Dave x Reader by DirectDoggo
“The year was nineteen-hundred and eighty seven. I found myself seated at a table in a sprawling and bustling restaurant, filled with dozens of patrons, chattering at each of the tables. Swell-dressed waiters careened from table to table, carrying platters and plates adorned with fish, meats and other delicacies. I glanced at my watch for the fifteenth time so far that evening.
“Where the hell is he?” I muttered to myself, a little bit louder than intended, judging from the sympathetic look suited man dressed
at the other table gave me.
“Perhaps he’s in the same boat I am…” I thought to myself, “Maybe I should go over and talk to him… My date is 15 minutes late after all. That means I can legally leave.” I’m just not any good at speed-dating. Before I could stir to up and leave, a figure staggers and stumbles uncontrollably into view, almost knocking the table over in the process.
The man was dressed in a purple buttoned shirt that seemed to almost merge with his pruny, aubergine flesh. That, or he had simply stapled buttons to his torso. Looking back, I’m not completely sure that he didn’t. The man loomed above me, with gangly outstretched limbs, and shoved his massive, mitt-like hand into mine.
“Why, hello there, old sport!” the man frantically started, “Sorry about the hold up, I was wranglin’ toddla’s and eatin’ kebabs!” For a very intense moment, my fight or flight response triggered, and every fiber of my brain screamed at me to run. The man sat himself down at my table, clearly unabashed by his own lack of punctuality.
“My name is Dave! David Miller!” the man told me, “And you might be?” I flinched, slightly apprehensive.
“My name is [reader], Dave.” I replied, taken aback, “Surely you knew that. The dating agency would’ve sent you over some info about me.”
“Info schminfo!” Dave replied, dismissively waving his passive paws away from himself, “I find it’s more fun to come to a date knowing NOTHING about the psycho that you’re meetin’! I inched slightly away from Dave.
"By the way…” Dave asked, glancing around suspiciously, “I’m not int’ any of that gay shit… I didn’t read that agency letter, and I can’t figure out your gender by lookin’ at you…”
“Christ” you muttered audibly. Dave lifted his arms up defensively.
“Oh, oh, no!” Dave cried defensively, “I have nothin’ against gay people! I love gay people! My ex boyfriend was one of those!” I cocked my head, only to soon realize that the entire restaurant was peering at Dave, at this stage. Dave grabbed me by the arm, and ushered me onto my own two feet.
“C'mon, [reader], this place is full of WEIRDOS.” he spat, defensively hissing at onlookers with each syllable.
“I know a MUCH better place for us to have our dinna’ at!” he added, practically dragging me out the door. Once we were outside, Dave promptly took out a blindfold and tied it around my visage. The moment it was over, Dave screamed out:
“ALRIGHT, HAND OVER YER WALLET, AND NOBODY GETS HURT”, causing me to jump back in an agitated manner. Dave chuckled to himself.
“Sorry, [reader]…” he chortled to himself, “Force o’ habit.”
Dave and I walked for what felt like (and probably was, in hindsight) six whole seconds, before removing the blindfold.
“Feast yer eyes, [reader]!” Dave announced, “Our new dating spot!” I took a look at the “fancy” eatery we had just “entered.” To be frank, it was clearly the alley outside the restaurant we were just in. Dave leapt into a nearby doorway.
“I know the chef in this great restaurant!” Dave cheered, “Lemme get us some good grub!” Dave’s body slid like liquid beyond the threshold of the door. At that moment, I realized that the building that Dave had just entered the same restaurant that apparently wasn’t good enough to house us before. Moments later, Dave ran out of the restaurant’s side-door, with a chorus of angry Italian shouting erupting behind him. He grappled onto my arm and dragged me hastily into another nearby alley. Dave proudly beamed at me.
“Can you believe they’d just throw two perfectly good plates of spaghetti into the trash, and let anyone walk out with them?!” Dave asked me, clearly more than content with the meals that he had salvaged.
“I dunno, Dave…” I responded, “That chef sounded pretty angry…”
I sat in silence, eating my dismal plate of cold spaghetti. The spaghetti had clearly been thrown out hours beforehand, because it wasn’t even warm. Within seconds of when I had started eating, Dave’s jaw unhinged like a reptile, and he swallowed the entire plate whole, spaghetti and all. I gagged.
“Could’ve used some salt, eh, [reader]?” he asked, nudging me. I counted three nudges. Had he nudged me a fourth time, I would’ve puked for sure.
“Boy, that was…substantial!” I cry out, flinging my plate onto the ground, causing the plate to smash and the food to disperse onto the dirty, broken-glass encrusted ground of the alley.
