#dewey finn fanfiction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justbelievinginmagic · 4 years

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The Sun Burns

Dewey Finn x female original character

hi. ive been really liking some dewey finn x reader/oc fics and i started to write one for fun based off of the song “burnout” that alex sung like ages ago. and this is it! i dont post my writing a lot but hopefully you like it? let me know if you did or if you want more fics??

word count: ~13500 words

warnings: musical!dewey finn, pre-musical dewey being soft but also not the best boyfriend, cursing, some fluff, some angst, alcohol, drunkenness, low self esteem moments.

She was like the sun.

That was the reason he was drawn to her like a moth.

She had been here before – mostly on Fridays. He recognized her in the crowd now. Dewey liked when she was there. In the shitty bar he was performing in, he saw her smile wide and bright in the dim light. It was easy to find. Her eyes followed him on stage. And he liked that. Usually, women – groupies, he liked to think – cheered and talked to the others in his band, No Vacancy. Not him. But her eyes followed him, grinned when he played the guitar. She giggled when he would leap off an amp or jump around excitedly. He liked her.

If Dewey was sober, he wouldn’t have even approached her after the set. She was out of his league easily. She was beside a group of women. It was probably a girls’ night out, and he was ruining it. But the liquid courage in his veins told him to walk towards her. He had asked, no, he stuttered out if he could buy her a drink (like he had heard the other guys in his band ask women before.)

And she had said no.

His humiliation was burning on his cheeks before she quickly said she didn’t drink and that he was good at the guitar. No, her exact words were “you play amazingly” paired with that sunshine smile. He wouldn’t forget those words not when he felt like he’d jump out of his skin in excitement. She had instead asked if he’d join her – she had scooted to an empty table. His ears turned pink at her friends’ light encouragement.

Dewey hoped it wasn’t a prank. (That had happened before.) He hoped with his whole heart. Thankfully, the messy haired guitarist was braver with alcohol in his veins. And he said yes with flushed cheeks.

Her cheeks were painted a pretty pink to match his.

After that night, they spoke after every show. She started showing up more frequently and even on other days of the week. The pair learned more and more about one another.

She didn’t drink. She always ordered a Shirley Temple with two extra cherries. She could tie a cherry stem with her tongue. She graduated at a local college a few years ago with an art degree. No, she wouldn’t show him her art - yet. She worked at a bakery down the street (No wonder she always smelled like fresh sugar cookies.) She was forced to come along to the bar after work by her best friends. (He thinks their names were Cera and Millie, but he couldn’t remember.) But he was so passionate about music so it wasn’t so bad she had said, making his cheeks blush. She loved rock and roll, but she couldn’t play the guitar. She got sleepy at half past eleven on the dot.

He drank too much beer too fast unless they were eating something (His favorite bar food was nachos.) He said he wasn’t the best at school – never mentioned if he graduated college, and she assumed he hadn’t. He worked at a record shop and could spot a good vinyl record easily. He’d live at the bar if he could, but he lived with his best friend. (His name was Ned. She had called him once when Dewey drank too much to get home.) He wanted to be a rock star. He wrote all the music they played. He blushed red easily. He could stay up all night.

They were different. But something tugged them together. Whether it was how easy they spoke to one another or how when the other laughed it felt like they’d burst with joy.

It was common to see them in a booth together after the set. It was Dewey’s first real relationship – and they weren’t even together yet. He just—He liked spending time with her. There weren’t many women he was friends with. It was new. Nice. Even if his stomach fluttered when he saw her.

And she liked spending time with him.

She showed up at the record shop one day, surprising him. Bundled up in the chilly autumn air, she appeared with two coffees and pink cheeks. And he would’ve melted right there if he hadn’t tried to play it cool. He was a stuttering mess (Not the cool dude he wanted.) But she didn’t mind.

“I was in the area and I remembered the name of this place,” she said. “I thought I’d take a look.”

It didn’t explain the two coffees she had in hand.

“And the coffees?” he teased.

“For luck,” she admitted with a sunshine smile.

She leaned against the counter sipping coffee and talking. He was raving about the music he put on for the shop. Describing how the lyrics were so powerful and the chords were amazing. She was leaning forward listening aptly. He also leaned on the counter, gazing up at her with this look in his eyes. The conversation shifted from the music to what she was doing today. Her hand rose to push hair away, starting to talk about her shift at the bakery and working on a painting. He got excited when she spoke about her art. It was charming how he buzzed with life. It was her thing just like how music was his thing. He was talking quick about what she was planning to paint when Dewey’s boss walked in.

She pushed herself away, not wanting to get her crush in trouble. That wouldn’t leave a good impression on him. Her fingers trailed over a series of crates that had piles and piles of records. Her gaze flickering between him, the crate, and his boss. Their shared smiles were quick. And he fucking loved it.

A few moments went by. Dewey minded his own business at the counter while the personification of sunshine on a cloudy day (at least in his mind) strolled through the shop. The boss was shifting crates around for ten minutes before he finally left through the backdoor.

A heartbeat passed and Dewey was by her side like an excitable dog. His coffee was abandoned at the counter as he joined her by a case of records.

“I don’t know much about records,” she admitted looking in one of the crates, her fingers brushing against the worn paper of the vinyl’s case. Her eyes flickered up at him bashfully.

At that moment he knew for sure, she had come to visit just him.

“That’s okay! That’s fine! I can help!” He sputtered out, moving towards her to look at the case she was digging through. His hip hitting hers lightly as they looked through the crate together, their fingers brushing occasionally. Each time it felt like he was touching the sun for a moment, a hum of electricity, a gentle burn of wanting, and the warmth that flooded to his cheeks and ears.

“I love this band,” he admitted, looking at the worn cover of a record. It wasn’t a well-known band. He was actually surprised it was here. He had the album in his apartment. She peered closer to see the cover; her shoulder was against his; her face suddenly much closer than they’ve been before. It was innocent until she glanced up at him with a soft smile on her lips. And both of their breaths caught. They were so close. She could smell his aftershave. He could smell her perfume. Their hearts were pounding out of the chests when he glanced over at her. He could see freckles dotting her skin. She could see how many eyelashes he had. Brown eyes met hers.

“Do you think I’d like them?” she asked. It was almost breathless. It was such a simple moment yet both of them were enamored. They were head over heels and both too shy to say anything.

“Oh yeah,” he was still enthusiastic as ever, despite his mouth feeling suddenly dry. Her hand went to grab the record, fingers brushing his.

“I’ll buy it then,” she grinned up at him.

He grinned back. Gosh, why was this pretty girl talking to him? Pretty girls like her never did. His stomach did a flip.

“I can ring you up.” He offered, his thumb gesturing to the counter. Holy shit, this was the first time he was happy to be working.

“Okay.” She replied following him over.

As he was writing down the record name and how much the sticker said it was, she played with her hands. Her friends had told her to make the first move. That it’d be easy. It wasn’t. Her hands were shaking.

She really liked him. His passion for music. He listened. He was funny. And he was cute. When he told her the total, she handed him the ten-dollar bill. Licking her lips, she finally said it.

“I think there’s one problem, Dewey.” It was coy. As coy as she could manage at least. She wasn’t good at this flirting thing.

His eyes flashed to meet hers, brows high on his face. Hands freezing. His lips parted.

“I don’t have a record player at home,” she chuckled, her hand raising to tuck her hair behind her ear. Her hands were shaking he noticed. She was nervous too.

His face flushed red. He had a record player. He had a record player that she could use. Maybe-

“We could—You – We could listen to it together. I have a record player at my apartment.”

“I’d like that. If-If you are okay with it?” He took the bait, and she reeled it in.

“I am so okay with it, dude.” He called her dude, shit. Dewey corrected himself by saying her name.

She beamed, pink cheeked. “I’d love to then.”

They sat in his room (which he tried to clean up as best as possible). On his bed, listening to the record. But mostly talking over it. He showed her his favorite song. He ordered pizza for them and didn’t drink a beer like he usually would because he knew she didn’t drink.

He’d play the songs she liked on his guitar. Finger strumming lightly against the chords as he hummed softly in the night air. She’d talk about other songs she liked. Jokes fell into stories. Stories fell into dreams.

They talked all night. She had left late at night; Dewey walked her to her car, handing her a CD he thought she’d like.

Ned had asked if anything happened the next morning. Dewey admitted that nothing happened (No, it wasn’t like the dates the other No Vacancy members had.) But he was grinning ear to ear. Hell, it was the morning, and Dewey Finn was awake and fairly certain he was falling in love with the girl who smelled of sunshine.

Eventually, he took her on a real date. A small café he thought she’d like. He wasn’t good at romance. It was cheap and small. But she smiled and took his hand in reassurance. And said they’d have fun still.

He dedicated songs to her when she was in the audience (even if it wasn’t his place to do so in the band.) It made her blush a pretty pink that he could see even with the bright lights of the stage. She’d hug him close and whisper how he was her rockstar. It made him shiver in delight.

He hadn’t had a relationship like this. Patty had even noticed the woman’s constant appearance. She joked that maybe she was making an honest man out of Dewey. Ned joked he was courting her like a man from one of Patty’s period dramas. Dewey scoffed and mocked. But he knew the truth. He was trying his best. He wasn’t rushing into it. He was falling so slowly that it felt like flying.

He had kissed her first. Suddenly at the bar, and surprisingly sober. And it was like kissing sunlight. Her mouth was hot and soft and tasted of summer fruit. Or tasted like her lipstick, he didn’t know girl stuff, and Dewey didn’t care. He just liked it. Her cheeks were warm beneath his hands. Hair so soft under his fingertips. Her fingers had gripped his shirt tightly. Tugging him closer. There was music in the air (was he imagining it?) He swore the rock gods were playing a melody to the kiss. Setting the mood as it were.

Soon, they pulled away, breaths intermingled. The world rushed back for a moment as his eyes fluttered open. Her eyes were still shut. Like she was in a dream. Did she like it? Should he move away? Should he regret it? But before his mouth could say anything in his breathless state, before he could move his hands from her cheeks, she leaned forward just enough for their lips to meet again. And he was surprised, a noise leaving him, making the kiss feel more like a song.

If the first kiss was like fire, this was like sunlight warming one’s skin in a meadow. Soft and gentle. Pulling. And he thought he’d fall into it.

He’d been kissed. He’s kissed others too – once or twice. But this made his heart speed up. It was genuine. It wasn’t because she was drunk and he was with his band. It wasn’t because he was a rock star. It wasn’t because of a dare to kiss the chubby loser.

She was kissing him, because she wanted to.

Because she liked him.

And he didn’t want it to stop.

He’d capture the sun and the moon to keep her beside him.

Later, that week he asked for her to be his girlfriend. To make it official. He even gave her his No Vacancy shirt like it was a cheesy 60s movie. And when she took it with a grin, he knew he was in love.

Like Icarus, he was flying so high, so close to the woman with the sunshine smile and sparkling eyes.

Romanticism faded when the sun rose in the morning. He’d try to prove himself to her, to anyone who said he couldn’t accomplish his dream. He’d practice his music. Ignore work. He’d stay out late. Forget to text her. He’d get drunk. Forget dates. But he’d try to make it up to her. Singing songs to her in the fading light. Talking to her on the phone until she fell asleep. Trying to teach her the guitar with her in between his legs. Talk about movies she liked.

He knew he wasn’t perfect. He knew that he was a loser. He wasn’t accomplished - yet. There was barely a couple hundred dollars to his name. His guitar was more valuable than his bank account. And he’d try to rise up to his own vision of himself – a rockstar with a rock god physique and groupies and Benjamins and everything he has ever wanted. Because that had to be what she wanted, right?

She had told him all she wanted was to spend time with him.

She had begun to bring her sketchbook to his concerts, sketching him as he played. It was funny almost. In a crowded dark bar, while most people were getting drunk, there was a woman curled up in a booth near the front of the stage. Her mouth singing quietly along to Dewey with charcoal on her fingertips.

He absolutely loved it. He thought it was bonding. Both of them were working on something they loved.

When the set was over and he’d tumble over to her table, sweaty and tired. She’d have a drink ready for him as he rested his chin on her shoulder as she flipped through the drawings. Some were accurate. Portraits of each member. A lot were mainly him. His face sketched with eyes shut as he sang passionately. His bright smile. Close ups of his hands playing chords. Others were embellished, fantasies of him as a rock god. Spandex, heeled boots, face paint, the whole getup.

He pressed kisses to her cheek at those, making her giggle.

“Can you paint me like that, babe? All badass? Or maybe like one of your French girls?” he joked, pointing to a more scandalous drawing featuring a more 80s inspired look. He had abs in that drawing.

She laughed, bright and sharp. His arms wrapped around her waist.

“I could. But I think you are already badass,” she promised, a hand going to squeeze his arm that was around her.

She pointed to one of the sketches, telling him it was her favorite from that night. It was a quick rendering with no additions to him. It was just him with messy sweaty hair, a grin, and his guitar.

He pressed his sweat forehead to her shoulder as he snuggled into her. Hiding his cheeks.

She thought he was a badass.

She knew he was messy. And it wasn’t like she was a clean freak. But even she knew it could clog someone’s mind. She tried to help when she could. Tossing out empty Big Gulps or food wrappers. It wasn’t fun, but she knew it was a part of Dewey.

Oftentimes, they ended up at her apartment – her room was much cleaner.

Dewey learned that she loved planning things. She’d light up when imagining vacations or decorating a house or planning paintings. Dewey wasn’t the planning type of guy. But he’d try for her. He’d write down things she spoke about every now and then.

One of the dates he surprised her with featured fairy lights, an old VHS TV set (that he took from his Mom’s place), and pizza under a cozy (partially falling down) pillow fort. She could have lit up a room with her grin.

He was asleep at noon on a Tuesday. She knew by the lack of texts by Dewey. (She’d later learn that he had stopped paying for his phone so he could save for the Battle of the Bands.) Once her shift ended for the day, she rushed over to Ned’s taking out the spare key – she doubted that Ned even knew Dewey gave her one.

“Dew?” she called out. Tugging her purse off, she went towards the corner of the apartment that was Dewey’s bedroom. It was a small room, advertised as an office space that Dewey promptly claimed when Ned moved into the apartment.

His bed wasn’t on a frame. His blinds were tightly shut always, covered by blankets he had pinned to the wall haphazardly. His guitar case was beside the wall, covered in stickers of bands and the singular Hello Kitty sticker she had offered to him teasingly (He had added it to the collection without a fight, because a reminder of his favorite person would be right next to his favorite object – his guitar.) Clothes and empty bottles and cans and fast food bags were scattered about. And then there was Dewey Finn, spread out face down on his bed, a Star Wars comforter twisted around bare legs. It looks like he abandoned his jeans late last night but was still clad in a familiar worn shirt bearing AC/DC. He was snoring, sleepy mumbles leaving his mouth.

“Dewey?” she murmured. Her hand reaching out to shake his shoulder lightly. “Wake up.”

“No, I’m the rock star, David Bowie” he mumbled out fast asleep, turning in his bed, and away from her.

She snorted at that. It was cute. Even in his dreams, he liked to be the center of attention.

Moving to carefully sit on the bed, she nudged him again; a poke to his bare leg this time

“Rock star,” she teased. “Get up.”

Another mumble. A flicker of his eyelids. He was waking up. She knew that. He just was an especially heavy sleeper when his mind mixed with booze.

“Dewey,” her voice was soft. “C’mon, wake up.” Her hand reached to shake his chest only to be caught by his hand.

“I don’t wanna,” he moaned out, finally creaking his eyes open to look up at her.

She was like the sun even in the darkness of his room. Hair all pretty, wearing a summer dress (was it summer already?), and smiling his favorite bright smile.

“How’d you get in, baby?” he mumbled, tugging her by her hand.

“You gave me a key weeks ago,” she laughed, letting herself get pulled into his embrace. “How much did you have to drink last night?”

“Last night was fun,” he avoided, wrapping her up in a sleepy hug. “We rocked so hard. I wish you were there.”

Her fingers rose to drag through his messy hair. “I’ll be at this weekend’s concert,” she reassured. “To see you rock out.” He gave her a happy squeeze before leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. One, two, three times. His breath still reeked of alcohol.

“But first, I’m going to insist you go brush your teeth,” she laughed. “And maybe a shower, Dew. This place reeks.”

He rolled his eyes at that. He didn’t want to be nagged. But when she did, he knew she was doing it for a reason.

“It’s a way to stick it to the man.” He half-joked, not moving yet. His arms squeezed her closer, legs wrapping around hers.

