#Dewey Reblogs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

musical-shit-show · 2 years

Text

waste my time

Pairing: Dewey Finn x Reader

Inspiration: Prompts #29 (you know this means nothing, right?) and #62 (enjoying the view?) from Prompt List #2

Warnings: cursing, drinking, mild drug use (marijuana), anxiety, depression, Dewey is a little bit of an asshole if you squint, light angst, a touch of fluff

Word Count: 3,745

Author’s Note: Okay this turned out a bit longer than I anticipated, but I’m really starting to like writing for Dewey. I suppose this is set before the events of SoR, but whatever…my one shot, my rules. If enough people ask (or if I get a jolt of inspiration) I might write a sequel. As always, please check out my full masterlist, about me page, and prompt lists! And if you have a request, please send one to my ask box! And of course, like, comment, and reblog if you enjoy! Thanks for reading :)

“Can we please leave now?”

“You know, you could try and have fun at one of these things for once,” your best friend Patty scoffed at you, “Even I’m having a good time. That’s how I know you’re being a stick in the mud.” You chuckled humorlessly as she handed you a beer.

The music was thumping so hard you could barely hear yourself think. Quickly, you took a sip of the cheap brew. How you had been roped into attending a Halloween party where you knew barely anyone, you’ll never know. Patty always had a way of dragging you to social events, because, well, her boyfriend Ned also had a way of dragging her to social events. Except now, you seemed to be the only one who was miserable out of the dozens of increasingly drunk twenty-somethings.

So, there you were, only having been in attendance for little more than a half hour and already eager to leave. Not only were you growing more and more claustrophobic as party goers crammed themselves into the seemingly ever-shrinking Brooklyn apartment, but you were also dreading the arrival of a certain wannabe rock star.

“He’s not here yet,” Patty said, catching you eye the front door, “Thankfully.” You didn’t know how it was possible, but you found Dewey Finn even more infuriating than Patty did, and she was the one who had to deal with his constant freeloading and loud scream-singing.

It wasn’t that you thought he was a bad person, per se. But he made it very clear that he did not give a shit about anyone but himself, and you couldn’t stand that. And what pissed you off even more is that he seemingly managed to make everyone like him, despite his utterly selfish ways.

It was at that moment that there was a cheer near the entrance of the apartment, and you rolled your eyes into the stratosphere; Dewey had just arrived, hoisting a keg the size of a small toddler into the crowd, stupid grin plastered on his face.

As he made his way to the kitchen, you could see that he was wearing tight black jeans with a matching black button-down shirt that was rolled at the sleeves, and a red tie. His hair was unkempt, as usual, and he was also sporting a thick ring of eyeliner around his top and bottom lash lines. ‘Oh, right,’ you thought, ‘Ned had mentioned something about him coming as Billy Joe Armstrong. Figures.’

For as long as you’ve known him, Dewey wanted to be a professional musician and performer. And he was actually pretty talented; the only problem was that he could never stay in a band long enough to make a decent amount of money.

“Hey, Dew!” Ned called happily, waving to his best friend who was emerging from the tiny kitchen area like a god among men. He and Patty had decided on a couple’s costume, Fred and Daphne from Scooby-Doo. Unoriginal, but you had opted for Wednesday Addams, so you couldn’t really judge. Even holidays like Halloween brought you little joy these days.

Patty took another swig of her beer, and you surmised that it would be the first of many if she was supposed to put up with Dewey all night. As he neared, you got a better look at him. More specifically, you couldn’t help but take note at how well that eyeliner suited him. It gave his typically dopey face a little bit of edge.

“Enjoying the view?” you heard him say over the blaring music, a small, impish smile spreading across his face. Shit. He had obviously noticed your staring. You thanked the powers that be that the lights were low; the last thing you needed was for him, Ned, and Patty to catch your face reddening in embarrassment.

Instead, you clenched your jaw, instantly tensing your muscles. “Nope, I was just thinking about how if your music career never takes off, you can always work at CVS recommending makeup products to emo teens.” Patty snorted into her bottle, amused. She loved it when you exchanged verbal blows with Dewey; when she did it, it always ended in an argument between her and Ned. This way, she could just watch and relish in your takedown.

However, Dewey seemed unfazed on this particular evening. “You’d know about emo teens in that getup, huh?” his tone playful yet not without bite, “That eyeliner looks almost as black as your soul.” You couldn’t help but laugh incredulously. If he didn’t make you want to tear your hair out, you’d be almost impressed with his little comeback.

“Alright, enough you two,” Ned said as you continued to stare daggers into Dewey’s eyes while his continued to mock, “I’m going to get a drink. Dew, could you uh, help me with the keg?”

