the words even.”
Karkat snorted, covering his face with his free hand. “Damn it, Dave. Stop making yourself likeable.”
“I think that’s the point of this whole thing,” Dave pointed out reasonably. “Dating, I mean. It’s not like the old days where your dad and my dad decide if you’re worth enough chickens to trade me for, you know. These days I get to decide for myself how many chickens I want to be traded for.” He gave Karkat a mock critical eye. “How about it, Karkat? How many chickens could I get for you?”
“I don’t know,” Karkat said, his mock serious tone almost too close to a serious tone for Dave’s comfort. “Let me look in my pocket.” He made a show of staring down at the pocket containing his free hand before sliding the hand out and flipping Dave the bird. “Is this enough for you?”
Dave laughed. “I’m sorry, Karkat. You must have at least five chickens to ride this ride.” He felt his face flush but pushed onward. “I guess you’ll have to settle for a movie, and maybe some pizza.”
Karkat was grinning, and Dave decided right then and there that he wanted to keep seeing it. “Maybe next time.” As though to intentionally spite him, Karkat frowned again. “Are we almost there?”
“Yeah, man, just a little further.” As they continued their journey to his apartment, Dave felt himself frown. What was Karkat’s deal? He was a lot more fun when he let himself be himself. Dave didn’t like meanness for meanness sake, but he enjoyed a good joke. For some reason, Karkat seemed to think he shouldn’t joke around? Why? His frown deepened. Karkat also apologized a lot. And he was so often deferential even when it was obvious he had OPINIONS he wasn’t sharing. The pieces were adding up to a disturbing picture.
Maybe after he was done hanging out with Karkat today, he should hit up Rose. She’d know what to do.
---
Karkat’s expectations for Dave’s apartment had been fairly low, and he’d been pleasantly surprised. While not as meticulous as his own apartment, there at least weren’t empty food containers on every surface or dirty clothes everywhere. There was an overall shabbiness though: the feeling that the occupant didn’t care overly much about the apartment’s upkeep. The futon in front of the television was ancient and threadbare as were the carpets. The posters hung on the walls were dusty and faded, and there was a sort of mildewy smell. Still, as previously mentioned it was clean (more or less), and there were no obvious signs of a hidden murder dungeon (not that there would be if there were one, naturally).
“Nice place,” he said for politeness’ sake.
Dave beamed like a little boy who’d gotten just what he’d wanted for Christmas. “Thanks. It’s not much, but it keeps the rain off.” He gestured towards the futon. “Make yourself at home. Do you want anything to drink? I’ve got apple juice. And water from the tap, I guess. I could go pick up some beer if you want to go that route, or--”
Karkat held up his hand, hoping to stem the tide of suggestions. “Water’s fine, thank you.”
“You’ve got it,” Dave said before tilting his head and making twin awkward gestures with both hands involving his pointer fingers. “I’ll be back in a flash.”
It wasn’t until after he’d disappeared into, presumably, the kitchen that Karkat realized he’d been making finger guns. What a dork. Not that Karkat was any more suave, but he liked to think he was at least less childish. He tried to supplant the rush of fondness he felt by recalling just how pissed he’d been with this manchild this morning. It was not one hundred percent successful.
Dave returned with two glasses: water for Karkat, and apple juice for himself. “Take a seat,” he insisted as he set the glasses on the coffee table (sans coasters). “It won’t bite.”
Gingerly, Karkat took a seat on the ancient futon. The padding was so thin, he could feel the bars beneath. It was going to take a while to become unbearable, and he hoped this hang out? date? didn’t last long enough for that to happen. Just as he’d been about to reach for the water, suddenly uncertain whether he actually ought to drink anything Dave gave him, Dave flopped down onto the futon beside him like a sack of gangly flour. “Dave!”
“S’up?” Dave asked, grinning.
“Don’t ‘s’up’ me--,” Karkat managed to stop himself from calling Dave an asshole, but only just. “Just don’t ‘s’up’ me. Speak like a normal person.” He realized he was making a mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “Sorry, I--”
“Dude,” Dave said, his grin dropping away, “Karkat, you don’t have to apologise for every kind of mean thing you say. I’m a big boy: I can take it.”