“There are better ways to stick it to the man,” she reminded, pushing his hair to one side before looking up at him. “Like kickin’ ass at music. And by having a clean room to kick ass in.”

He groaned like a teenager into her shoulder.

“You might write your masterpiece in a clean environment, Dew,” she tried to convince.

And like a wilted flower that reached towards the sun, he listened. He eventually got up. (It was past 2 in the afternoon when he did – after copious kisses and snuggles.) He showered, shaved his stubble just enough for it to look cleaned up and less messy (and also just enough to accidently cut his cheek). Wearing clean jeans and a No Vacancy shirt, he walked into what he’d say was a destroyed room. She had taken his comforter and sheets off the mattress and put them in the washer, leaving his mattress bare. The almost falling decorative blankets he had pinned over his blinds were off. Sunlight was streaming in, making his head ache. He didn’t have that bad of a hangover, but he was still hungover. Sun hurt. His mouth fell into a frown, letting a small scoff leave his lips before a trash bag was pushed into his arms.

She was like the sun. Bright, dancing to rock and roll music she had put on. In a pretty yellow dress. He couldn’t be angry at her. He eventually began to help when she pressed a kiss to his cheek, complimenting his beard, complimenting how he smelled so nice.

He didn’t like cleaning.

It wasn’t fun.

It was following the rules.

It was following the Man.

But when combined with her and his favorite rock tunes, it wasn’t so bad.

It took an hour to clean up the room. And another twenty minutes to put his posters into picture frames that were hidden in his closet.

She was right in the end. He wrote his favorite song yet that night, a song he’d never performed because he was so nervous with how… meaningful it was. It focused on a woman in a yellow dress with a smile that could melt anyone’s heart.

He was chasing after her in his shadowy bedroom. While it was late into the afternoon, Dewey was still in his pajamas – a pair of gym shorts (despite being shy about his legs) and a grey stained shirt. This time around she had joined him in his laziness, stealing one of his shirts to slip into and a pair of his sweatpants. Her work clothes were in a pile beside her purse near his makeshift closet. All she wanted to do was lay in bed with her boyfriend, but he had other ideas.

Dewey knew she could play the guitar – despite her insistent “no, I can’t”. He knew in his bones.

“You’re a soul sister,” he insisted, his guitar outstretched to her.

“Dew, honey, I am not,” she laughed, scooting further away in his bed. Her laugh was so twinkling – even when it fell into snorts. It was music.

“You picked up a few cords the other night,” he reminded, trying to scoot closer. His leg wrapped around hers.

“Dewey,” his name left her lips in a whine as he tugged her close. She wasn’t trying to escape that hard. Settling between his legs, he carefully placed the guitar strap around her shoulders.

“I got them last time because you were helping,” she told him, leaning back into his chest with her head lolling to rest on his shoulder. Unenthused. Like a sun covered by clouds.

“Everyone needs help sometimes, babe.” His hands went to grasp hers.

“Even hopeless people?” she joked.

“You aren’t hopeless,” Dewey said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. She was far from it. “C’mon, rock star.”

She knew he was teasing her. She was far from a rock star. But still it made her smile. He was surprisingly a good teacher. A part of her knew it was probably because he could easily move her hands to the right chords. But it was fun and he seemed to relax when they curled up together like this.

“Alright, teach me something, Dewdrop.” She replied, letting his fingers cover hers over the strings.

She made him want to be better – or at least, try to be better. He wanted to be a proper boyfriend. But he also wanted to focus on his music. It was hard to split his attention on a good day. It was hard to pull himself from his music. Even for her. But he tried.

Days were hard for Dewey. They always were. He’d sleep the morning away if he could – and usually he would. He picked up all the afternoon shifts at the record shop. And performed or practiced or wrote into the night.

Maybe today would turn out good. It was eight am. And Dewey Finn had a hangover. It made the morning light hurt his eyes. Made the world sound even louder than it usually did for him. But he was awake. He had thrown on a cleaner shirt. (It had been on the floor, but it smelled fine.) Dewey even sprayed a bit of cologne on. (It was Ned’s.)

Why was he up? He was groaning with every moment. He didn’t need to be up until noon. He could sleep. He should be asleep. But this was for her. To surprise her early in the morning with overpriced coffee (that he bought with money he mooched off of Ned last night.)

She was working at the small bakery in town. A frilly apron on her frame. She had been putting out fresh baked bread in the window of the shop when she saw him.

And the sunlight smile she grinned was worth the blinding morning sun hurting his head. With the door opening with a jingle of a bell, he was quickly overwhelmed with a hug.

“Hey babe,” he grinned.

“Dewey!” her voice is joyful. Her form jittering like he did when he performed. Her excitement and surprise were clear and it made his stomach do circles. “It’s morning.” She said in shock.

“I know,” his voice dropped in agreement. It was a surprise for both of them. “I wanted to see you at work. And bring you this.”

It was her order from Starbucks. He didn’t agree with Starbucks (It was the Man.) But he knew she liked this drink. He did pay attention. (Sometimes.)

“You are the sweetest,” her smile hadn’t left her face as she leaned up to press a kiss to his lips. “Thank you!” It was a moment he didn’t know he’d remember years from now. The smell of fresh baked cookies, her perfume, and her lips on his. And the sun streaming through the window of the shop. It was a memory he recalled randomly with an ache in his heart.

Taking the drink from his hand, she quickly took his hand in hers. “Let me introduce you to the other bakers.”

It made his stomach feel funny. He was so used to being called a loser or failure and yet she was so proud of him. For something so small. She deserved more. But he’d try to be better.

“Guys, my boyfriend brought me Starbucks!” She was already calling as she led him to the back of the shop where the ovens made the room feel like a sunny day. Or maybe it was just because he was in her presence.

Some days were amazing; others weren’t.

“Dew, please, slow down,” she was chuckling lightheartedly, but it didn’t quite reach her face. Dewey Finn had a habit of drinking the cheapest beer on tap and chugging too much of it. It wasn’t on purpose he had told her. In reality, he was just thirsty after singing.

“I’m fine, babe,” he reassured, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

“Dewey,” she nudged the drink away from him, even moving to shift her Shirley Temple

“No,” he slurred, pushing the drink back. “Shirley Temples are so boring, baby.”

“They’re good.”

“No, you’re boring,” he countered. It stung a bit.

There was a reason she disliked drinking. She disliked how it made people turn into another version of themselves. She liked Dewey when he was sober. She didn’t care for how he was drunk.

“I’m not; they’re good,” she replied, trying to laugh it off. She took a sip of her drink again.

“You’re good,” he slurred. His eyes were on her again, a smidge unsteady. The chocolate orbs couldn’t stay still taking in her lips and eyes and the way her cheek curved and the freckles over her nose. She was vibrant – but it could be the alcohol blurring his vision.

“You’re so pretty, babe,” he mumbled out, his hand moving to pinch her nose.

“And you’re drunk, Dew,” she replied, booping his nose.

Drunk compliments didn’t mean much to her. A yawn tumbled out of her lips.

“Oh no,” he groaned. “You’re tired so we are gonna leave.” He was whining. “Buzzkill.”

He hadn’t been this drunk around her. His mouth was like a faucet. Saying anything. Usually when he was drunk, he’d be cuddly, clingy, talking about music or singing to the music playing in the room. He wasn’t mean.

“Dewey,” it was a scold this time.

He frowned. Why was she like this when at the bar?

“Its almost 2 am.” She reminded. It was late for her. Hell, she fell asleep at 11:30 on the dot usually. “The lights are gonna be coming on soon. Let’s go home.”

He groaned, raising his glass. It was empty. He had forgotten. He had just finished it.

“Fine,” he mumbled.

Tipping well, she gathered her purse up and held her hand out to Dewey who easily took it. Another yawn left her.

He was babbling about anything – his favorite guitar, the cool air outside, her beat up car, her butt.

Finally, when she got him in the car (She got him to lay down in the back knowing he’d get carsick otherwise), she let out a sigh as she settled down in the driver’s seat.

“Dew, if you’re gonna be sick, let me know,” she looked back at him.

He let out a mumble against the car seat’s fabric. He was drooling a bit. She grimaced a flinch before turning the car on. Soft rock played on the radio as she backed out. Dewey was sleepily singing along.

In the morning, he was throwing up into a trashcan she had placed close to her bed. A groan left him when he heard the lights flicker on.

“No,” he moaned and quickly she shut the light off.

She grimaced as he continued to be sick. Her hand reached for the water bottle on her side table. As he finished (and wiped his mouth with the wet washcloth she had left beside the trash can), he laid back down on the bed.

“I warned you, Dew,” she handed him the water bottle, a hand going through his messy hair.

“You’re always right,” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Do you need anything?” she asked.

He shook his head moving to rest his head against her shoulder.

“What happened last night?” he asked after a moment.

“How much do you remember?” she countered. It wasn’t cruelly said. It was gentle. Her hand continued to drag through his hair.

“I remember playing. I remember drinking and singing. I remember you were angry,” he mumbled.

“I wasn’t angry.” She reassured. (She sort of was.) “I just don’t like when you drink like this.”

He huddled closer to her, legs wrapping around hers in apology. “I know,” his voice was muffled into her shoulder.

“We went home around 2. You were excited about how well you played,” she told him. “Nothing really happened.”

She lied too. His words weren’t overly hurtful. He hadn’t called her anything horrible. Was she boring? Was she a buzzkill?

Dewey sighed a little before nodding against her neck.

“I’m sorry,” he told her. He knew she hated staying late. “Thank you for everything, baby. I love you.”

A beat. “Yeah, I love you,” her fingers played nervously with his hair.

Soon enough, lulled by his hangover and her soft motions, he was back asleep.

He never listened. Well, he did. But it was almost like he had selective hearing. She’d tell him about an important event like her promotion and, while he’d celebrate in the moment, he’d forget the day she’d begin working as head of the kitchen.

She’d remind him gently, but sometimes it felt like he was being reprimanded. Dewey began to talk over her reminders. Saying reassuring statements but still talking over her.

“What about this dress?” she asked, tugging out a pink dress. It was summer-y with flowers decorating the bodice. Dewey was flopped down on her bed, head buried in her pillows. She couldn’t pick an outfit. And she was going in circles.

Everything she tried on she had an issue with. One was showing her pudge at her waist (Dewey claimed he didn’t even notice that; he said he thought she looked pretty.) Another shirt looked bad on her arms. (He reminded her she bought the shirt at her favorite shop, so she must’ve liked it.) A pair of jeans she had on were too tight, pinching her tummy and showing her rolls. (He disagreed with the rolls, patting his own tummy as if proving she was fitter than him.) A dress made her hair look messy. (Dewey didn’t even understand how that was possible.)

“Baby, yes, you look pretty in it,” Dewey said, muffled by the pillows.

He didn’t even look.

He thought she looked pretty in anything – or nothing at all.

She held it up to her form. It was too pink. It made her look like she was blushing. Sighing, she dropped it on the floor; at this rate, her room looked like Dewey’s with the amount of clothes on the ground.

Flopping down on the bed beside him with a groan, she wanted to cry. She’d been looking for twenty minutes now.

“I look bad in everything.” She lamented.

Dewey’s head lifted from her pillow to look at her, her hands raising to cover her eyes. She couldn’t rub away the telltale burn of tears – she didn’t want to mess up her makeup on top of this.

“Hey, hey,” his fingers went to grab her hands, tugging them away. Her gleaming eyes met his.

“No,” he scolded. “No, you don’t.”

It was genuine. He hated when she talked bad about herself, because he’s been there. He was bullied all his life and the words people say lasted and morphed into his own words to himself.

He tugged her close.

“You’re having a bad day,” he told her. “That’s it. You’re beautiful, babe.”

His hand rubbed her side reassuringly. She scoffed waterly into his shoulder.

“C’mon, I’ll help you.” He moved to get up, a groan leaving him with the action.

She stayed laying there, curled into a ball.

“What should my baby wear?” He voiced aloud in a sing song. Stepping over piles of clothes, he reached the closet. He was humming softly, comfortingly, as he began his search.

Flicking through hangers, he found a dress immediately that he knew made her shine.

“C’mere,” he gestured to her. Sloth like, she finally moved with a pout on her lips.

“Try this dress on,” he encouraged.

Begrudgingly, she slipped it on and turned so he could zip it up. His hands guided her to the mirror. There she stood in a yellow summer dress. It was one of her favorites. But her mind was aching to find a problem. Her fingers went to prod at the way it rested on her hips. Her lips were still in a deep frown.

“You look beautiful,” Dewey reminded. “You wear the clothes; the clothes don’t wear you.” His arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“I remember seeing you wear this dress the day we met,” he told her. “You look so pretty and vibrant. Like walking sunshine.”

Her cheeks warmed softly at that.

“You look gorgeous, babe.”

Her eyes took herself in again. Maybe the way the fabric laid on her hips wasn’t that bad. And well, her waist looked amazing in it. It was a simple dress, one she often overlooked despite liking when she did wear it out. She looked pretty. Maybe.

Dewey pressed a kiss to her cheek. Tentatively, he asked. “So?”

“I really look okay?” she asked looking up at him.

“You look amazing. Can we please head out?” It was a soft whine despite his true smile.

It made her smile, making his grin widen. Maybe it’ll be fine.

“Okay.” Turning in his arms, she pressed a kiss to his lips. “Thank you, Dewbear.”

“You aren’t beating me,” he cried out as she switched places with him. Her fingers were fast over the video game controller guitar. They’d been playing for an hour now. And Dewey and his sunny girlfriend found out that they were competitive as hell. Especially when the winner was deciding what they were doing for dinner.

“I totally am,” she laughed.

“You don’t even play guitar!” He whined.

“But I play video games!” she countered. “I’m winning.” She sang out jumping up and down.

Dewey wasn’t having that, his face flickering into a mischievous grin.

His hand moved from the controller to tickle her waist, running up and down her side. She jumped with a shriek.

“Dewey!”

She’s jumping around, trying to keep her eyes on the television screen as Dewey continued to corner her. Laughter is tumbling from her mouth as she jumped onto the couch, the springs in the old thing squeaking loudly. His hands were now off his fake guitar, the controller swinging behind his back as he followed after her.

“C’mere, babe,” he jeered as he reached for her again. The game was forgotten if only to tickle her waist. If they both are losing points, that was fine by him.

“This isn’t playing fair,” she laughed, trying to avoid his fingertips. She was missing notes now. Giggles and snorts left her as finally she let go of the controller to try to swipe at his hands. Dewey’s grin was bright, his hair falling into his eyes.

“Rock and roll isn’t fair, homie,” he joked as he easily wrapped one arm around her waist and slung her over his shoulder, surprisingly easily. (He’s usually the one to carry the amps for the shows; he had muscles – just hidden under a layer of pudge.)

“Dew-EY!” His name left her in a laughing shriek as he picked her up. Her guitar awkwardly swung on her form, jabbing her in the side.

Her laughs overtook the room, his own mingling at a lower level. It was almost like their own music. However, the song they were playing was fading out as more and more missed notes happened in the game. There were boos from the fake crowd as finally the game timed out with the words “Game Over” taking over the screen.

He let a small grunt out as he moved to support her better on his shoulder. She didn’t wiggle much even as her form was forced upward with his efforts. A small “oof” left her as he adjusted her on his shoulder. Her gaze now was blocked by his entire form. Dewey looked over at the screen before hooting out a “yeah”. It sounded more musical than she expected. A hand went to pat her bum playfully.

“I won, I won,” he sang out, spinning about with her still hoisted over his shoulder.

“You cheated,” she playfully banged against his back with her fists. Her hand gripped at his arm as he spun again.

“Baby, you’re just jealous of a rock star.” He told her before finally, after a few more spirited pats to her butt, he put her down on the ground. He plopped down on the couch. Beaming up at her, he raised a hand for a high five.

She pouted at him, hand fixing the guitar strap on her shoulder, so it wasn’t digging into her neck. Looking him up and down, his hair was even messier on his head, cheeks a jovial red. There was a gleam of a sweat on his brow. (He was always warmer than her she learned, even when he called her “his sunlight”.) He looked like a happy dog, an over excitable Labrador.

“No high five,” she blank-faced said, moving to put his hand down. Her mock anger didn’t linger on her face easily. Her pout remained, but the way he looked so happy drew her in like a moth to a flame.

Instead of being discouraged, Dewey smiled wider.

“Kiss then,” he reasoned, leaning in for a smooch, puckering his lips and shutting his eyes.