“Of course, oh best friend of mine,” Dewey replied, straightening his tie and winking at you and Patty, “Enjoy the party, ladies. I’d love to see you two let loose for once.” Ned practically pulled Dewey’s arm out of the socket towards the kitchen, not in the mood for a spat to break out.

“In your dreams, Finn!” you called in their direction, feeling your temperature rise even further. Your night was already going about as well as you had imagined, you didn’t need Dewey Finn tormenting you with his antics any more than you needed a hot sauce enema.

Patty let out a dry laugh and grabbed another beer from the cooler that sat next to the torn-up couch, “Wanna get drunk?” Your mouth twitched upwards.

“Very.”

The alcohol was not working. Why wasn’t it working? You felt mildly tipsy, yes, but it wasn’t enough to stop the familiar tightening feeling of dread that was firmly present in your chest and quickly spreading throughout your body.

You soon found yourself in a bedroom, whose you weren’t sure. You didn’t care. You just needed to get away from everyone. Luckily, it wasn’t difficult. Patty was doing shots with Ned and some of their other friends, and it was almost too easy to tell her you needed some air and could fend for yourself. The truth was, you were so overwhelmed, by both the party and, well, everything else.

Work had been kicking your ass, your love life was in the toilet, and you still felt like you didn’t belong in the city. You could feel hot tears welling behind your eyes, allowing a few to spill onto your black skirt. You blinked rapidly, tilting your head towards the ceiling. The last thing you wanted was to fuck up your makeup and ruin your night even further.

Suddenly, your panic attack was interrupted by the bedroom door swinging open. You have got to be shitting me, you thought sourly as Dewey stood in the frame, looking even more disheveled than usual. The faint smell of hops wafted in your direction, and you prayed he wasn’t totally fucked up; Drunk Dewey was even less pleasant to be around than his sober counterpart.

He looked at you, then the pile of coats that adorned most of the bed, and then frowned. “Goddamn it, you didn’t happen to see a black and white guitar pick anywhere, would you?” he ran a hand through his messy brown hair. You shook your head, attempting to steady your breathing. Screw your makeup, the actual last thing you wanted was for Dewey Finn to catch you in a moment of weakness.

Luckily, he seemed too caught up in his guitar pick crisis to notice. “Can’t you just get another one?” you asked, your voice faltering ever so slightly. Dewey pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly annoyed by your seemingly harmless question.

“Another one?” he repeated, exasperated, “No, you don’t understand, it’s Van Halen’s pick. The pick he used while recording and on tour, it’s one of my most prized possessions.” He started haphazardly throwing coats onto the carpeted floor, scanning the comforter for his precious souvenir. You quickly decided he wasn’t as drunk as you first thought, given that he seemed to have all of his wits about him. And, if he was sloshed, he was certainly holding himself together much better than he usually did.

“And why exactly did you bring it here?”

“I had a gig tonight and I was nervous. That pick always gives me good luck, okay?”

That was almost…sweet. You had never thought Dewey Finn of all people would need help performing in front of a crowd. “Okay,” you finally said, throwing your feet off the bed, letting them dangle for a few seconds.

“Look, I know you hate me and everything but—”

“I’ll help you look,” you cut him off, standing up. For once, he wasn’t be a total douche, and you felt a little bad for him. Even if it was over a guitar pick.

The two of you scoured the room, throwing the remaining coats aside. Finally, Dewey found the pick buried deep in his own coat pocket, which ended up irritating you only slightly.

“Uh, thanks,” he said sheepishly, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, “For helping me look.”

“Don’t mention it,” you said, deadpanned, “Seriously. Don’t.” He couldn’t tell if you were kidding. Neither could you.

“Wanna go out onto the fire escape, ya know, for some air?” he asked, gesturing to the window facing the still busy city street, “That is, if you don’t want to push me to my untimely demise.”

“Don’t give me any ideas,” you say with a smirk, “But sure. Why not.”

The two of you crept out onto the fire escape gingerly, the air shocking your senses despite your tipsiness. However, it doesn’t do much to quell your anxiety.

“You really don’t like this shit, do you?” Dewey said, taking a gulp from his beer after scanning your demeanor.

“That obvious, huh?” you said dryly. He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “I…used to. I’m trying to again. It’s just…weird right now, I don’t know. I feel like I’m not myself here.” You turned from him, embarrassed, as you hugged your arms to guard you from the chill. It actually helped, or at the very least you convinced yourself that it did.

Dewey frowned. “Well, that’s no good.” He held his bottle over the railing precariously, watching it dangle five stories above the ground. “But hey, maybe when you get back to being yourself, you’ll finally see how awesome I am.”