Karkat supposed he shouldn’t be surprised: he’d never been good at pretending to be a good person. If he could have managed that feat for any length of time, he wouldn’t be in this position. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said as dryly as he could.
“I’m serious.” Dave sat up and turned to face Karkat head on, and Karkat saw his own annoyed expression mirrored in the black lenses. “I haven’t known you very long, and maybe I shouldn’t say anything, but--”
“You’re right,” Karkat interrupted, feeling his tenuous hold on his temper slipping. “You shouldn’t say anything.” After taking a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to say anything he didn’t mean to, he spoke again. “Let’s just watch the movie and eat some microwaved popcorn. Does that sound like something we could do? Or would you like to keep pretending you have some deep insights into my character as though we’ve known each other longer than three days?”
Dave raised his hands, and Karkat realized he’d sounded far more aggressive than the situation warranted. At this rate, he wouldn’t even get a chance to lose this asshole! Nice job, Vantas: stellar work. “No, you’re right. I’ll step off.” Dave said softly. He got off of the futon with far more grace than he’d flopped onto it with. “You just put the movie in, and I’ll, uh, I’ll make the popcorn.”
Karkat watched him go before putting his head in his hands. Well, fuck. As though this whole situation hadn’t been awkward before. He should just leave. Just leave, forget about his stupid article, and stop dragging this stupidly likeable idiot down with him. He should.
He stayed where he was.
---
Dave took maybe longer than he absolutely needed to to prepare the popcorn. As much as he liked to consider himself a smooth operator, he could tell when he’d made a mistake, and he wanted to give the guy in the other room a chance to cool down. What made it made it worse was that Karkat had been right to get mad at him: Dave barely knew him. In his place, Dave would probably be pissed, too.
Even so, Dave didn’t think he was wrong about the conclusions he’d come to. It was obvious that Karkat was, for whatever reason, putting on a show for Dave’s sake. Honestly, it was kind of creepy. If he understood why Karkat felt the need to do that, he’d feel better about it.
But it wasn’t his business. Not yet. Maybe you had to reach a certain level on the boyfriend echeladder before that kind of thing was something you talked about. It would probably help if they were actually boyfriends and not just newly dating, too. There seemed to be at least one obvious solution to that problem.
Dave could be patient. After all, he still had eleven days or so to get Karkat to at least like him enough to be his plus one at Rose’s wedding. It wasn’t all he wanted anymore, but it'd be enough to start with. As Rose had so often told him, start with small goals.
He poured an obscene amount of butter over the popcorn in the bowl and headed out to the living room. Karkat was bent over, fiddling with the DVD player, and when he looked up at Dave, his mouth was curved somewhat upwards. “What movie do you have for us?”
Karkat stood. “Coming to America.” He made his way back to the futon and sat down as though worried he might fall through if he sat down too quickly. “It’s more comedy than romantic, so I thought you might enjoy it more.”
That sounded vaguely familiar. “Okay.” Dave joined him on the futon, taking care not to startle him this time. “Let’s get this party started.”
---
Karkat had hoped bringing a comedy would hold Dave’s attention enough to keep him from talking through the whole thing. He’d been mistaken. Yes, a lot of what Dave said was funny, but it just never fucking stopped. Finally, Karkat couldn’t take it anymore.
He grabbed the remote and paused the movie. Then he very deliberately set the remote back down. “I want you to listen to me, Dave. Are you listening?”
Dave looked confused, but he nodded. “Yeah, I’m listening. Do you have something you want to tell me? I’m all ears. Lay it on me.”
