Work Text:
“Babe. Babe, wake up. Sugar. Honey. Love of my life. Apple of my eye. Dude, come on, did you die in your sleep? Aw man, guess that means I gotta smooch you back to life, here it goes.”
You hear Dave make an exaggerated kissing sound, then wet lips are kissing your ear. You wave him away halfheartedly and roll onto your stomach. “Fuck off. Let me sleep.”
Your husband gasps in mock horror. “Karkat, such language. That isn’t what I’d expect from my bundle of joy. But seriously dude, get up. I’ll keep going on like this until you do.”
You groan loudly to make sure he know that you’re annoyed, but roll over and sit up. You know from past experience that Dave will go on like this all day if that’s what it takes to get you to pay attention to him.
Sure enough, there’s Dave, standing beside the bed and holding a tray of what looks like pancakes. You raise an eyebrow. “You made breakfast today?”
“Sure did, honey-bunny.” He sits next to you, still holding the tray and ignoring your cries of ‘Dave, no food in the sleeping platform, you’re going to get crumbs everywhere, Dave no’. The only indication that he even heard your protests is that he rolls his eyes and replies with, “How fucking long are you going to keep calling our bed a ‘sleeping platform’?”
It’s your turn to scoff now as you give up on complaining and shift to get more comfortable. “I will never not call it a sleeping platform. That’s what it is. You’re trying to erase my culture by making me use your dumb human words, and I will not stand for it.”
He shoots you an unimpressed look, but you can see a glimmer of amusement in those bright red eyes. Why he ever wore those shades is still a mystery to you. You’re glad he doesn’t wear them much anymore. “Dude, you’re literally the only person in the world who still talks like that.”
“Yes, because my friends are all traitors who refuse to acknowledge their roots.” You cross your arms and glare at Dave, daring him to challenge you. He only shakes his head, putting the tray in your lap.
“Here. Eat.”
You stare down at the pancakes suspiciously. Usually, you’re the one who does the cooking, since that’s not really something Dave was exposed to before Earth C came around, but occasionally he gives it a try. His cooking is always a bit more...adventurous than yours, but the pancakes look fine. You shrug your suspicion aside and cut a piece of one of the pancakes off and stick it in your mouth, though you pause when you bite into something crunchy and suspiciously...buttery. You narrow your eyes at Dave. “...What the fuck am I eating right now?”
He almost looks embarrassed. “Uh, well, you know how sometimes you put little cut up apples in the pancake batter?”
“I know this isn’t an apple, don’t even try that lie.”
“Well yeah, no, it’s not an apple, but I wanted to try something similar, but with something you like, so, uh...it’s popcorn.”
You stare at him flatly. “...Popcorn.”
“Hey, I tried it and I didn’t think it tasted that bad.”
“You don’t have taste buds Dave, we’ve been over this.”
He rolls his eyes and takes the tray, getting back up. “Yeah yeah, I’ll go get you cereal. Stay here, and stay awake.”
You settle back down under the covers. “Yeah, maybe. Bring me coffee too.”
He’s already at the door, but pauses to shoot you an unimpressed look. “You know that stuff’s not good for you.”
“Lies and blasphemy.” He shakes his head with a chuckle and wanders out of the room. He couldn’t have gotten too far before something occurs to you. “Oh, and make sure you water the plants!”
“Already did it!” comes his distant response. A few minutes later, he’s climbing back in bed, keeping hold of your coffee but handing you a bowl of fruit loops. They’re dry, just the way you like them. He calls you a heathen for eating cereal without milk, you call him a primitive asswipe in general, it’s a good thing you have going on.
Neither of you speak until you’re halfway through your cereal. “I don’t know why you make me take care of the plats. They’re your plants.”
You roll your eyes and speak through a mouthful of fruit loops. “You know Jade banned me from going near plants. She says I have the touch of death.”
“That’s such bullshit, though. I mean, your cactuses are just fine.”
“The plural of cactus is cacti, Dave. And besides-” you pause to swallow, “-they’re strong, independent succulents who barely need me to take care of them at all. Leave them out of this.”
Not looking particularly impressed by your reasoning, Dave presses his foot against your leg and deadpans, “You sit down and read smut to them daily.”
You whine and shift away from him, shooting him the most annoyed look you can manage. “Get your fucking feet away from me, they’re cold. And I don’t read them smut, asshole. I read them romance.”
“Po-tay-toe, po-tah-to,” Dave dismisses, feet already back on your calves. “And I know my feet are cold, but you’re warm. Can’t keep all that body heat to yourself, cuddle-bubble. You gotta share.”
You elbow him, shifting to the absolute edge of the bed, as far from him as you can get without getting up. Unfortunately, he’s not far behind, soon wrapping himself around you; arms around your chest and legs around your hips. You squirm, but to no avail. He’s got you trapped. “Dave, you insufferable waste of shit, let go.”
“And let my love muffin escape me?” He scoffs. “I think not.
You squirm and struggle, making it as hard for him to hold on to you as possible, but he still manages. “Fucking - Dave, get off.
He laughs and lets go of you, rolling onto his back. You huff and grumble, settling back down. “I hate you so fucking much.”
“Love you too, sweet biscuit.”