She snorted taking the opportunity for her revenge, fingers going to tickle at his stomach. He jolted back with a less than manly yelp before it faded into giggles. The sun couldn’t help but grin. Her hand reached out for his hands that had jumped to rest over his stomach in protection. Interlacing fingers, she tilted her head down to press her lips to his sweetly.

“I still think I won.” She murmured against his lips as he tugged her closer by her hands. Her knees hit the couch; Dewey’s hands going to guide her into his lap, fingers splayed on her back.

“Yeah, you were totally winning,” he replied, brows quirking playfully before kissing her again.

He was exhausted. He had just woken up, and it was already one in the afternoon. He had looked at his laptop with bleary eyes. His phone wasn’t an option for texting anymore (he didn’t have the money for the bill; she didn’t know again) – but he tried to check if she sent any messages on his desktop. And he almost fainted when he saw the first text from her.

“Happy anniversary babe xoxox”

Accompanying the text were a bunch of grey question mark boxes, he assumed they were variations of the heart emoji. But his stomach was churning, a sweat marring his forehead near immediately. He completely forgot about the date. The 26th. It was the day of their anniversary.

Dewey had forgotten about their date. There was a concert this week that had been on his mind, and all he could think was organizing the set list and writing songs and practicing to be perfect. He forgot about their lunch date.

He’s scrambling to get up, tripping over his comforter. Throwing on pants, hands running through his hair to try and make it look better. Digging through his closet he found the first clean “nice” shirt. A white button up that he used for special events. It smelled like detergent – a rarity with his clothes. Tossing it on,

Tipping a bottle of cologne (that she bought him for another holiday) on his wrists, haphazardly and clumsily, the liquid spilling onto the wood floor.

“Shit,” he cursed, wiping the liquid on his wrists on his neck and smearing it on his shirt. He wasn’t exactly well versed on this sort of thing.

He grabbed his useless phone to pocket it as he threw on his sneakers. He should’ve picked up flowers or a necklace or some romantic shit. Dewey hadn’t, and it was now plaguing him. Running out of the house, his mind was just focusing on getting to the little restaurant he promised he’d take her to, because every time they walked by it smelled like heaven.

It was 1:13 pm. Their date was supposed to happen at 12:30 pm.

He ran faster, panting. Icy hot panic pumped through his veins, making him feel like he’d pass out. How could he have forgotten? Why? Why?! He ran.

He was sweaty by the time he got to the restaurant. Looking wildly around for her. And there she sat. Beautiful. Hair gorgeous. Wearing a yellow dress with his leather jacket. No food, a water glass with melted ice in it. Her fingers were fiddling with the worn edges of the jacket.

Her head glanced about again. He knew it happened countless times by now. When her eyes met his, he felt like an ant. Like a magnifying glass was on him and the sun was burning him. He froze, hands fiddling with the edge of his white button up. He started to walk towards her, quickly sliding into the chair across from her.

Before he could even get a word out, an apology, she spoke.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” It was a quiet statement. It hurt to hear. Her expression hurt even more. It was one that ached of betrayal. Brows crinkled and lips pressed into a fine line. Shoulders sagging. Hell, he could feel how her heart was aching. He knew she knew the answer. She was giving him the benefit of the doubt with her false confusion. And Dewey Finn would take what he could get.

“No, no!” he lied. His hand went to grab hers. “I got stuck at work. I’m so sorry.”

Dewey Finn was a liar. Dewey Finn hated confrontation. Dewey Finn would avoid taking responsibility for anything from the rent being over due to missing his anniversary.

And she didn’t believe his lies. Her eyes proved that. Her still hand in his like a statue.

“I’m so sorry.” He pleaded, sweat from his run sliding down his forehead. His brown eyes were desperate.

What was she supposed to do? For forty minutes, she had sat there alone. Waiting. Hoping she was wrong. Hoping it was really an accident.

He wouldn’t miss their anniversary – after ten minutes of waiting.

He’ll be through that door soon – after fifteen minutes.

He got caught in traffic – after twenty-five minutes.

No, I’m waiting for another person. I’ll just have water for now – after thirty-five minutes.

His lie pricked her skin. He didn’t work today. She knew. She had asked weeks ago. She was silent.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Her name left his lips in a soft beg.

“Just don’t lie, Dew,” her eyes were filling with tears. She was blinking them away. But he caught it.

“I’m sorry,” it was like a broken record player.

She had sat through the dinner; it was awkward. She didn’t know why she stayed. Maybe it was her pride. He had tried to make her laugh. Hell, he paid for both of them. Which was a rarity. He offered to get her ice cream afterwards. She had quietly shrugged it off.

It hurt. Both of them hurt. He didn’t want to lose her because of a dumb mistake. She didn’t want to be a second thought. Tears pricked her eyes as they began walking down the street. Her hand rose to wipe it away.

He held her close beside the ice cream shop. And apologized. And promised.

He’d do better.

She gave him another chance.

Because she loved him.

She laid in bed beside him. His room was a mess again. It happened so fast. Nothing changed. Her fingers played with his. He let her, humming one rock song that faded into another seamlessly. Fingertips trailed over his calluses from his music, from strings rubbing soft skin until it was rough. Sometimes it felt like their relationship was like that. Something so lovely kept being pushed to a limit.

She was angry sometimes at him. At his immaturity. His inability to think of anything other than his music. His inability to think of anyone other than himself.

Sometimes he was a jerk.

His hand that wasn’t captured in hers rose to boop her nose. A song she didn’t recognize left his lips. Soft and adoring. About a girl in a yellow dress with a sunny smile to match.

Sometimes he was a sweetheart.

“Dewey, we talked about this,” her tone was frustrated, a whine entering her tone.

He was glad for the whine. A whine wasn’t a yell. It wasn’t like Patty’s screaming voice when he missed the rent. No, his sunshine wasn’t screeching like the hurricane’s winds. Not like Patty’s shrieks at all.

No, his babe was like the sun. Burning. Overwhelming. He could feel the disappointment radiating from her, the rays of judgement, the burn of anger.

“I know, I know,” he tried to reassure, his hands going to her biceps. He kept trying to prove himself, but it was harder than he thought. “I’m trying, babe. I am. I just—I had to take a few days off work for the band.” His soothing touch up and down her arms must’ve worked, because she let out a sigh.

It was always for the band. Her brows furrowed at the excuse before she dug through her purse to find her wallet. 300 dollars. Another three hundred dollars. So her boyfriend wouldn’t get kicked out of his apartment.

“Please, Dew, I know you love music. But you have to try to keep up with your bills.” She pleaded.

“I will,” he swore. It didn’t sound truthful to his own ears. But he pressed a kiss to her cheek. It burned her.

She didn’t show up to the concert that night. He saw the text message. (She had paid for his phone bill. She said it wasn’t safe to be without a phone.) The text message was quick. Too short.

“Can’t make it tonight. You’ll do amazing!”

She hadn’t missed a weekend show since they started dating. Seeing her out there made him play better. Made him drink less. He got excited knowing his baby was out there listening to his music. But she missed today. After they had a fight this week. He wasn’t scared of losing her. Why would she leave? She loved him. He loved her.

It wasn’t the first show she missed. It became a habit. Last minute texts claiming she needed to take care of something else. Months went by.

He was drunk.

“When was the last time you saw a show?” he yelled.

“When was the last time you didn’t miss a date?” she countered.

The air was heated, her fingers clenched. Their gazes were locked. It was frustrating. They both felt like something was wrong. Dewey missed having her at his concerts. He felt like she didn’t take him seriously. (He felt like he was constantly trying to prove himself to everyone – to her!) She missed sharing time with him. She wished he cared. He didn’t care about the relationship. If he did, wouldn’t he remember their dates or would spend more time with her then just one day a week.

“Do you even care?” she bit out.

Her words burned. Did he care? Of course, he cared!

“What the fuck are you on about?” he cursed out.

“You don’t act like you do,” she screeched. “You focus on your music day after day after day.” Her tone was loud but it ached into a low frustration.

“This needs to be an effort on both sides.” Her hand gestured between them. “I remember everything. I help you when you need it. Because I love you! But… It doesn’t even feel like you love me!”

Dewey sputtered in defense, turning away from her.

“You’re being dramatic.”

“No, no I’m not,” tears pricked her eyes. “When was the last time you asked me about me? Huh? And not just so I could come over or if you could borrow money or if I was coming to your show? Because I can’t remember! Can you?”

He couldn’t remember. His mind was hazy from the beer and the yelling. His ears rung. Maybe it was his tinnitus acting up.

“That can’t be true.” He mumbled out, hands raising to rub his eyes. Dewey hated fighting. He hated conflict – deep down he’d never admit it (It’d clash with his rock and roll vibes.)

“It is!” It came out as a yell as if it could get him to open his eyes to reality. It was desperate. She is unrelenting in his eyes. Burning and overwhelming.

But she is crying. She is hurting. His sun was burning herself up.

There’s a lull as he lost the words to say. Only a mumble of noises left his open mouth. Nothing to counter the truth.

“I’m going to head home.” She mumbled, standing to grab her bag and keys. Tears trailed down her cheeks still. He let her go.

He apologized with flowers he tore from a neighbor’s garden (without asking). He promised to do better. She nodded quietly. When he pressed a kiss to her forehead, it burned.

She liked visiting him at work. He always beamed so brightly at the sight of her. He’d say something cheesy like she was his favorite song. It felt like when they first started dating again. Her fingers would trail over records, recalling how her heart jumped out of her chest when they were so close. Remembering how things were simpler and they didn’t fight.

They were getting more distant. And he found more issues. Small issues.

He didn’t like when she’d open the blinds in his room or cleared away his trash. (It forced him to remember how it was already midday; it made him feel like he should’ve had his room clean already.) She always got a Shirley Temple when they went out. (She was so high and mighty because she didn’t drink.) And she always would tie the cherry stem with her tongue as if it was something so amazing (It wasn’t.) She would tie his No Vacancy shirt he gave her at her waist, revealing her stomach. (It stretched out the fabric and distorted the band name.) Her smile was too large, revealing crooked bottom teeth. (She kept smiling everywhere except at him).

Little things he used to find adorable, he’d find annoying.

Did she find him annoying too?

(Why else would she want him to change so fucking much?)

He had burnt spaghetti. She didn’t know how he managed to do that but he did. Her apartment reeked. And he stood there washing out a pan, scrapping at its bottom to get the charred bits down the drain.

Dewey had wanted it to be a romantic dinner. And he ruined it. Again.

She wasn’t angry. She laughed which made his ears burn red even more. But she joined him by the sink, squirting more soap into the pan. And she leaned up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

He was trying. He was. And she appreciated it.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry; I think I ruined this pan and-“ he was rambling. Her hands went to stop his scrubbing. Soapy fingers intertwining with hers.

“Dew, it's fine,” she grinned. “So we’ll have to open the windows, big deal. And I have a discount for all the cooking and baking supplies in the world, it is fine.”

He met her eyes, searching for disappointment she was hiding. She wasn’t.

“Thank you for trying. But we can order pizza?” she offered.

“From the place down the street?” He tentatively added.

She nodded with a giggle. “It’ll be the best romantic dinner ever. Just you, me, and pizza.”

Things could be normal. Sometimes.

“Wait, babe, babe, please,” his hand reached out to grab hers. “I’m sorry. It was just—It was a groupie.”

She had walked backstage to spot a woman, taller than her (and taller than Dewey) pressed against her boyfriend. There was an intimacy that made her want to vomit. He had spotted her in a moment, especially when she gasped.

He was running after her.

“Dewey,” she tried to yank her hand away. “Dewey!”

It was a snap, and it made his hand let go like he was slapped.

“It wasn’t what you think. I swear.”

“What was it?” she turned, her hair hitting her face with the force.

“It was just an old friend. An old fan. She knew Doug. And I didn’t do anything. She got into my space. I don’t want anything to do with her.” He said.

And he didn’t. Sure, groupies fighting over him was a fun fantasy. But then there was reality. And reality was he was with her.

Her nose scrunched. His eyes were wide, afraid. Afraid she was going to walk out on him and never returned. Dewey didn’t want that. She made him better – a better man. Didn’t she? He felt like she did.

Her brow was furrowed. Tears pricked her eyes. And he hated that he was making her cry. Her name left his lips as he took a step forward.

“I promise.” He swore.

“You do?” her voice broke.

The sun burned, warmed, and hurt him sometimes.

But he realized she could be hurt too.

“I do. I’m—I swear on my guitar.”

She knew it was his most precious possession. His most precious thing in life. And that didn’t reassure her. In fact, it burned.

Shouldn’t she matter?

He became a model boyfriend for a month after that. He woke up early. Paid his rent. Took her on a date every Saturday. He stopped smelling like booze.

It had ended abruptly when his band hired another guitarist suddenly. Music truly made him happy. She saw it. But it hurt knowing she couldn’t do anything to help. Nothing she did cheered him up. He just laid in bed, drunk or hungover. He missed how things used to be.

Some days were okay still. They’d kiss and smile. There just was a tension. Something was wrong and they both felt it. Dewey just thought it’d pass. Things like this happened with the other members in his band (admittedly they’d find other girlfriends pretty fast.) It couldn’t be communication reasons because they talked all the time. (He talked all the time.) She had to be going through something. He began to distance himself even more.

She just needs time to figure shit out he reasoned. In the meantime, he could focus on his band.

Focusing on the band usually meant getting drunk at the end of each night.

She hated it.

He was distant. She had felt the shift. She’d come over, and he’d fall back asleep. Ned told her how Dewey didn’t leave the bed except to eat or go play a set. She had called his work trying to make sure everything was okay. He was taking vacation days now (How was that possible with his show up rate?)

She’d visit him, trying to get him out of the bed. He was just burnt out. Things weren’t working out. His music wasn’t as good as he wanted. The band was distant. (She was distant – despite being right beside him.)

They were laying beside one another on his bed. She had put on the record she had bought from him over a year ago. Her hand intertwined with his.

“Things will get better, Dew,” she reminded.

He let out a shrug.

Sitting up, she glanced over him. His brows were furrowed. He seemed so unlike himself. Exhausted, distant. She didn’t know what to do. But she wanted him happy.

Reaching over him, her form draped over his stomach.

“Woah,” his hands rose in surprise. What was she doing?

Her fingers reached around on the floor to finally wrap around the neck of his guitar.

Leaning back up, sitting criss crossed beside him, she puffed hair out of her face.

Dewey was gazing up at her, brow pursed even more.

“Babe?” he asked softly as she adjusted the strap and placed it around her shoulders.

“Shh,” she hushed.

Softly, she began to play. Clumsy fingers brushed over the chords of the song he wrote about her. She had heard the lyrics enough times under his breath and the hints of chords on his guitar when they sat in bed late at night. While it wasn’t as well versed as him, she began to sing. It wasn’t his lyrics. It was about a rock and roll star with a sunshine smile.

It was the first time he grinned sober in weeks.

She did love him. And she knew he loved her in his way. But a part of her feared it was loving the beginning of their relationship. Something had changed. She had felt second to everything. He’d choose sleeping in over her. He’d choose music over her. It felt like she wasn’t good enough. And she didn’t know what to do.

She was in his arms, curled up on her couch. They’d finally found time to see each other. He thought this was good. They’d been having it a bit rough, but they were sitting together. They had shared pizza and were watching old rock and roll videos.

But things still felt off.

“Baby, can we move the date to next week?” he had asked on the phone. His hand was digging through his hair. It was the third date he missed.

“Dew, I can’t. It’s my—” It was her birthday dinner next week. But Dewey apparently didn’t remember that. “I can’t, Dewey. I have something on that day.” It was curt.

He’d make it up to her. He’d surprise her.

“How about the week after, honey?” he prodded.

“Fine,” she’d concede. She wanted to call her friends up. Did he forget about her birthday too? How could he? She could hear their anger already; she could hear their adamant cries to dump him, because she deserved better.

Didn’t she deserve someone who remembered important things? Things thats were important to her.

Ned was the one to mention her birthday, telling his friend to tell her happy birthday for him. Dewey felt a punch to the gut. It was noon when he heard this. And he spent the whole day scrambling to make something for her.

He serenaded her that night. Bought gifts that he couldn’t afford. He can’t believe he forgot again.

Like Icarus, he was falling.

He borrowed money again – without asking. Ned noticed. He knew Dewey was skipping work again.

“Is this her money?” he asked.

“No. Maybe. Why? You don’t owe her anything,” Dewey replied, defensively.