God, he couldn’t even listen without rambling! “Would it kill you to shut up?” He saw Dave’s eyebrows peek over the tops of his glasses. A part of him told him to reconsider his current course of action, but naturally, Karkat could never abide by a piece of good advice. “Would it literally cause you to drop dead if you couldn’t expel your idiocy out of your mouth like a goddamned septic pipe full of half-formed metaphors and bullshit? Would your head explode? Can we try that experiment and see what happens?” Karkat felt his fingernails biting into his palms and realized he’d clenched his fists. “What do you say, Dave? Wait, I’ve changed my mind: don’t say anything. Let me bask in the gentle ethereal glow of silence for a moment. Can you do that for me, Dave? Can you let me bask? Will the endless flow of words finally cease?”
‘No’ was clearly the answer to that question since Dave was already opening his mouth. Then, to Karkat’s utter shock, he shut it again. His expression wasn’t ever easy to read with those douche shades he insisted on wearing all the time, but now it was completely closed off. Even the eyebrows had lowered back to their original position.
Silence stretched between them.
Karkat felt sick to his stomach. Shit. Shit. He really just couldn’t do it, could he? Couldn’t pretend even for a few hours that he was a normal person. Well, so much for this experiment. Time to write off this little adventure. Was it worth even trying to apologise? Before he could decide, Dave made the decision for him.
He was clapping. “Damn, just got owned,” he said, a wide grin splitting his face. “You owned me, Karkat. You should feel proud. Not everyone gets own this,” he gestured to himself. “I just hope you know what you’re getting into: I’m barely house trained.”
For an embarrassingly high number of seconds, all Karkat could do was blink. “You’re not mad?”
“Fuck no,” Dave said, still grinning. “I’m a big kid now. I’ve graduated from diapers all the way to pull ups. It takes more than a finely crafted, well-deserved take down to take me down.” The grin softened. “This is what I was trying to say before: I want to date you, not some weird super agreeable version of you. If you want to tell me off for talking too much, fucking go for it. You’ve got a way with insults--it’s a gift. Frankly, I’m insulted you’ve been keeping it to yourself.”
“There’s more where that comes from, asshole,” Karkat said before he could stop himself. To his amazement, Dave still seemed more amused than anything. A strange mixture of anger and fondness welled up inside him. “Stop grinning at me, and watch the fucking movie.” He picked up the remote and hesitated. “You don’t have to be silent,” he said, still feeling a little guilty over his earlier outburst, “just maybe less talking?”
Dave made a big show of running a zipper over his lips. Then he immediately ruined it by saying, “Scouts honor, Karkat. My word is bond. You can cash that shit at the bank.”
Karkat tried to picture Dave as a boy scout and failed. “Right.” He pressed play and the movie resumed. Of course, Dave still talked during the movie, but the sheer volume of words had slowed to a moderate stream rather than the full-bore blasting Karkat had been subjected to earlier. As he sat there on the futon, occasionally answering Dave’s stupid comments with barbs of his own, he felt warm in a way that was only nominally connected to the temperature of the arm he was leaning against. He felt… content.
---
Overall, Operation Hang Out had been a big success. It had been rocky in places, but again, overall, Dave felt like he’d hit his major mission objectives. A movie was watched, pizza was consumed, and Karkat finally, finally, did something other than apologise every time a hint of the person he’d met at the cafe had come through. He didn’t necessarily want to keep pissing Karkat off, but that bitch fit he’d thrown had been epic.
Karkat wasn’t the kind of guy Dave had expected to find himself interested in. At least, he’d never thought he’d have a grumpy asshole kink. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed the more quiet parts of Karkat’s visit, too. It had felt nice to sit on the futon with someone leaning against his shoulder. Dave wasn’t a sap, no, not a suave guy like him, but he couldn’t deny he’d like to do it again some time.
He considered texting Rose as he’d planned to earlier before deciding not to. After all, he’d managed the first crisis all on his own, and she might consider it cheating if he got her help. No, for now at least, this bird was flying solo.
---
* Clean apartment. Finger guns. Puts too much butter on popcorn. Also talks during movies outside theater setting. Likes getting insulted. Kink? Wants to date the “real” me. Delusional. Comfortable arm. Had a nice time. Had acceptable time. Clothes in his shower???
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