You turned to face him, and punched him lightly on the shoulder in retaliation. He barked a laugh, and felt your guard falling. Maybe he wasn’t as terrible as you thought. And you were a little drunk. And he was also a little drunk. And you felt the sudden urge to kiss him.

You shook your head, ignoring the thought. But the way he was looking at you made your stomach do a somersault. It was a mix of morbid curiosity and genuine concern with a just a dash of flirty energy. A dangerous cocktail, really. Luckily, Dewey spoke again before you could do something you’d regret.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, bracing himself for a verbal assault, “but uh, every time I see you, you just seem so fuckin’ stressed. Have you tried, I don’t know, relaxing?”

You scoffed. Of course that would be his suggestion. He made everything sound so easy, didn’t he? “No, that never crossed my mind, Finn. How astute.” He shook his head, raising his arms in mock surrender. After so many spars over the years, you had never seen him give up on an opportunity to criticize you so quickly. You couldn’t help but grow a little suspicious.

“Hey, I said it earlier but I really think you’d benefit from letting loose a little, ya know?”

“And how do you suppose I do that?” you asked, your tone coming out more frustrated than you intended, “I’ve tried everything.”

A wicked smile spread across his face, “Well, not to be too obvious, but have you ever tried smoking?” He produced a small joint from his pocket, along with a black lighter decorated with red and orange flames.

You nodded your head, looking unenthused. “Tried it with Patty once in college. Didn’t work.” And it was true. Despite smoking what you considered far too much weed, you barely felt a thing aside from a slight bout of the munchies. What you thought would quell your nervousness only ended up resulting in a stomach ache.

“I doubt Patty had anything of substance,” he remarked, a smirk dancing on his lips, “I’m pretty sure a horse tranquilizer wouldn’t be able to mellow that woman out.” You couldn’t help but crack a smile. You usually found Dewey’s humor irritating, but you kept wondering if that was your own bias. Maybe you were just searching for reasons to despise him.

Still, you couldn’t trust yourself, not with the night you’d been having. “What’s the catch?” you asked, narrowing your eyes, “I thought we couldn’t stand each other, remember?”

“No catch,” he said, his voice shockingly devoid of sarcasm or snark, “Consider it even for helping me find my pick. Plus, I think we’d all benefit from you being high. At the very least, it’ll serve as my entertainment for the rest of the night.” You couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe you were too harsh on Dewey. Not that Patty didn’t have her own reasons for disliking him, but that didn’t mean you had to keep up your animosity when he had at least treated you like a human being since he entered the coat-ridden bedroom.

You stared at the joint apprehensively as he held in between his calloused fingers. He rolled his eyes, playfully this time. “This is the good shit, I promise,” he purred, waving the joint in front of your face, “Don’t you trust me?”

“Not in the slightest,” you mused, gnawing on your lower lip, “But when have I ever been right. Light me up, rock star.”

Far be it from you to admit when Dewey Finn was right. But holy shit. Whatever strain he had did the trick, because you actually felt yourself relaxing for the first time in months, even after just a few puffs.

You didn’t care that you had been outside for the better part of an hour; even more surprisingly, you didn’t care that you were sharing a joint with someone you thought you despised at the start of the night. “Okay, I’m not saying I’m gonna become a stoner now or anything like that but…” you drawled, hugging your arms to your chest, “That did help a bit. So…thanks.” You were already feeling the effects of the both the alcohol and weed wearing off, seeing as you only consumed small amounts of both. Still, you couldn’t help but appreciate Dewey’s attempt to help, despite your past dislike of one another.

Dewey couldn’t help but flash a wide smile, leaning on the railing of the fire escape. “Don’t mention it,” he said sweetly, “Or maybe do. I’d love to take credit for being the person who finally removed that stick lodged firmly up your a—”

Before he could finish the crude remark, you placed a hand on his broad chest, pushing him flush to the railing. “If you value your life, you won’t finish that sentence, Finn,” you threatened, your eyes darkening. Dewey’s widened in fear, if only for a moment. You were of course, unserious, but you didn’t mind making him squirm a bit.

You flashed a smug look and he instantly matched you playful yet aggressive energy. “Oh please, you wouldn’t send the life of the party tumbling to his death, would ya?” he clasped his hands together, mock begging for mercy, “I know you can’t hate me that much, babe.”

You shivered. You tried to write it off as the chill in the air finally catching up to you, but you knew that it was also from Dewey’s smooth talking. You noticed your hand was still pressed up against him as the space between you lessened.

“Well, no,” you relented, finally letting go of him, “I mean, you annoy the shit out of me most of the time but tonight has been…okay.”