“Dewey.” It was a sigh of frustration. “Do you want to lose her? She is your first real girlfriend!”

Ned saw how Dewey used to light up around her, how she’d smile and Dewey’s face would flush. What had happened? (Too many issues he had to grow out happened.)

“She doesn’t care; it's not like I’m mooching off of you, bro,” Dewey countered. It was too casual for Ned to ignore.

Ned had called her to tell her about the money – even offering to give it back. She said it was fine. She didn’t mention it to Dewey, but she started to put any money in her wallet somewhere else when she knew he was coming around.

Weeks had gone by, and finally they were spending a night in. Pizza, beer (for Dewey), and a movie. It was supposed to be nice.

The night was a cold summer evening, a storm rumbling on the horizon. He was drunk-ranting. About his band and how they were pushing him away. About his job. About how Ned and Patty were nagging him about rent.

And she had snapped at him.

“Grow up, Dewey,” she muttered out.

The look of anger and hurt that flashed over his face was shocking. His brows furrowed and his nose flared. So many people said that to him. He hated it. And for a moment, he hated her.

“Hey,” the word was sharp. “I’m making my dreams come true. Don’t fucking tell me to grow up when you work at a stupid bakery.”

And that’s how they got into a fight – again.

“Dewey, you are trying to make your dreams come true while ignoring everything else in life. You need to pay rent. You need to go to work. You need to keep up with responsibilities.” She sighed out, frustrated.

“I do,” he bit back. “You act like you are perfect, goddamn, man.”

“I’m not, I know that,” she bit out.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. She was so high and mighty in his eyes sometimes. The very action of that made her hands curl into fists, her eyes fall into slits.

“At least, I don’t have to steal money from you.” She threw out.

He looked baffled. She had known… and didn’t say anything til now.

“Good come back, bro,” he said condescendingly. Immaturely

Their trust was being worn down.

He was scared she hated him.

Dewey hadn’t done much for her recently. He used to get her fancy coffee drinks or surprise her at her apartment or sing her silly songs about the clothes she was wearing that day.

When was the last time he told her he loved her?

Did she hate him?

No. She couldn’t.

He never was afraid of making her hate him. He just feared she already did.

He texted her he loved her. Her reply felt too automatic. (It wasn’t.)

She sat in the corner of the bar, flipping through her sketchbook. There were a few sketches that had hearts next to it and a few with stars. She remembered Dewey going through and starring his favorites while she had hearts near hers. All of his favorites were her fantastical ones. Ones where he was in makeup and held a Rockstar attitude. Meanwhile hers featured him with his less-than-fit tummy and scruffy beard.

Her finger brushed over one of her renderings. She never realized how his head was so up in the clouds. Her gaze flickered back to him on stage, rocking out. He was passionate. He was good. But a part of her doubted he’d make it as a rock star.

She wished he’d take life seriously. She worried about him more than she’d like to. It was stressful. Her fingers brushed over her drawing again, almost like waving goodbye to a memory.

It had happened when he least expected. It was a night after a good show; he was beaming. He had hurried home for once, wanting to tell her all about the awesome set. Only to walk in on her pacing. Her hair was tied up messily. And he saw a wine glass on the counter.

“Babe?” His nickname for her came tumbling out of his lips.

Her gaze flickered to him. Her eyes were red, damp with tears.

It was like crashing after a high.

“Hey, hey,” he rushed over to her, and it only made her sob. “Hey, what’s up?”

His hands moved to gently hold her by her arms only for her to take a step back. It burned.

Her name left his mouth.

“Dewey, I think we need to break up,” she had said in a rush, so quickly the words blended together.

It felt like a slap to the face, and he blinked three times.

“What?” his voice cracked.

“I think,” she was slowing her words, arms wrapping around herself. “We need to break up.”

“Why? What happened? Please talk to me,” he pleaded. What did she do? She was so upset. Did something happen? Did she cheat?

It was all on her. Despite that, he still took a step forward, hating seeing her cry. She maintained a distance as her hands rose to rub her eyes.

“Dewey, what day is it?” she asked, an edge entering her voice.

“Tuesday? The 26th?” he stammered out.

“Its our anniversary,” she said. Sharp like a knife.

“Oh,” he let out. His form deflated, arms falling to his sides.

There was a lull in the conversation; there wasn’t anything Dewey could say to defend himself. He wasn’t busy. He didn’t even remember. He just didn’t care. Her breath is shaky as she willed herself to look at him.

She didn’t want to break up with him. She didn’t want to break her own heart. She loved him. But what were you supposed to do when someone obviously didn’t love you back? When you were easy to forget? Where was the effort? Every time she was forgotten it made her feel invisible. Unneeded except for kisses, support, and cleaning his room occasionally.

“Dewey, I love you,” she admitted, her voice burning. It burnt both of them.

“I love you,” he interrupted. It was true. She’s been by his side for years. Supporting him. He loved her.

But she shook her head at him.

“I think you used to,” she said. “But you don’t try, Dewey. You forgot anniversaries. You forgot my birthday. You… don’t care about anything but yourself. And I don’t want—I can’t just stay in this relationship second best to your music, to the band, to everything. I can’t keep being forgotten, because it hurts so fucking much. Every time you forget something, I know you are forgetting me. Not caring about me. And I can’t do this anymore.”

Her voice rose as she continued until finally it broke. Her expression was one of broken fine china. There was damage he couldn’t fix. He didn’t know how.

“I do love you,” he fought. “I know I forget but-“

“But you’ll get better.” She spoke over him, knowing the routine.

He was silenced.

“Dewey, you might. I hope you do. But I can’t be here for it. I can’t go another year of fake promises. I’m not happy with you.” She said, her words were forceful, burning even. She had thought about this over and over and over.

“We’re done.”

She had been drinking when she made up her mind. Her friends had talked to her about it. Her mother had talked to her about it. Everyone had talked to her about it - except the one that mattered. When she woke up, she felt horrible. Her eyes ached. Her heart ached. But the sun was rising. And she knew she had made a good choice – even if she felt like shit.

He didn’t try to contact her.

Dewey stayed in bed all day. He didn’t block her number like he wanted. He couldn’t even ask why. He knew this was coming. Who would want to be with him? He felt like shit. All the things he knew were true were.

He didn’t try to contact her for weeks.

She put things of his in a box and left it by his door. (Ned had seen her at the door. He had hugged her saying Dewey was an idiot. She was good for him. But he wasn’t good for her. She handed him the key to his apartment quietly.) She didn’t get back her perfume that was in Dewey’s bathroom or her recipe book in the kitchen. He didn’t get back the No Vacancy shirt he had given her the night they got together or his lucky guitar pick.

After a week, he didn’t let himself be sad. He knew he’d fall into bed and never get up. He kept moving. His mind needed to stay moving. He fought the thoughts he had; the reminder of her words ringing too true. He kept going.

It didn’t hide the ache of her gone. He noticed it more than before. Her corner booth near the stage at the bar was occupied by other people. His room was messier. He didn’t look forward to getting up anymore. He was burnt out on life. Depressed and fighting to make his life better by throwing himself into his music. She’d fade away. After all, she thought she didn’t matter to him; why should he care?

He was happy. He’s performing. It was his favorite thing in the world. He was jumping around and singing loud. He was happy. He was smiling. Everything was smiles. Nothing but smiles. So many smiles in the crowd.

But not hers.

Then loneliness swallowed him. She used to always be there. Ned was busy. Patty was not his friend. His band mates made fun of him. He missed her. His bed was his best friend for days, only to be replaced by a cold beer. He went to more parties, drinking until his hangover hurt all day the next day. Music was his only escape once again.

Sometimes when he rocked out, he’d raise his middle finger to the sky - to the sun hidden by the moon.

He texted her when drunk sometimes. They weren’t booty calls. It was all sad texts; things he’d groan at when he awoke in the afternoon.

I miss you.

I got a Shirley Temple tonight – I messed up by the end of the show with a beer. I was doing better.

I’m sorry I wasn’t better.

You were right.

Your song came on, and I cried.

I hope you’re okay.

She saw them each time she woke in the morning, and her heart hurt. What could you do except let the one you love grow? It hurt when you loved someone so much but saw the worst parts of them and knew you couldn’t stay. He needed to grow up. He needed to grow without her for a while.

If he had said some of those things before, would she have stuck it out? Maybe. But for now, she knew things had to change. One night she did reply. She was up too late. Anxiety made her stay up, trying to distract herself with this and that when a message from him beeped on her phone.

One night, she replied.

I miss you too. But we aren’t a good pair right now, Dewey. I’m sorry.

She cried as soon as she sent it

It had been two months. And he hadn’t seen her in the bar again. He liked to think it was because her friends weren’t going out for drinks anymore. But he knew it wasn’t true. He saw one of them in there. (It was… Mary or Marta – no, Millie, he remembered.) She glared at him the entire time.

His habits weren’t any better. No, he still drank too much cheap beer ‘til he was drunk. Slept until his hangover was over. Didn’t pay rent. In the end, nothing had changed. He had thought that as he scratched out the Hello Kitty sticker off the guitar case with his keys in the middle of the shutting down bar. The sun sucked. Yes, he settled on that as he sat scratching out a cartoon cat, because it made him remember her smile that was so bright. Because it made him remember her in his arms with the stupid guitar that the case held. Because seeing the sticker made him think his guitar was stupid.

Seeing it scratched up on made him feel worse.

She sucked.

(No, she didn’t.)

He missed her. He missed her a lot. He thought she’d never disappear. The sun was ever present. But she wasn’t a star or an ethereal being he built her to be. She was a person. And he didn’t treat her like she deserved. He tried. God, he tried. But there was always something.

She deserved better, he decided. Even if he felt in his heart, he loved her. He knew he forgot things easy. (He should’ve made time for her.) He knew he was reliant on alcohol (He knew it worried her, because she didn’t want him getting sick or hurting himself or becoming an alcoholic.) He knew she loved him still. (But he knew he fucked it all up.)

She missed him. Her friends had gone to the bar if only to check up on him. They knew their friend missed him, worried about him. Some tried to tell her not to – tried to say he wasn’t her problem anymore. Others tried to get her to date other people. She didn’t do much. Some said she swore off men for the next few months. Millie and Cera knew.

She played guitar. She had bought the cheapest guitar she could find online. She was still bad at it. But it reminded her of better times. There were only two songs she knew. Under Pressure by Queen and the song Dewey wrote about her. Her friends heard Under Pressure a lot.

Things didn’t get better; they got worse. He got kicked out of his band. He lost his job. He didn’t have enough money for the rent. Patty was kicking him out. Dewey Finn had hit rock bottom without anyone around him to care. His phone was dead again. No money to pay its bill. It was probably for the better, he couldn’t text her on top of it.

But then he made a plan – a stupid plan he knew she’d disapprove of. But it sounded so easy. And the perfect plan in his mind.

Pretend to be Ned. Babysit. Get the cash. Pay the rent. Win Battle of the Bands alone. Become famous. Apologize to you again. Show that he was better. But he’d only be better if he reached his dreams.

Everything changed after the Battle of the Bands. It had been a lesson he didn’t know he needed. He began to stop partying so much. He was sober now – switching to Shirley Temples when he performed at the bar with Ned and other old members of Death Maggot. He was planning on moving out of Ned’s place; Patty was overjoyed. Rosalie was dating him. It was different than when he was with her. Rosalie was reserved, strict to a note even when on dates. He liked when Rosalie was happy or remembering rock and roll moments. But he saw the relationship not lasting. He was trying though. He’d eat lunch with Rose in the teacher’s lounge; he’d take Rose out to restaurants. He remembered dates.

He wore yellow when he needed her. It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. It was a color. It didn’t mean anything. But as another month went by it helped. He remembered how she helped him grow; how he could be better at adulting. Even if he kept backtracking so many times. He could be responsible. He could be responsible. These kids needed him.

He wore a yellow button up a lot while at Horace Green.

It reminded him of the sun.

Rosalie and Dewey didn’t last. He had been the one to break up with her, saying he wanted to stay friends. They were too different. It was the most calm and friendly break up he’d ever had. (Not that he had many.) They were friends months later (Rosalie had said they were work colleagues); in fact, he was trying to incorporate her operatic singing into the newest concert the kids were preparing for.

He used to hate waking up in the mornings. But now, he had a routine. Let the sun in. Get ready. Clean up the trash he had laying around. It wasn’t fun. But it was right. Plus, it meant Ned and Patty didn’t get on his case anymore. He was moving out in a week, his stuff piled in boxes. Dewey and Ned fought over the guitar hero set. (Ned won.)

He had texted her one day at lunch. Out of the blue. Five months after they broke up. It was a long text. Apologizing. Admitting he wasn’t the best boyfriend at times. How he forgot stuff too much. How he didn’t appreciate his friends and more importantly her. He talked about the Battle of the Bands, his new job, his new place. He was sorry. He would’ve written an essay about how sorry he was. He hoped she was okay. He hoped she was happier. He reassured her he understood if she didn’t want to reply.

He got a reply the next morning. She asked if he wanted to get coffee and talk.

He was never so happy for the sun to come out.

#dewey finn x reader #dewey finn x oc #musical!dewey finn x reader #dewey finn fanfiction #written by haley

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creepyoldbeejfics · 4 years

Note

Hello my lovely, I loved ur Dewey puppy fic so so much🥺 could we maybe get a soft fluffy Dewey request where the both of you are kinda sick with flu and you both just wanna take care of one another🥰 if you don’t feel like doing it or you have too many requests then please down worry!! I mist really loved ur writing💜

Yes!! I don’t get many requests so it’s fine!! This sounds like a really cute idea!!

Sorry this took so long by the way! I got really busy :\ I hope you like it!!!

Sick Together (Dewey Finn x Reader)

The early sunlight pours into your bedroom and you can hear birds chirping from the outside. You try to move so you can get out of bed and see the beautiful outdoors, but you can’t. Your body and head are dizzy and your whole room is spinning. Your throat is as dry and scorching as a desert and you can’t breathe through your nose. You groan in pain, or at least attempt to, with only a whine coming out at first that turned into silence.

You roll over, lazily grabbing your phone, squeezing your eyes shut to prepare yourself for the brightness from the screen. But to your luck, the brightness on your phone screen was at its lowest. You looked to see a text from Dewey that read: “Good morning beautiful ;)”. You smiled and blushed opening it to text back: “Good morning bby, how are you?” You turn it off leaving it on the charger, rolling back over to rest your eyes a little more.

Once you feel like you’re strong enough, you push yourself up and out of bed. You stumble over to the window looking out, squinting your eyes from the light. You looked at the time to see that it was 6:50 am and decided to make your way to the kitchen. You didn’t have an appetite, but figured that since you didn’t feel good, you might as well drink some water. As you poured yourself a glass, you noticed how freezing you were since you had left your bed. You walk over to the thermostat to see it at 65° F, remembering that you typically leave it cold at night to save energy since you’re not using that room then. You turn it up to around 70° hoping that maybe that was the reason why you were cold, although it felt like it was in the 40’s. You shivered, walking back to your glass of water and taking a sip. You immediately put the glass down and grabbed at your neck in pain. The water had felt like knives being dragged from inside your throat.

You knew you had to drink water to help you feel better, but you were dreading the pain you’d receive as you’d drink it so you decided that you’d watch TV to distract yourself. You grabbed a thick fluffy blanket and wrapped it around yourself and turned on the TV. Throughout watching and reluctantly drinking your water, you kept coughing. Your throat felt worse and scratchier than ever.

After you finished your glass of water, which took you a span of an hour to drink due to the pain, you got up to check the thermostat since you were still freezing. It was at 69°. You rolled your eyes, quickly walking to the bathroom and opening a drawer to pull out a thermometer. You scanned your forehead with it, looking at it to see that your temperature’s at 100.5° F. ‘Great. I‘m sick,’ you thought. You walked back into the living room falling back on the couch and surrounding yourself in your thick, warm blanket.

About 15 minutes later you were fast asleep. You were turning uncomfortably in your sleep opening your eyes slowly to see a figure above you looking down at you from behind the couch. You got up immediately slapping them in the face.

“Ow!! What was that for??”

You recognized the voice immediately. “I’m so sorry Dewey, oh my God!” You run around the couch to hug him, but stop yourself, leaving his accepting, open arms empty. “I thought you were an intruder,” you explained breathing heavily, grabbing the couch to hold yourself up, as you had gotten up too fast.

“It’s okay, I’m just glad to know you’re okay,” Dewey said smiling in relief.