“[Reader], I couldn’t help but notice that you still had some food on your plate…” Dave added. Dave’s torso span, and he leapt onto all fours, with his head pointing towards me, like some sort of extra-terrestrial crustacean.
“Would you like me to retrieve your leftovers for you?” Dave asked, with mad pleading in his eyes.
“T-That’s okay…” I replied, wondering what my current rate of life expectancy was, while out with Dave, “I think I’ll just-” Before I could move an inch, Dave began rambling again.
“Yer a lot better than the last guy I went out with!” Dave cried out, “Fuck that guy, he left me high ‘n’ dry, he did!” I feigned sympathy and nodded slowly.
“The slower you nod, the more you appear to care!” the terrified voice in my head bellowed at me, trying to get me out of this alive.
“Yep. I’m 100% over that douche 'old sport’” Dave boldly stated, clearly having not remotely moved on.
“Yep! I’m a completely stable individual!” he stated, before breaking down into frantic tears, upon seeing a passing dog. I gave Dave a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, trying to somehow pat the air around his arm hard enough for him to feel like I was touching him, but without any actual flesh contact. Suddenly, Dave perked up, and grabbed me by the shoulders, spinning me around heavy-handedly.
“Y'know what we need?” he asked me, answering before I suggest a restraining order, “We need to visit my job! You can see how fun it is at work every day!”
“Yes! Let us do that!” I replied, nodding frantically, with the pure intent to get someone to call the police on arrival.
Dave then picked me up as though I weighed nothing, and hightailed it down the street, holding me above his head. He ran at impossibly high speeds for about ninety seconds, before I found myself beyond the doorway of a cheap fast food restaurant. I looked to my left… A suited man with a rotary phone for a head was hurryingly disposing of a currently urinating shiba inu.
On my right, an array of tables, all of which had three to four slices of frozen pizza and exactly one jug of what appeared to be purple syrup on each table.
“Isn’t this great?” Dave asked, stretching his branchy arms out towards the myriad of cheap smells and now dull coloured posters surrounding us. Then, what appeared to be a large, lavender coloured rabbit walked calmly over to me, and with supernatural strength, grabbed my arm, twisting it three times clockwise. I heard a loud snap.
“GAH, MY FUCKING ARM!” I roared, looking over to Dave for an explanation, “WHAT IS THAT FUCKING THING?!” Dave chortled, playfully.
“Oh, that’s just Bonnie, the robotic rabbit!” Dave laughed, pointing his sideways, outstretched thumb towards the large, robotic rabbit “He does that.” The rabbit made a deep, loud gurgling sound, and a thick froth seeped from his gaping jaw. Before I could leap for the door, Dave broke down into frantic tears, yet again.
“HOW COULD YOU LEAVE ME, OLD SPORT?!” Dave cried out, “OLD SPORT, WHYYYYYYYY!” This last despondent wail was cut short, by a figure suddenly stepping into view.
“Holy shit, Dave, what the fuck is wrong now?!”
The man stood at average height. An intense orange hue coated his smooth, pasty skin and from the quiet intensity of his soulless eyes, you could see that this was a man who didn’t take shit from anyone.
“Sportsy!” Dave cried out, “I thought you had left me!” 'Old Sport’ slapped his hand against his face violently, clearly picturing his own face as Dave’s neck.
“I was in the bathroom for FIVE MINUTES, you IGNORAMUS of an eggplant!” he bellowed back. Dave bawled his eyes out, staring at the orange man who’d just strolled out of the jacks.
“So, uhhh-” I broached, waving my flattened hand through Dave’s line of sight, “Can I just leave now, or?” Dave peered at me confusedly.
“Who the fuck are YOU?” he asked me. At this point, I was fucking done, more so than I’ve ever been before, or since.
“I’m your date, David.” I replied, “We were on a date for the last four minutes.” Dave waved his hand dismissively at me, not breaking his line of sight towards the orange man.
“You can go, I’m done with you.” he replied, still staring at the pissed-off looking orange man. At that point, I walked out.
While leaving, the same suited, rotary-phone headed man from before clasped at my ankles imploringly, clearly begging me to help him fend off the exactly sixteen German Shepherds attempting to drag him away. I stepped over the man, and continued on my way out.
That was my weirdest dating experience to date. What makes it weirder is that later that night, I got a call from the local police department. Apparently, minutes later, a suited employee working at that very restaurant had abducted and murdered five local children. Dave had listed me as his alibi. At that point, I just hung up the phone. What a strange man. “
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