“I’ll take okay.” The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes, an energy hanging in the air that you can’t quite place. You glanced over at him, goosebumps prickling up on his exposed forearms. “Since tonight has been so okay…mind if I ask why you were crying earlier?”

You felt your face go flush in embarrassment. You could’ve sworn he hadn’t seen, but it was clear he was more observant than you gave him credit for. “I guess, well…I haven’t been myself. For a while now. And I just don’t know if I belong here: in this city, with these people. Ned and Patty have been a part of my life for so long but…I don’t know. Maybe I’m better off somewhere else.”

Dewey nodded, casting his eyes towards Manhattan across the river. The two of you looked on, the sounds of the street filling the quiet you shared. The light pollution was illuminating the night sky despite it being nearly midnight. “For what it’s worth,” he sighs, “I don’t ever feel like I belong either. I just try to convince myself that I do, and hope everyone else follows.”

“Well, you’re damn good at it,” you remark, “Everyone loves you, Dewey.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, “Not Patty. Not my band. Not you.” His last words hang in the air awkwardly as he immediately goes red. At least you weren’t the only one feeling embarrassed that evening. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you mean,” you said, smiling with ease. Once you actually had a real conversation with him, you realized how freely you were able to speak to Dewey. “But for what it’s worth, I owe you an apology. I just always pegged you for an obnoxious deadbeat, but I guess we have more in common than I thought.”

“It’s okay. I may have also thought you were a lame ass wet blanket for years, but I’m willing to bury the hatchet if you are.” You both laughed at each other’s expense and suddenly, that urge returned. Only this time, you couldn’t blame it on the little alcohol you drank or even the weed. You just wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kiss Dewey Finn.

You felt your stomach churn at the thought. Sure, maybe he wasn’t as bad as you thought, but were you so easily won over? Was he just charming you to end your little feud, or was he playing you? And even if he wasn’t messing with you, what the fuck would Ned and Patty say?!

“By the way,” he said in a low voice, snapping you out of your thought spiral, “I’ve seen a million Wednesday Addams costumes, but, uh, the goth girl thing works for you.”

“Oh yeah?” you said, holding back giggle. God, you felt like an idiot school girl around him now.

“Yeah,” he gulped, his face growing pink. Was it possible he was experiencing some of the same strange, conflicting feelings about you? From what you gathered over the years, it didn’t take much for Dewey to let his dick be in the driver’s seat when it came to decision making.

Feeling bold, you chose to throw some compliments his way, “Thanks,” you said, batting your eyelids, wondering how seductive you could possibly be when it looked like you were headed to a demented funeral, “You look good too. Green Day was one of my favorite bands growing up, so the Billy Joe costume was…definitely a sight to behold. In a good way, I mean.”

“Ah, so you were staring at me earlier?” Dewey raised an eyebrow, feeling extremely self-assured. You decided to let him inflate his own ego this one time, mostly because it made him more attractive all bloated with confidence.

“It’s possible,” you conceded, “But if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.”

He laughed brightly, and your stomach did another flip. “That’s okay. It’s reward enough to know you secretly have the hots for me.” You pursed your lips, scowling at him. You could barely admit these new feelings to yourself, there was no way in hell you were going to admit to Dewey that you wanted to pounce on him at that very moment. So instead, you decided to do what you had be doing for the last couple hours: deny, deny, deny.

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not!”

“Do. Too.” He inched closer to you, his gaze growing more intense with each passing millisecond. You felt your breath hitch suddenly in the back of your throat. And before you had any time to think, you sort of lunged at him, your lips catching his angrily, passionately. He tasted like cheap beer and tequila. A normally shudder-inducing combination, but you couldn’t get enough of it.

Though he knew he was egging you on, Dewey was still caught by surprise. Still, it didn’t take longer than a moment for him the wrap his arms around you, securing your body against his as he kissed you hungrily. Despite the weather outside being chilly and dry, his lips were soft and plump, and you couldn’t help but nip at them as he let out a faint, almost imperceptible moan. You felt your fingers tangle in his hair as his snaked to grip the side of your neck towards your jawline.

Once you realized what you had done, you broke away, looking Dewey dead in the eye, “You know this means nothing, right?” You could deal with your attraction to him later; for all you knew, this little incident would never be spoken of by the two of you ever again. Maybe that would be for the best.

Dewey blinked dumbly a few times, then smirked, “I’m sort of counting on it, babe.” He pulled you in again, his breath visible in the cold October air as it washed over you like a tiny puff of smoke. He couldn’t help but kiss you again, and perhaps stupidly, you kissed him back for a few seconds until his broke it, his smile sinful. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a deal, rock star.”

Thanks for reading! Like/comment/reblog if you enjoyed!

Read the sequel here!

70 notes · View notes