“Wait, what? Why wouldn’t I be okay?” You asked raising an eyebrow.

“I texted you about an hour ago and you didn’t answer so I called you and you never answered and I was starting to worry that something happened to you so I came over as quickly as possible to check on you.” He rambled.

“An hour? That’s not that long. I just left my phone in bedroom. But thanks for caring about me so much,” you said grinning. “Wait, what time is it?”

Dewey lifted his wrist to check his watch, “8:15, why?”

“What?? Shouldn’t you be at school?!” You asked worriedly.

“They’ll be ok if I’m a little late. Besides, I’m always late.”

You giggled, “I don’t think that’s something you should be proud of.”

He shrugged it off, “Yeah, well, I should probably get going.” He stepped towards you with open arms. You leaned in to hug him, but stopped half way realizing the condition you were in. “Ah, um... we don’t have time, you should get going,” you coughed which ended up turning into a small coughing fit.

“You okay?” He asked tilting his head a bit.

“I’m fine,” you coughed again, your throat sounding hoarse. “Hair in my throat.”

“Oh, could I get you some water?” He offered, heading towards the fridge.

“Dewey!!” You blurted. “I’m fine! Stop worrying about me and get out of here.”

“Okay, okay!” He chuckled heading towards you to give you a hug. “That’s not necessary,” you said quickly, trying to back up, but it was too late. He stepped back immediately. “Your arms are on fire.”

“I worked out this morning,” you answered quickly.

“Then why did you have a blanket wrapped around you?” He questioned suspiciously.

“Because I get cold... after... work outs...” you responded unsure.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know, crazy right? I mean I could do about-,” you stopped as he took the back of his hand and held it against your forehead. “What are you doing??” You smacked his hand away.

“You’re burning up,” he responded, ignoring your question and quickly running to your bathroom and coming back scanning your forehead with your thermometer.

“Hey! What makes you think you can just,” he cut you off. “101,” he said studying it. “You have a fever,” he looked at you with a look in his eyes that only you could understand.

“What? Ha ha! Nooo... That thermometer’s really old!! It doesn’t work anymore!” You frantically explained, coughing a bit afterwards. Crap. He looked at you, not believing you for one second. “I thought you looked pale...” He immediately picked you up princess style carrying you towards the couch.

“No, no! No! Dewey!” You whined. “Don’t! I’m fine!”

Without responding, he layed you down gently on the couch, taking the blanket and covering you with it. Grabbing your empty cup, he went over to the fridge and refilled it again. “No, please Dewey! You have to go to school! I can take care of myself.”

Still, no response as he put your cup on the coffee table next to you. He went back into the kitchen, pulling his phone out of his pocket and lifting it up to his ear. You threw an arm over the top of the couch to hoist yourself up. “Dewey! No, what are you thinking!!” You scolded in a harsh whisper. “Yes, hi I’m not feeling well today, so if it’s alright with you I’m going to stay home today to rest up.” He said in a fake groggy voice into the phone. “Sorry this is so last minute.” He fake coughed into the phone. You rolled your eyes and laughed. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be able to find one,” he assured. Some silence. “Okay, thank you. You too. Bye.”

“Dewey, you idiot! I’m a grown adult! I can take care of myself! Go to school for crying out loud!!” You scolded him, coughing.

“Save your voice, sweetheart. Have you eaten today? Would you like chicken noodle soup or maybe fruit? Ice cream? It helps scratchy throat and coughing. At least it does for me.”

You pouted, mad that he wasn’t going to school and the fact that you were only slightly sick, yet he still stayed to make sure you felt better. Don’t get me wrong, you loved how caring he was being and it was super sweet and flattering, but you’re a grown adult and you’re capable of taking care of yourself.

“Okay, I’ll get you all of the above,” he said with raised eyebrows, smiling.

“No! No. Ugghh... I’ll just have some fruit.”

“Good choice,” he winked. You rolled your eyes, blushing at how annoying, yet caring he was.

A few minutes later he brings you a bowl of assorted fruits. He hands it to you, grinning down at you.

“What?”

“I love taking care of you,” he leaned foward, kissing you on the head.

“Don’t! I mean that’s very sweet of you, babe, but I don’t want to get you sick.”

“Hey. Don’t worry about me okay?” He said caressing your cheek. You smiled at his touch, leaning into his hand a bit. “Besides, I don’t get sick.”

‘Yeah, right,’ you thought to yourself. Dewey walked over and grabbed the remote. “You wanna watch a movie?”

“Sure, but you’re sitting over there so I didn’t get you sick,” you lazily gesture to the chair next to the couch. You start coughing again.

“What movie do you want to watch?" He asked, ignoring what you said.

“Uhh any movie’s fine with me.”

“Okay, how about Me Before You?” He asked looking at you with a gentle smile.

“Sure, that’s fine,” you say wrapping the blanket around you tighter.

As the movie begins to play, Dewey walks over to the edge of the couch, climbing in behind you. “Dewey, no, I told you to sit on the chair!”

“Too late now. And I told you I don’t get sick,” He assured you. “Deweyyy,” you groaned. “Shhh! The movie’s starting.”

Throughout the movie, Dewey had his arm wrapped around your waist, and would occasionally run his fingers through your hair, which of course, lulled you to sleep. Halfway through the movie, yes you had fallen asleep in the beginning of the movie, you were woken by Dewey coughing. At first you dismissed it thinking he probably just swallowed the wrong way, but he kept coughing every now and then. You could tell he was trying to hide it and cough as softly as possible, probably to prevent himself from waking you up. Well, too late.

“You don’t get sick, huh?”

“Oh you’re awake. I don’t, I just swallowed the wrong way,” he said coughing once again.

“Dewey, you’ve been coughing for the past twenty minutes.”

“Y/N, I’m fine.”

“Ok, sure,” you said yawning.

You fell back asleep, but continued to shiver throughout the rest of the movie. Later, you woke up, noticing the TV was turned off and your chills were gone. Instead, you were really warm. Not hot, but just warm. But instead of you being the source of the heat, you noticed the source was actually behind you. You sat up slowly so you wouldn’t wake your boyfriend up. You looked at him noticing his face was flushed, so you brought the back of your hand to his forehead. Getting up from the couch, you stumble to the kitchen where the thermometer was. You checked his temperature, and sure enough it was a fever. Grabbing a towel, you ran some cool water and dampened it and put it over Dewey’s forehead. As you figured would happen, he woke up.

“What...?” He asked dazed and confused. He reached for the towel on his forehead, but you grabbed his hand bringing it back down.

“Don’t. You have a fever. This will help bring your temperature back down.”

“No, don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself. Go back to sleep, Y/N,” he said in a tired voice.

“Babe. Let me help take care of you,” you said sweetly, looking down at him with tired eyes.

“No, it’s- I’m fine, just sleep now please,” he mumbled, eyes closed.

“I think you’re the one who needs sleep now,” you giggled weakly.

“And water...?”

“Of course, honeydew.” You got up, filling a cup with water. You walked back to the couch to see Dewey sitting up this time.

“Here you go, baby,” you smiled, handing him the water.

“Thanks,” he said, tiredly grabbing the cup and drinking it. He coughed a bit after a couple sips.

“Do you have a sore throat?” You queried.

“No, it’s just a bit scratchy. Do you have one?”

You nodded. At that, Dewey got up, walking to the bathroom. He came back out with a bag of watermelon flavored cough drops, handing you a couple. “Aww, thank you baby.” You popped one into your mouth, smiling at the sweet flavor, but also grabbing at your throat when you swallowed.

“I know it won’t make your sore throat go away, but it’ll at least soothe it for a while,” he said wrapping his arm around you. You leaned your head into him.

“Okay, wait. How did I even get sick already? Doesn’t it take a couple days until you start showing symptoms?” He asked rubbing his head.

“Well we went on that date a couple nights ago, so you probably got it then and didn’t start showing symptoms until now.”

“So I guess it wouldn’t have mattered if I cuddled with you anyway,” he said smirking.

“Look I’m not a doctor, it’s just a guess,” you stated.

“Well it doesn’t matter now.”

“Yeah, you’re right. At least now we can both take care of each other,” you said softly.

“No, I can take care of myself. Just let me take care of you.”

“Dewey. It’s okay to let people you love take care of you. I’m okay. It’s just a cold. Let’s both work as a team and take care of each other, okay? Besides, the past other times you’ve been sick you would be whining and groaning on the couch like it’s your last day on earth,” you said giggling.

“Stop talking, your sore throat’s gonna get worse,” he responded quickly.

“You’re not even going to respond to that part? You’re not gonna defend yourself? Or admit? Ohhh, or are you just ignoring that part because you know that it’s true,” you teased.

“This is the first time we‘ve both been sick at the same time. You are my top priority and I don’t need you to waste energy caring for me. Now go to sleep. It’s 12 in the morning.”

You giggled again, “Okay, okay.”

He held you tight, and you could feel him grinning at the back of your neck. You smiled as well, nestling back into him and putting your hands over his hands. All of a sudden you felt a small gentle kiss at the back of your neck.

“I love you,” he whispered gently.

“I love you too.”

Later that night, you wake up to teeth chattering very loudly behind you as well as Dewey’s body shaking. You were sweaty as hell, but you got up to grab your fluffiest, thickest blanket and layed it on top of him. You liked being cuddled so you grabbed his right arm pulling it gently over you. You felt his hand go over your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours.

“Thank you, baby,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome,” you whispered back.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“Not entirely,” you said unsure. “I’m still feeling weak and tired and my throat is still sore.”

“You should drink some water while you’re up,” he advised.

“You should too,” you said grabbing his water, gently patting him to sit up.

He sat up reluctantly taking the water from your hands and pointing to your water as he sipped from his. You grabbed yours and whinced after swallowing the water that felt like knives.

“Aww, my poor baby,” Dewey rubbed your back gently, looking at you pitifully.

You put your drink down, weakly laughing, which turned into a small coughing fit. He grabbed your waist pulling you towards him so he could be close to you.

“Have you been having trouble sleeping tonight?” He asked quietly.

“A little bit, but it’s okay.”

“Maybe I can help...” he responded, brushing your hair and massaging your scalp with his fingers. You were immediately in heaven, and within five minutes, you fell asleep. He fell asleep as well, and the two of you somewhat comfortably slept the night away.

You woke up first, noticing that your sore throat is almost gone, and you could finally breathe through your nose again. You still felt a bit weak and your head hurt, but that didn’t stop you from making breakfast for your sleepy boyfriend.

Once you made it to the kitchen, you started right away on making an omelet. After you finished making it, you brought it over into the living room, where Dewey was fast asleep. You ran your hands through his scalp softly, and you noticed a smile grow on his face.

“Mmm that smells good,” he mumbled rubbing his face. He looked at what you made for him, and then up at you.

“What about you?” He asked, not taking the dish.

“I’m going to make my breakfast as soon as you take what I made for you.”

“Okay,” he said smiling up at you. “Thank you.”

You smiled back, blushing even. You went and made yourself an omelette and came back to sit next to him.

“Are you feeling any better?” Dewey asked.

“I am actually,” you responded. “Just a little bit though.”

“That’s good to hear,” he grinned and continued to eat his omelette.

“Yeah, how about you? Your voice sounds better.”

“I feel a bit better, but still feel weak and cold. Which is weird because I never get cold,” he said frowning.

“Yeah, I’m the one who’s typically cold and comes running to you for warmth,” you giggled. Dewey shook his head smiling, and then stopping to look at you.

“What?”

“It’s just... I really appreciate you being here to take care of me and cheer me up,” he explained staring at you lovingly, “I only wish I could’ve done the same for you.”

“Dewey, what are you talking about? Of course you did!”

“I know, I guess I’m just mad that I got sick because I wanted to take care of you the whole time.”

“Aww, Dewey! It’s okay, baby!” You assured wrapping your arms around him. “I think it was more fun getting to take care of each other. And it’s important to in all aspects of dating. It’s not one sided. We’re both supposed to be here for each other through anything,” you told him, ending it with a kiss on the cheek.

He blushed, grinning, “You know what? You’re right. I’m glad we both got to take care of each other. And I’m glad I got to spend my sick day with you.”

#school of rock bway #school of rock broadway #school of rock musical #school of rock #school of rock fanfiction #dewey finn #dewey finn fanfiction #dewey finn x reader

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musical-shit-show · 11 months

Note

I loved your teacher!reader oneshot with dewey finn! I’d love to see more, maybe with #1 and #6 from prompt list 3 if you’d like?

no rules in breakable heaven

Pairing: Dewey Finn x Teacher!Reader

Inspiration: Prompts #1 (“i missed you, you idiot.”) and #6 (“i don’t care about them, i just want you.”) from Prompt List #3, spiritual sequel to close enough to touch

Warnings: anxiety, sexual references, fluff, dumbasses in mutual pining

Word Count: 2,299

Author’s Note: So sorry for the delay on this, sweet anon! I have been very busy with a show that I’m in, as well as just…not having a ton of inspiration for a bit. But I think this is a nice sequel to my first Dewey x Teacher!Reader one shot, so I hope you enjoy! As always, check out my Masterlist, About Me page, and Prompt Lists for any requests you’d like to make! I’m gonna be busier for next couple months, but will be working on requests and any other fics that spark my creativity. Thanks again to everyone who reads these silly little one shots, your support means the world!

You were never a rule breaker. It just wasn’t in your nature.

You never had a rebellious streak or disobeyed authority. Hell, you rarely ever talked back to your parents when you were younger.

But here you were, a full-grown adult sneaking around with the music tutor like you were lovestruck teenagers.

It had been a couple months since you and Dewey had started seeing each other in secret, and it was getting harder and harder to hide the truth from the rest of the staff at Horace Green.

Not only was Dewey constantly finding ways to visit your classroom or chat with you at lunch, you knew the other teachers were catching onto your incessant flirting whenever there was a development meeting or other afterschool function.

With the end of spring break, you knew it was only a matter of time until someone overheard you and Dewey in the hallways, and that would be the end of it. Gossip travels fast when the faculty is equal parts snooty and nosy.

On the last day before you were thrown back into teaching introductory poetry and essay structure, you waited for Dewey at your apartment, your knee bouncing nervously as the seconds ticked on. Not seeing him was starting to have an effect on you, which only made you feel more pathetic.

You and Dewey hadn’t exactly defined your relationship. Yes, you went out on dates, and hung out, and slept together, but you hadn’t had the talk. It made you feel juvenile just thinking about it, but how could you not?

You liked him, and you thought he liked you but…what if you were wrong? What if this was just something that filled his time? A meaningless fling? Dewey didn’t seem like the relationship type, despite the way you caught him looking at you.

Maybe sneaking around with the new teacher was just a way to add more excitement to his life. Not that you could really blame him. It was just as exciting for you, even if the thought of getting caught caused a wave of nausea to wash over you.

Your anxiety spiral was interrupted by a confident knock that rang in your ears.

Instantly, your heart jumped to your throat. Opening the door, you couldn’t help but light up as Dewey enveloped you in a bear hug, the scruff on his face tickling your neck.

“Hey there, stranger!” he boomed, his voice tired but giddy, “And here I thought you might’ve forgotten about me while I was gone.” He put you down, his scent lingering on you; he smelled like cinnamon, a noted change from his usual body spray.

You shook your head at his teasing. “I don’t think there’s anyone on this earth that could forget you, Dewey Finn,” the two of you laughed, and you noticed a familiar tinge of pink on his face. He still didn’t know how to be cool the minute you started flirting, which made you hopeful. How could someone blasé about a relationship blush every time a compliment or teasing remark was thrown their way?

The two of you sat down on the couch, your knees bumping against each other. “But seriously,” you said, feeling your hands start to sweat, “I missed you, you idiot.” He chuckled, draping his arm behind you.

“I missed you too,” he replied, “And remind me to never go on a road trip with Ned again. I love the guy, he’s my best friend. But God, he is not a ‘sleep-in-the-back-of-a-van-for-a-week’ type. Too high maintenance.” His tone was light, even as he complained.

An unspoken tension hung in the air, and even though you were both happy to see each other, you couldn’t help but sense that Dewey was uncharacteristically jittery. Why did you get the feeling there was something he wasn’t telling you?

“I told him about us, by the way,” he tacked on, a sheepish look falling across his face, “Ned, I mean. But don’t worry! The only people he talks to are me and Patty, and she’s, well, terrible and doesn’t have any friends so—”

“Dew,” you interrupted, before he jumped into a rant about how much he hated his best friend’s girlfriend, “It’s okay, I understand.” You wiped your palms on your jeans, finding the courage to jump into a potentially disastrous line of questioning.

“But uh, what did you tell him?” you could’ve had a heart attack right on the spot. “I mean, what did you say that I am to you, exactly?”

Now it was Dewey’s turn to take a ride on the Uncomfortable Express.

“Uh, well, that we’re seeing each other, ya know, enjoying each other’s company,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. A nervous tick you had picked up on over the past weeks. “And that you’re awesome and smart and I like you and…” He trailed off, his brown eyes flickering over your lips.

Without much warning he kissed you, slowly and tenderly. Your let out a small sigh as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him on the couch so you were practically in his lap.

Very smooth, Finn.

Not smooth enough to fully distract you from the conversation at hand, but he was certainly trying.

‘Seeing each other’? You guessed that was the best phrase for whatever it was you were doing, wasn’t it? Casual. Light. Fun. Easily ended if another, better prospect crossed his path.

The thought made you tense up, and Dewey noticed. He pulled away, delicately brushing a few stray strands of hair away from your face. “Are you okay?” his eyes instinctively flickered down your frame and back up to meet your gaze, “If you don’t want, I mean, we don’t have to right now if—”

“Oh, no it’s not that,” you assured, patting him on the chest unconvincingly. Your eyes shot to your coffee table, which was strewn with papers. “I just…god I have to grade the kids’ essays before we get back to it tomorrow.”

Dewey was never the most perceptive guy on the planet, but even he noticed a shift in your demeanor. Before he had a chance to press you, an alarm blared on his phone, startling you both. He swiped it from his back pocket, his face flashing with panic.

“Shit,” he muttered, “Completely spaced, but uh, I have a private lesson I gotta teach in a half hour.” You inwardly thanked whatever higher power was intervening. You peeled yourself away from Dewey, your shoulders landing gently on the back cushion of your sofa.

He hopped up from the couch, quickly locating his wallet and keys. You got the feeling that he was secretly thankful for the interruption too. Not that you could blame him; if the roles were reversed, you’d want to get out of there as fast as possible too.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I shouldn’t have…I’ll see around, okay?”

You gave him a sad smile. “Don’t you always?”

Dewey’s lip curled, and he gave you a small kiss on the cheek before bounding out your front door.

***

Not being a rule breaker did have its benefits. Years of following and listening had given you the tools to become an effective teacher. You loved your students and you loved teaching, and those two things made the long days go by just a little bit faster.

Before you knew it, it was nearly a week since you had seen Dewey; he had been suspiciously absent from your usual meet-up spots, and you felt your spirits droop with each passing day.

You couldn’t help but feel sour about that night, but you knew it wasn’t Dewey’s fault; even with all the security you had in the other aspects of your life, relationships were always your weak spot.

Who among us wasn’t terrified of rejection?

As the final bell of the school week rang out, you breathed another sigh of relief as your class clamored out the door. Your job was rewarding, yet tiring; the prospect of seeing Dewey in the halls would at least make your day more interesting.

As you peaked your head out of your classroom to watch dozens of children head towards the exit, your eye caught one of Dewey’s pupils.

“Katie!” you called, and watched the fifth grader whip her head around, her pigtails bouncing, “No School of Rock today?”

The girl shook her head. “Not today,” she called over the chatter, “Mr. Finn canceled.”

Your stomach twisted, and you slipped back into your classroom to collect everything you needed for that weekend. You figured Dewey wasn’t one for confrontation, but did he really cancel lessons with the kids to avoid you?

You didn’t think the conversation you had went that poorly, but the thought buried itself deep in your brain and refused to leave. Bag slung over your shoulder, you angrily pushed open the doors to the parking lot. Most of the other staff were leaving as well, with a few small groups of teachers chatting by their cars.

How could you have been such an idiot? At any point you could’ve been honest with Dewey, told him how you felt. Even if he didn’t feel the same way, it would’ve been better than the purgatory you were in now.

You stared down at your feet as you walked, running through the last time you saw Dewey over and over again in your head. Lost in your own personal shame spiral, a familiar voice snapped you back into reality.

“Hey, stranger.”

It was Dewey, leaned up against his beat-up van, which took up the spot next to your car. His expression was mellow, a delicate smile on his face as you neared. He was holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand, “These are for you.”

The arrangement was simple but still lovely. Hydrangeas, tulips, baby’s breath: all your favorite flowers.

“How’d you—?”

“I have a good memory,” he smirked, “And I owe the girl working at Trader Joe’s big time for actually putting it together.” You giggled, taking in the fresh scent as he handed the flowers to you.

“I feel like such an asshole for being MIA this week, I’ve just been helping out a few kids with solo lessons, and I couldn’t get these until today but…” His shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I could tell something was off the other night. You seemed stressed so…I figured I’d try to lift your spirits. Did it work?”

A laugh bubbled out of you, touched by his kind gesture. You even felt your eyes getting misty, gratefulness filling your entire body.

“Oh shit,” Dewey said, noticing the tears pooling at the creases of your eyes, “Sorry, I didn’t think about the rest of the teachers seeing, I can totally bring them over later on if you—”

It was your turn cut him off with a kiss, sweet and reverent and warm. In your mind, the parking lot was empty, deserted; You could’ve been the last two people on the planet.

You slung your arms around his neck, the bouquet still clutched in your hand. After a few seconds, Dewey broke from you, a confused but enthused look on his face. “But…I mean, are you sure you want to be seen with me?” He looked around, and a few staff members had noticed your close proximity.

Glancing back at the group of teachers, you shook your head at him. “I don’t care about them,” you breathed, a new sense of confidence surging through you, “I just want you. Us. Together, for real. If you want, that is.”

His mouth spread into a wide grin. “I thought you’d never ask, hot stuff.” He gave you another peck on your lips.

“I’ll tell Rosalie first thing Monday morning,” you said, wanting to be above board now that you were official, “We wouldn’t want to break any more rules than we already have, right?”

“I guess not,” he mused, reluctantly releasing you from his grip before too many gossips saw the two of you together. News would spread like wildfire; They didn’t need too much of a show. “But I still intend on taking you out tonight. As my girlfriend.”

You feigned elated surprise at the word. “I could get used to that, you know. Has a nice ring to it.” You shimmied your shoulders happily, and Dewey couldn’t help but bark a laugh.

“So, I can definitely say my not-so-big romantic gesture worked, then?”

You smiled, pulling him closer. “And then some, Finn,” you pressed your tongue between your teeth, eyeing him up and down, “But I guess you’ll have to wait until tonight to find out just how much I appreciate it.” He smirked, enamored with your newfound assuredness.

“You’re torturing me, ya know.”

“I know,” you teased, “But don’t they say that good things come to those who wait?”

“True,” he retorted, “I think we’ve both done plenty of waiting. What’s a few more hours?”

You giggled at him one last time before he kissed your hand, bowing dramatically, “Until this evening, my lady!” He jumped into his van, and it sputtered to a start. “And by the way: thanks for finally finding the nerve to do what I couldn’t.”

“It was torture, believe me,” you joked.

“You have no idea,” he said, gazing at you, “I’ve wanted to do that since the first day I saw you.”

Your heart practically leapt out of your chest. “That makes two of us, Finn,” you said, still hanging onto the flowers that set everything in motion, “Now get outta here before I change my mind about tonight.”

He shifted gears almost instantly, giving you a wink as he sped off out of the parking lot.

*****

thanks for reading! please like/comment/reblog if you enjoyed :)

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hoodoo12 · 11 months

Text

Netflix and Chill? Nah. Rock and Roll (1/?)

Collettejuice will have to wait; Dewey won the informal poll.

This is a rp written with a fantastic person . . . whose tumblr account I can't for the life of me recall. I am so incredibly sorry that my memory is garbage. This isn't 100% mine. If you see this and you wrote this with me, forgive me, contact me and it'll all be adjusted to give you proper credit!

NSFW. Dewey/OC

Enjoy!

The patrons of the local bar were crowding the street when Mora arrived. Townies chatting over cigarettes, so drunk she was surprised that their breath didn't ignite a fire when they lit up. She pushed through quietly, nodding to the bouncer that kind of looked like he was in a biker gang and had seen some shit. They had come to know one another pretty well and he always recognized her babyface so no reason to be carded. She frequented bar and never missed an open mic night.

Inside, she assessed the scene. Familiar faces with some she didn't recognize. Nothing she couldn't handle. How ludacris to be a musician and have stage fright. She hadn't played an open mic yet, not in this town anyway and certainly not by herself. Mora figured the more she showed face there, the more comfortable she would be.

Liquid courage was her friend in these cases. She made her way to the bar and ordered her regular. Coke and rum, with lime.

Open mic night was open mic night, and he was loathe to miss one, even if some of this crowd wasn't his jam. Country singers? Here?

Dewey gulped two swallows of his beer, just to make more noise in his head than the caterwauling coming from the stage. He rarely had time to make it out as often as he did before, since starting School of Rock from the ground up and finally breaking down to take some night classes to get a bona fide teaching certificate. Ned's nagging prompted that.

So here he was, standing against the wall, wondering if he should just ditch this place and head home. His eyes wandered the sea of people.

The bartender slid Mora her drink, she paid and headed onto the dance floor. The bar top wasn't quite rowdy enough for her liking. She would much rather be right in the action.

After a few minutes of the next band setting up, they introduced themselves and began to play. Typical dad rock band covering Billy Joel. She could appreciate it but she would have much rather been listening to something a little bit harder. She sipped her drink idly and scanned the room.

It was then she noticed the scruffy faced teddy bear in the corner, leaning against the wall. He was nursing a beer and looked almost... bored? Lost? She couldn't quite tell. But she knew by his band t-shirt that he must know a thing or two about this town and if there was any real rock and roll in it. Mora adjusted her skirt and made her way over to him. She leaned against the wall and folded her arms across her midsection, drink still in hand.

"Hey, wallflower. What's up?"

It took a second between another swig of beer and the vocals of "Only the Good Die Young" for Dewey to register that he was the recipient of the question asked loudly in his direction. He juggled his glass a little. Luckily it was over half empty, so nothing but residual foam slipped over the rim.

"Huh? What? I mean, hey. Hey!" he sputtered at the woman who’d sidled up. That didn really answer her, so he tried again. "Nothing. Nothing's up, just trying to decide if anything good is going to happen after Billy here."

Mora smirked a bit at the fact that she had startled him. "Good question. Billy is a classic but nowhere near as good AC/DC." She nodded to his shirt.

"These guys don't look much like the heavy type, though. Do you come to open mic often?"

As she mentioned it Dewey glanced down at his shirt and saw, to his dismay and embarrassment, he hadn't been as deft with his hands as he thought: a wet drizzle of spilled beer made a darker spot on the fabric. The t-shirt was old and well worn; maybe she'd just think it was part of the design.

She hadn't brought it up, so he would ignore it too.

"No. I mean yeah! I mean, no, most people don't do classics like AC/DC here and, uh, yeah, I try to come as often as I can."

He'd like to keep the conversation going; it wasn't super often a random cute chick struck up a conversation out of the blue with him. He was never sure if women liked to hear about him trying to get a teaching certificate. It sounded lame (not good) but maybe like he was mature enough to get a steady job (good!). It sounded like he liked kids (good!) but maybe he liked kids (definitely not good). Dewey cleared his throat and opted to just expound with,

"I teach rock lessons and sometimes they go late, so I don't get out to open mic nights as much as I used to."

As the new stranger (very cute and awkward stranger) fumbled over his words Mora took the opportunity to finish off her glass of rum and coke. Her penciled in eyebrows raised at the mention of him teaching rock lessons.

"Wow, really? That's sick!" The topic clearly had peaked her interest, now that she found a fellow musician. "Actually, my band recently broke up so that's how I ended up here. I've been looking for some musician friends but every open mic seems to be like this." She gestured vaguely to the dad rock band on stage.

She pondered a moment, giving him a once over. "Let me buy you a drink. C'mon." She grabbed his hand and pivoted on her chunky platform heel, dragging him to the bar with her.

"Oh man, a break up is tough," Dewey sympathized, "I know that feeling too well."

No need to go into the fact that his band was less "breaking up" and more "him getting kicked out." Her excitement when he mentioned teaching seemed real and not just polite, and her grabbing his hand and pulling him along behind her through the crowd surprised him. She was a lot stronger than she looked, and it wasn't often--like, never--that a woman was so brazen with him.

Dewey stumbled along behind her, a goofy grin on his face. When they made it to the bar, he sobered so not too appear too eager or creepy smiling like a lunatic. He stood behind her, not too close, while she waved for the bartender's attention.

"So . . . what's your sound?" he asked, desperately trying to think of anything to keep the conversation going.

The bartender was helping another patron so in the mean time she started digging through her wallet far some cash. "I've got a couple but I'm a punk at heart. Think like... the early classics! Joan Jett, Ramones, The Clash, Pat Benatar. Shit like that."

Mora turned again, leaning against the counter once the bartender was ready. The bar was too loud for any distinct chatter to be heard but she did throw up two fingers to signal an amount. She paid and retrieved the shot glasses, handing one over to her new friend.

"Hope you like whiskey." The petite girl grinned, holding her glass up. "To sex, love, and rock 'n' roll."

A woman who liked the classics? Fantastic. A woman who bought him a shot? Uh oh . . .

Dewey took the glass.

"It's a toast to those who rock!" he added after her, clinking his shotglass lightly against hers before throwing it back. He grimaced as it went down; hard liquor always burned, but catching her watching him, he morphed it into a grin.

Mora tossed the shot down and did a wince of her own. It never got easier. She much preferred whiskey with ginger ale but shots got the job done faster.

"I just realized... I didn't catch your name, stranger. I'm Mora." She smiled, tilting her head slightly. The liquor was making it's way to her head, and she could tell by the stupid expression on her face. She couldn't help it. She was tipsy and he was cute.

The burn in his throat had dissipated, but as Dewey nodded his head to indicate he heard her, dizziness took its place. Beer before liquor . . . the old adage swam through his brain.

"I'm Dewey!" he replied loudly, just as the band finished. His voice rang out over the second of silence between the fading music and the crowd clapping. Feeling heat rise in his cheeks all the way to his ears, he cleared his throat and repeated in a more acceptable level, "I'm Dewey. Nice to meet you."

He stuck out his hand for her to shake.

A grin couldn't help but spread across her lips at his awkwardness. She giggled, accepting his hand. It was a firm shake for a lady her size and she even let it linger for a second longer than the standard "how do you do."

"Dewey. That's a cute name. Good to meet you, Dewey."

The band's sound picked up a bit to a dance beat. She looked at the floor and then over to her new friend, Dewey. "Do you dance?"

While waiting for an answer, she ordered them two beers and paid again, handing him one. Despite whatever answer he may have spit out, she nodded her head to the dance floor.

"C'mon. It'll be fun! Dance with me."

She headed for the floor, expecting him to follow.

He wasn't a dancer. He could follow a beat, no problem, but his body didn't seem to get the message. Best he could do was half-shuffle side to side and hope his arms didn't do anything outstandingly stupid.

But this woman--Mora! Her name sounded nice in his ears, so he said it to himself, to feel it on his tongue--didn't take no for an answer. Prodded by the slight buzz of alcohol settling in his brain, he allowed her to draw him to the floor, where, as he expected, she fell into a rhythm that looked like she was a natural dancer.

He wasn't drunk enough to think he could even try and move as nice as she did. If asked why he wasn't gyrating or moving much, he'd say he didn't want to spill his beer despite the fact he'd already drained a third of the glass.

Watching Mora from beside her felt less creepy than if he'd been against the wall. She'd invited him here; that made him feel less like a creep as well. He smiled when he caught her eyes, and at least tried to look like he was dancing and not just gawking.

The buzz from the shot they just took was finally sinking in. It was crazy - alcohol. The way it melted away inhibitions. Mora felt like the most important person in the room. The confidence it gave her was like a high. If only it lasted into the morning.

The girl smiled as Dewey swayed along side her. He has rhythm, that much was obvious. No musician couldn't at least hold a beat. She was certain he was a good dancer but he seemed a bit tense, maybe even a little nervous. She would have been too if it weren't for all that liquid courage.

Speaking of courage, she decided she was going to make her move on her new friend. She stepped a little closer to him, resting her arms around his neck. He wasn't very tall but neither was she, even with the platforms on. Giving her best sultry look, she swayed with him and shook her hips, eventually turning around to grind against him.

Sometimes she thinks she should have been a stripper.

Mora slipping her arms around his neck made him stumble and croak, "Oops!" With thoughts of mounting horror he would do something incredibly clumsy, incredibly Dewey Finn-like -- he could just imagine how the rest of the night would go if he managed to dump his beer on her, Dewey gulped the rest of the glass.

Too quickly, of course. He burped as discreetly as he could, and set the now empty glass on the nearest horizontal surface, all the while this woman--this sexy woman--continued to rub against him like he was the best catch in this place. Beer plus shot plus beer made a pleasant haze in his brain, and for once instead of begging off, making excuses, or anything else in his standard playbook, Dewey just let it what happened, happen.

His hands went to her waist and even if he couldn't match her movements, he could provide a steady base for her and enjoy feeling her against him.

The gyrating ceased as the band finished their... impressive rendition of You Shook Me All Night Long by AC/DC. That kind of register was only made for the likes of Bon Scott and Brian Johnson but with a few drinks in you, they didn't sound too bad. They thanked the small audience consisting of townies, regulars and, well, Dewey and Mora. She clapped and gave a few "woo"s as they disbanded to change sets for the next open mic guest. The typical bar chatter continued and returned to its usual volume.

Turning to Dewey, she grinned and laughed, feeling euphoric from the night they were having. Her eyes scanned his features; from his hazel eyes to his scruffy beard. There wasn't a ton of ventilation in the bar so it had gotten pretty stuffy. His mop of hair was sticking to his forehead from the sweat. She was certain she probably looked similarly, if not worse. Her makeup was surely sliding off her face by now. Her eyes darted to his lips and she reached up to wipe some of the sweat off of his cheek with her thumb.

"Let's get out of here." She offered a micro expression of a smile. It was subtly suggestive.

The music was just background noise as they danced; Dewey was much more focused on Mora and her sensuous movements than whoever was onstage. As much as he enjoyed it, he also subtly twisted a little away from her because it was going to be plainly obvious to her how his body was responding.

Was he sweating from the heat or just from her? He didn’t know, and from the bright look in her eyes she didn’t care. Her finger on his cheek tickled.

"It’s, like, almost last call," he mused. "Where would we go?"

Mora giggled and shook her head. Dewey was one she would have to be a little more direct with.

"No, like... Wanna come back to my place?" She tried again, biting her lower lip.

His eyebrows shot north, under his sweaty bangs. Women didn't--women never--not that he hadn’t hooked up once in a great while, but it was definitely after many more drinks and was more a so-horny-you'll-do situation, versus what seemed to be happening right now.

"I, uh, I guess, I mean uh-huh . . . if you want?"

So much for being suave and worldly with that bit of verbal poetry.

"I do want." Mora smiled and held his face in her hands, bringing their lips together with little effort. She kissed him, for the first time, for a few moments before pulling away.

"I have beer at my place. We can put on some records and have a nightcap. What do you say, stud?"

He must look like a stunned mule. It wasn’t just the kiss, a brief press of her lips on his accompanied by a faint taste of alcohol, but the easy use of a nickname that he'd never heard anyone call him.

Instead of building him up and giving him confidence, Dewey felt even more out of his element, like he was standing on shifting sand. He wa going to blow this! He needed to get his act together!

He managed to meet Mora's gaze with projected confidence. At least he did for a second, before smiling goofily and nodding. It was probably too eager.

"Sure! Y-yeah! That sounds good." Fun. Normal. Like he got picked up every time he went out. Like this was old hat, and not at all like his dick jumped behind his fly. "Is your place . . . close by?"

Although she knew virtually nothing about this man, it was obvious he was a little... anxious? Nervous? Uncomfortable? She wasn't sure exactly what the emotion was. She thought, he was cute. A little goofy but very cute. Surely, he had girls flirt with him before. However, maybe not to this degree.

Mora knew she was, as she would like to put it, assertive. Some might just call it aggressive. Both of those traits were not hidden in her flirting style either and maybe that was intimidating. She supposed she would try to go easy on him and not be her typical man-eater self.

She gave him a small smile and grabbed his hand. "Just a few blocks away. C'mon."

tbc . . .

#dewey finn #dewey finn x oc #School of rock #writing #fanfiction #rp

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beetlebitchywitch · 4 years

Note

I really love when you write Dewey, that birthday fic was soooo cute, do you think you'd be down to write more Dewey fluff? Or even hurt/comfort? Just, whatever you want with him, he's perfect and I love him

This sounds awesome! Thanks to @go-commander-kim for kinda getting the whole “Just Friends” trope stuck in my head because here we are. Some angst to fluff Dewey x Fem!Reader for your reading pleasure!

If anyone asked you why you decided to live with Dewey Finn, you would simply ask why you wouldn’t want to live with your best friend. You’d known one another practically since diapers, having sworn an oath on the kindergarten playground to be friends for life, and somehow, you’d managed to make it work. You were both in your late 20’s now, and you were still going strong, so when you both were looking for roommates, it simply seemed to make sense.

The fact that you got to get a good view of him shirtless now and again was simply the icing on the cake.

God. Shut the fuck up, you thought to yourself, shaking your head to rid yourself of that thought as you prepared the two of you breakfast. But still, the image persisted, Dewey with his perfectly squishy belly and his chest hair and his hips-

“Y/N, the pancakes are burning!”

Fuck, he was right, in your reverie you were blissfully unaware of the two pancakes you had on the griddle slowly turning black and sending acrid smoke dancing through the air. You swore under your breath and pulled them off, discarding them both and pouring two new ones to take their place.

“Sorry, Dew, just got a little distracted…” You turned around mid-sentence to shoot him a smile and instead quickly fell silent because Jesus Christ, your daydream was real. Dewey was lounging by the counter with a mug of coffee in had clad only in a pair of pajama pants hanging loosely around his hips that exposed that fucking delicious little happy trail-

You quickly turned back around, eyes scrunched shut as you tried to forget that the guy you’ve practically been in love with for years was standing behind you with no fucking shirt like it was just a thing to do. Love...God, you hated to admit it, but you were absolutely gone for this man, and there was no use denying it, not when everything from his hair, to his voice, to the way he snored made you swoon. But he was your best friend, he’d always been your best friend, and there was no way in hell you’d ruin nearly 20 years of friendship just because your heart fluttered when he was around. Why did you decide to live with Dewey Finn? Because you were a masochist who enjoyed teasing herself with a guy you could never have.

“Those smell fucking awesome,” Dewey groaned, rifling throug the pantry for a bottle of syrup. “Let it be known that Saturday morning breakfast is an awesome tradition and if I ever say otherwise, assume I’ve gone crazy.”

“Crazier than you already are? Impossible,” you joked, hip checking his playfully before flipping the pancakes- these ones, thankfully, were golden brown and gorgeous. Dewey ignored your little quip in favor of setting the table, and by the time you walked over with the full stack of pancakes, he was seated with a hungry look on his face, silverware clutched in both fists.

“Oh yeah, that’s it, come to Daddy,” he crooned, grabbing pancakes from the top of the stack before you’d even managed to set the plate down. You held back a whimper hearing him call himself that, pushing it down with a grimace and joining him in stacking pancakes onto your plate. He groaned loudly, his mouth so full that his cheeks puffed out and syrup dripped from his lips. “Jesus Christ, these are good.”

“They’re from a fucking box, Dew, it’s not like we’re having brunch at The Four Seasons,” you said with a playful eyeroll, trying to ignore how badly you wanted to lick up that little bit of maple syrup clinging to his lower lip, God, could this get any worse? “You’re on omelette duty next Saturday, alright? I want that mushroom and swiss one that you make.”

“Anything for you, Shortstack,” he said with a wink. God, that stupid fucking childhood nickname. It used to annoy you, since Dewey had been taller than you your whole life and never ceased to make fun of you for having to look up at him when you spoke, but now, every time he used it, it was with a warm affection in his voice and his eyes that made it damn near impossible not to swoon. You cleared your throat and sent him a withering stare, trying to hide how your insides had melted from one simple word.

“Bite me, Dewdrop,” you grumbled, your stomach swirling with warmth when he beamed at the sound of his own nickname, his eyes crinkled so adorably that you couldn’t help but smile around a mouthful of pancake. God, this fucking idiot. “What are we thinking tonight, another horror movie marathon? I’ve got some real shitty ones we could make fun of!”

“As fun as that sounds, I can’t,” Dewey said, a soft pink blush crawling its way onto his cheeks. “I...I kinda have a date tonight.”

Date.

Just hearing the world felt like icicles stabbing at your gut, and as it reverberated in your mind, the pain only grew. Dewey had a date?

“Wow! With who?” you asked cheerily, putting on as brave a face as you could the second you saw that happily little smile blossom across his face.

“Her name’s Amy. I met her at last week’s gig and we just kinda hit it off, I guess. We’re going out tonight for a few drinks,” he said excitedly, blushing profusely seemingly thinking about her. You could feel tears clawing at your eyes, your throat tightening as the thought of him with his arms around some faceless girl assaulted your mind. You couldn’t help but imagine him holding her close, kissing her, whispering little sweet words into her ear while she giggled like a fucking schoolgirl; it made you sick to your stomach, the stack of pancakes in front of you suddenly seemingly utterly unappetizing as you maintained your bright smile, hoping it didn’t look forced. You wanted to be happy for him. You needed to be happy for him, because you’d be a shitty fucking friend if you weren’t, and you refused to lose the guy who’d been there for you since fucking kindergarten, no matter how badly you wished it was you putting that giddy little smile on his face.

“Well hey, congrats buddy!” you choked out, trying to hide the strain in your voice. “Let me know if you need help getting ready, alright? I, uh, I think I’m gonna go clean up.”

“Yeah, alright. Wait, you barely touched your breakfast, are you ok?” he asked, looking so concerned that it practically punched you in the gut because you knew you couldn’t be honest with him.

“Yeah, I’m just less hungry than I thought. You finish your plate, I’ll just be doing the dishes.” And with a half-smile and a little nod, you retreated as quickly as you could to the kitchen, finally letting the tears fall silently as you leaned over the sink, your hands trembling as you braced yourself against the counter. You should’ve fucking known this would happen. Dewey was a great guy, an attractive guy, and you knew someone else would come knocking one day, someone who would make him blush and giggle and swoon the way you did whenever he so much as breathed. You’d tried to deny it, tried not to think about it, tried to forget that other people existed that Dewey might just be interested in, but now the day had come where you finally had to face the music. Sure, maybe this girl wouldn’t last. Maybe they’d date for a few months, break up, and you’d be left dealing with the aftermath of a sobbing Dewey surrounded by snotty tissues and self-loathing. But there’d be another girl after that, and maybe one more after that, and all the while you’d have to sit back and smile and support him as if the sight of him loving someone else wasn’t slowly eating you away from the inside out. But you were a good friend, you were a good friend, and you’d never let your feelings keep you from being there for Dewey, from cheering him on in everything he did. You’d walk him down the fucking aisle and give him away to someone else if you had to, because that’s how much you loved him. Your love wasn’t selfish; it never was, and it never would be.

So, you dried your tears, steeled your nerves, and began doing the dishes, shutting your brain off in favor of mindlessly completing your task. You heard Dewey get up from the table and likely wander off back to his room, but you paid him no mind and finished cleaning up the remnants of your breakfast. When you were done, you retreated to your room, locking the door behind you and curling back up in your unmade bed, wishing you could fall back asleep and redo the day. You’d stayed there for hours, hair undone and still in your pajamas as you drifted in and out of sleep, fitfully tossing and turning as you tried to forget what was inevitably coming. By dinner time, you finally gave up on your pity party and got dressed in a soft pair of jeans and a t-shirt, throwing your hair up in a bun and venturing out in the living room. But when you saw Dewey...you froze.

He was perfect. Decked out in his favorite band t-shirt, a black leather jacket, and dark jeans, he looked fucking incredible. It wasn’t the fanciest get-up, but for a night out drinking, it was absolutely perfect, and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring.

“Wow,” you breathed softly, suddenly feeling incredibly underdressed in your ratty t-shirt and ripped up jeans. Dewey turned at the sound of you, smiling nervously and straightening out his jacket as he faced you.

“Yeah? Do you think it looks good?” he asked, brushing himself off and looking at you anxiously. You gulped and smiled, nodding despite feeling like there was a heavy rock in the pit of your stomach.

“You look great, Dewdrop,” you said honestly, wanting nothing more than to just reach out and hold him, but holding yourself back for your own sake. “When are you meeting her?”

He checked his watch and balked, quickly rushing to the couch to throw on his favorite pair of worn black boots.

“I should actually get going now. Don’t wait up, alright?” And with a quick wink, he was out the door, leaving you completely alone. You stood silently for a moment, letting the reality of the situation wash over you. That was when the tears came, just silently dripping down your cheeks as you moved to curl up on the couch, swaddling yourself in a blanket and letting yourself cry.

For the next three hours, you’d think about him, what they were doing, what they weren’t doing, wondering if he’d go home with her...what if he brought her back here? You couldn’t bear the thought of Dewey stumbling back into your apartment with a giggling girl in his arms, kissing down his neck, dragging him to his bedroom...you shook the thoughts from your head, wiping your tears away each time they came. You hated yourself for this, for throwing yourself a fucking pity party on the couch while Dewey was out with God knows who probably having the time of his life. You felt pathetic compared to him, and you knew that if he could see you now, he’d probably think so too...no, that was a lie. Dewey would never think that way about you, which somehow made it worse. Fuck him and how fucking good he was- if he wasn’t such an awesome guy, you wouldn’t be in this fucking mess! Before you could let yourself spiral any further, the front door suddenly swung open, startling you out of your own head. There was Dewey, looking slightly put off without a girl in sight. Ugh, thank God. You let out an internal sigh of relief and put a smile on your face.

“You’re back earlier than I thought,” you greeted him.

“Sadly,” he grumbled, running his fingers frustratingly through his hair. “That date was a mess.”

God, you didn’t want to be happy about this. You did not want to be happy about this. But you were, you simply couldn’t stop yourself from feeling so utterly relieved that Dewey’s date was a total bust.

“Yikes. Come here, tell me all about it.” You patted the seat next to you on the couch, which Dewey gratefully took. The scent of cigarettes and beer hit your nose, not altogether unpleasant when mixed with his cologne. “So. What happened?”

“God, nothing. That was the problem,” he groaned, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. “We didn’t jive well at all. She didn’t seem weird when we first met, but like...ok, I tried to get her to do karaoke with me, but she totally blew it off like it was a dumb idea. I even wanted to do Don’t Stop Believin’, but she acted totally stuck-up, like karaoke was beneath her. And so then I tried to order her a drink, just a Long Island Iced Tea, and she fucking turns her nose up at it like it’s garbage! And you’re not going to believe this- she didn’t even want wings. 10 wings, half buffalo, half soy garlic, and she doesn’t touch a single one. I mean, who goes to a bar and doesn’t order wings? I swear, I thought we were gonna hit it off great, but she just...I don’t know, she just didn’t seem to want to have fun, y’know?”

You wanted to feel bad for him. Really, you did, she sounded like a total drag. But you couldn’t stop the wheels from turning in her mind as you went over the events of the night, the realization hitting you in the face like a wrecking ball.

Don’t Stop Believin’ was your favorite karaoke song.

A Long Island Iced Tea was your drink order.

10 wings, half buffalo, half soy garlic was your wing order.

That didn’t mean anything, right? It couldn’t mean anything. Maybe he just liked all of those things too, except no, he always got 15 barbecue wings and a pint of IPA. Maybe Dewey was just used to you liking all those things when you went out for drinks that he just projected onto his date. Or maybe…

“Dewey, did...those are all...Jesus Christ,” you whispered incredulously, running your fingers through your hair as you shook your head. Dewey’s face pinched with confusion, his brows furrowing and wrinkling his forehead as he turned towards you.

“What? Am I missing something?” he asked, blinking repeatedly as if to try and force himself to figure out what you were thinking. You simply let out a cynical chuckle, standing up from the couch and pacing around the living room, feeling the words you’ve been repressing for years starting to bubble up in your throat. No, hell no. You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t fucking do this, not now, not after he literally was just on a date with someone else, but...you couldn’t do this anymore. You couldn’t imagine another night crying on the couch, wondering what Dewey was doing, wishing it was you with him, wondering if it could be you. You needed to be doing anything else, you needed to not think, you just… you needed to go.

“It’s nothing,” you choked out, avoiding any and all eye contact with him because you knew if you took one look at him, you’d be spilling your guts, and God knows you couldn’t handle that right now. You rushed to the front door, throwing on the closest pair of shoes with fumbling hands. “But after hearing all that, a bar sounds really good right now. I’m just gonna head out for a few drinks, ok?”

“Y/N, wait-” but before he could even finish his sentence, you were out the door, the words you desperately wanted to say dying off in a broken sigh as you rushed down the stairs and hit the street, taking the all too familiar route to your favorite little dive bar a few blocks away from your apartment. It smelled of cheap cigarettes, grain alcohol, and loneliness- perfect for a night like tonight. You felt the cracks in your heart only grow with each step away from your apartment, away from Dewey, but you forged on, finally reaching the bar and wandering immediately to the bartop, sitting down towards the end.

“Hey, Y/N, what can I get you?”

You looked up to thankfully see your favorite bartender, Ellen, wiping down a glass with a friendly smile on her face. You returned it gladly, feeling somewhat comforted by the presence of a familiar face.

“Hey, love. Can I just get my usual, please?” you asked softly, trying to hide the pain in your voice. Ellen, ever the observant one, put down the glass immediately and pointed an accusatory finger at you.

“I’m throwing in an extra few wings on the house, alright? I don’t know who hurt you, but you know I know how to hide a body.” And with a wink, she was off to mix your drink, leaving you to look out over the bar with a grimace. You saw many of the regular patrons, some giving you friendly waves, while one unfamiliar looking man was up on the stage, belting away to a song you’d never heard of. You wondered if this is where Dewey took his date. You wondered if you were sitting where she sat, except rather than getting to be out with one of the most incredible guys you’d ever known, you were alone, drowning your sorrows with alcohol and cheap bar food. Ellen returned just as the song ended with your glass, the amber liquid looking increasingly enticing the more you thought about the dumb bitch that somehow took Dewey Finn for granted. Taking it thankfully, you lifted it in a silent toast to her poor judgement and took a hearty swig, comforted by the burn of the alcohol down your throat. Now, all you needed was your favorite order of wings and part three of your pity party could truly get underway. After a few minutes of sipping at your drink, you saw Ellen returning with your food and sighed happily, but she stopped short of you, her eyes locked on something behind you.

“I was wondering when he’d show up,” she said cheerily, finally placing your wings in front of you. “You never come here alone.”

“What are you-?” You turned around to see who she was looking at and your eyes widened to see Dewey standing only a few feet behind you, panting slightly as if he’d run to the bar. “Dewey, what are you doing here?”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘what am I doing here’?” he asked, immediately sliding onto the barstool next to you. You tensed at the closeness, feeling the soft leather of his jacket rubbing against your arm, but chose to stare down intently at your wings as if looking at him would betray your feelings. “Something’s clearly up, and you ran away. What, was I supposed to just let you come here and shitfaced alone? Ellen, can I have my usual, please?”

“Coming right up,” she said trepidatiously, looking nervously between the two of you before quickly pouring him his favorite beer and setting it down next to him, making a hasty retreat to the other side of the bar. You sighed, grabbing your own drink and taking a long, slow sip.

“You didn’t have to follow me. I’m fine,” you assured him, the obvious lie tasting bitter in your mouth. Dewey simply sighed, taking a swig of his own drink before setting it down loudly.

“Look, I’m your best friend,” he began, and if he saw the way you winced when you heard it, he simply moved past it. “I’m not gonna force you to tell me anything, but you literally know all of my secrets, so why are you hiding this from me?”

“Because this is fucking different,” you hissed, finally giving in and looking him dead in the eye with a withering stare. “This isn’t like knowing that you pissed your pants at your 3rd grade band concert and spent two hours playing the glockenspiel while standing in a puddle. This fucking means something, Dewey, more than you know, so can we please just sit here and drink in silence?”

He paused. In the 20+ years he’d known you, he’d never seen you so serious, so...angry. You were angry, he could tell, but he didn’t know why, or what he’d done to make you so clearly adverse to letting him in on it. For now, he knew he needed to respect your wishes and simply be there for you, even if he didn’t know why, but it was already starting to eat away at him inside. With a sigh and a nod, he turned to face the bar, taking a hearty swig of his beer as you finally dug into your wings, trying to ignore the fact that Dewey was basically in this exact situation with another girl only a few hours prior. He looked over at you practically devouring your food and smiled fondly, reaching out to try and steal one. You smacked his hand without even thinking, getting a quiet laugh from Dewey that managed to make you snort under your breath.

“Sorry, sorry, I know how protective you are of your wings,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. Your wings. You stared down at your food and drink and still couldn’t believe that Dewey didn’t see it. Maybe you were blowing it way out of proportion, but…

“They’re my favorite order,” you pointed out firmly, meeting his gaze with a meaningful look. “10 wings, half buffalo, half soy-garlic, and a Long Island Iced Tea. Only thing that’s missing now is to get up there and sing ‘Don't Stop Believin’, right?”

“Right, yeah,” he said, his voice trailing off. It took a moment of silence, but you finally felt Dewey tense next to you, his eyes squinting as he looked at you, then your order, then back at you. You watched as the realization dawned on his, his eyes widening a little and his hand trembling slightly, looking like he nearly dropped his beer. “Yeah...that’s…”

“Yeah,” you responded solemnly, turning away to sip at your drink, doing everything you could to avoid eye contact. “I realized it before you did, clearly.”

He was dead silent. You didn’t feel him move an inch next to you, clearly staring down at the bartop trying to put it all together in his mind.

“So you think I…?”

“Yep.”

“And I...God, I did,” he sighed, putting his beer down to run his fingers anxiously through his hair. “I wasn’t even thinking.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you retorted, wincing at how rude you sounded. “Sorry, sorry, I just-”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” he said, turning to face you. This was it. This was when he let you down gently, this was the night you ruined your friendship. God, you couldn’t fucking believe how stupid you were. You turned on the barstool to face your fate, keeping your eyes trailed on the bartop even as your body turned toward him. “I never wanted to make this awkward.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t,” you grumbled, playing anxiously with your own fingers as all the feelings, the hurt, the anxiety, swirled around inside of you like a thunderstorm. “It’s my fault for making such a big deal out of it.”

“No, I’m sorry I ever made you uncomfortable,” he said firmly. You paused, finally turning to look at him. Uncomfortable? What was he talking about? “I guess...I guess I just ordered for her like she was you because...because I couldn’t stop wishing that it was you.”

Oh.

Oh...my God.

Oh my God.

“D...Dewey-”

“I’m serious, Y/N, I’m so sorry it ever even came up,” he rambled on, his eyes alone practically pleading for forgiveness. “God, I can’t believe I was so stupid. Look, this doesn’t have to change anything, ok? I’m still your best friend, right?”

“Dewey Finn…” you trailed off, shaking your head incredulously because oh my God, you could not fucking believe what you were hearing. You could feel joy bubbling up inside of you, replacing the anxious storm with fluttering butterflies because for the first time ever, you felt confident about what to do next. “If you think that this doesn’t have to change anything, you’re dumber than I thought.”

...Oh God, wait. That came out so wrong. You watched as Dewey’s face fell, his eyes rounded and wide as if someone had just socked him in the gut. Jesus Christ, you just found out that your best friend felt the same way about you and you were already fucking it up. Before you could try and take it back, he was standing up from the stool, downing the rest of his beer and leaving a few bills on the bartop.

“If that’s what you want,” he murmured brokenly. He turned towards the door, his shoulders sagging as he quickly made his exit. You were frozen for a moment, staring after him uselessly for a solid few seconds before frantically rifling through your purse, throwing cash onto the bartop and rushing after him, finding him only half a block away by the time you made it outside.

“Dewey, wait!” you shouted, sprinting towards him with all your might. He turned around in surprise, pausing on the sidewalk as you rushed towards him. When you reached him, your desperation had reached a fever pitch and you couldn’t stop yourself from pressing Dewey to the nearest wall and capturing his lips in a searing kiss. His eyes were comically wide, his lips smushed against yours almost violently, but he didn’t care, God, he really didn’t care. They quickly slid shut, his arms sliding around your waist and up your back to hold you close, kissing you back with a desperate ferocity. It took you a few moments to realize you were basically making out in the middle of the sidewalk, but you let yourself have it for a few more moments because the man you thought you’d never have suddenly had you in his arms, and you couldn’t help but indulge yourself in him. When you finally pulled away to gauge Dewey’s reaction, he didn’t even open his eyes for a good ten seconds, just basking in the afterglow of the kiss he’d craved for longer than he could remember. When they finally did open, they met yours and immediately crinkled under the force of his megawatt smile.

“Y/N...you…?”

“Of course I do, dummy,” you chuckled breathlessly, running your fingers through his hair. “Why do you think I was so fucked up over you going on a date? And doing all of my shit with her?”

“God, she meant nothing to me,” he groaned, his hands pressing firmly on your back and tugging so your bodies were firmly pressed up against one another. “She asked me out and I thought it would finally help me get over you, but all I could do was compare her to you the whole night, and then she hated all the things you love and I just couldn’t stand to be around her. God, Y/N, I just want you-”

He cut himself off with a heady groan as he kissed you again, already addicted to the way your lips felt against his. You whimpered and kissed him back, feeling the joy practically radiating from every pore in your body. He was perfect. This was perfect.

“Take me home, Dewdrop,” you murmured against his lips, tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Please, let’s just go ho-”

You yelped as he immediately slid his hand into yours and tugged, pulling you along at the fastest pace possible back to your apartment.

-------------------------

The next time you walked into that bar, it was hand in hand with your boyfriend, a proud smile on his lips because yeah, he got to be the one to have you on his arm. You both took your regular seats at the bar, Dewey’s hand placed firmly on your thigh when Ellen finally approached.

“Hey, you two,” she greeted, albeit a bit warily. “You’re certainly looking...chummy.”

“Don’t we always?” you asked innocently, though the playful wink you sent her way told her all she needed to know. She looked between the two of you for a moment before grinning brilliantly, and you and Dewey couldn’t help but share a laugh under your breath.

“First drinks are on me tonight, alright?” she offered up with a sly grin.

“Come on, El, we couldn’t ask you to do that,” Dewey retorted. You barely paid attention, already melting from the feeling of Dewey’s thumb tracing little circles on your thigh.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering. Besides, won’t be a loss for me. OI, GREG! You owe me 20 bucks!” And with a wink, she was off to pour your drinks and collect her money. You and Dewey both shared a shocked look, which quickly dissolved into snorting laughter as you threw your head back and laughed unabashedly, feeling so much happier than you’d felt in so long that you couldn’t help but let it out. When you met his gaze again, it was soft, his little smile and honeyed stare practically making you melt because Dewey Finn was giving you the biggest heart eyes you’d ever seen, and it was too much to bear. You sighed shakily and leaned in for a soft kiss, losing yourself in the feeling of his plush lips on yours. When he pulled away, it was with a sly grin and a wink.

“How long do you think we’re gonna be here?”

“Mm...an hour.” At that, Dewey slid his hand further up your thigh, his fingertips just barely grazing between your legs. “...O-Ok, maybe only half an hour.”

He chuckled gently and placed a loving kiss on your cheek.

“That’s my girl,” he crooned, leaving his hand exactly where it was when your drinks arrived. You ignored the blush so obviously staining your cheeks and took a long swig.

This was gonna be a long night.

#dewey finn #dewey finn fic #dewey finn fanfic #dewey finn fanfiction #school of rock #dewey finn x reader #dewey finn/reader

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swan--writes · 4 years

Note

Hey could I get a Dewey fic with Northern Downpour by Panic! At the Disco? Also hello! I love your writing so much 😍

I love your face so much!! Thanks again for your patience, everyone. I really hope you like this! It was so much fun getting to revisit this song, it had been so long.

Words: ~995

You arrived at your parents’ vacation house late on a Friday night. You slept in your old room, and the full-size bed was as comfortable as you remembered.

Dewey had never been upstate with you. When he awoke to an empty left side of the bed the next morning, he half-thought you might have been dragged off by an angry family of bears. But he found you on the back porch minutes later, blanket wrapped around your shoulders, hot cup of coffee in hand.

If all our life is but a dream…

“Hey, love. What are you doing out here?”

You said nothing, but nodded to the rising sun. Dewey gazed at you through sleepy eyes for another moment before glancing at the sunrise. The moment he saw it, he couldn’t look away.

Fantastic posing greed…

Your partner sat next to you on your parents’ porch swing. Still not speaking, you draped your blanket over his shoulders and pulled him closer. He took a sip of your coffee without asking. You smiled, eyes still on the sky, and on the lake that the sunlight was dancing across.

Then we should feed our jewelry to the sea.

“Is this why you wanted to get me out here?” he asked after a long silence.

“One of a few reasons.” It took a few moments for you to realize that Dewey was giving you a sidelong look. When you glanced at him, he waggled his eyebrows at you. You scoffed good-naturedly and took your coffee back.

For diamonds do appear to be…

“Nice bedhead, by the way,” you muttered before taking another sip. Dewey groaned and tried to bat his hair into some semblance of order, but the waves would not be tamed. You laughed, and he shot you a look that failed to be anything other than adorable. The new sunlight illuminated the spots of green in his eyes, and the shock of hair that hung in his face glowed auburn. You finished your coffee and stood, leaving the blanket behind with him. “C’mon.” You nodded toward the front door. “I’ll make breakfast.”

Just like broken glass to me.

You spent most of the day cleaning for your parents – dancing across the tile of the laundry room floors on your tiptoes, smooching Dewey as you passed the bathrooms where he scrubbed absolutely everything. You vacuumed, he mopped, you made dinner together.

The days passed like this. Every morning, your partner found you on the back porch. Every day, you both scrubbed and mopped and dusted and sang while you folded laundry over the lines in the backyard.

The ink is running toward the page.

You sat on the freshly-mowed grass of the front yard and watched the sun set, then carefully stepped through the gardens at the side of the house to the back and looked up at the stars over the lake from the chairs on the stone patio.

It’s chasing off the days…

The next day, you’d go back to blasting music and dancing past – and sometimes with – each other while you organized your father’s studio and sorted the books in your mother’s library by author. Dewey played air guitar, you laughed at his expense, you sang together.

Look back at both feet and that winding knee.

When the final night rolled around, you both conceded and agreed that you should probably take care of the dishes that had piled in the sink from the previous two days. While he washed the dishes, you considered the thought that had snuck into the back of your mind on the first morning.

I missed your skin when you were east.

“What’s goin’ on?”

You shook your head and frowned over at Dewey. “Hm?”

“You stopped drying.”

You clicked your heels and wished for me.

“Oh.” At his reminder, you started drying the plate in your hands again. The dishes had piled up in your mental absence. “Sorry.”

Through playful lips made of yarn…

“Yeah, that’s right,” he joked. When you only half-smiled, it was his turn to frown at you. “Seriously, what are you thinking about?”

“I don’t want to go back to the city,” you said abruptly. Dewey blinked at you.

“How come?”

That fragile Capricorn unraveled words like moths upon old scarves.

You shrugged and fell silent for a long moment. Then, when you had finished drying the dish in your hands and picked up another, you answered him. “I never meant to be there so long. I feel like maybe I should be upstate.”

Dewey hesitated, then asked in a small voice, “But what about me?”

“I never said I wasn’t going back, I guess…” You tried to puzzle out what to say next, and sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t realize how much I missed the stars until we came out here.”

I know the world’s a broken bone.

Dewey didn’t say anything else while you finished the dishes.

But melt your headaches, call it home.

While Dewey was sulking in the shower, you dragged all of your freshly-cleaned blankets and freshly-fluffed pillows through to the den, pushed all the furniture together, and assembled your fort. You had been doing this since your parents first bought this house, and by now you were a master.

You left the den to make two mugs of tea When you came back you found Dewey standing at the edge of the hall, looking as though he didn’t know what to do with his hands. You asked him to start a fire and folded yourself into your fort. When he joined you, he took his tea from the floor by your side and held the mug up to his face without quite meeting your eyes. His nose glowed red and his hair was half in his face.

Hey moon, please forget to fall down.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“M-hm. It’s kinda awesome, right?”

Dewey nodded and took a short sip of his tea.

Hey moon, don’t you go down.

You twisted your mouth to the side and sighed quietly through your nose. “You know I’m not gonna leave you for my parents’ house, right?”

Sugarcane in the easy morning.

“Well yeah, of course,” Dewey said, trying to laugh it off. You noticed some relief in the sound, though. “I just don’t wanna leave the city, and it kinda sounds like you do.”

Weathervanes, my one and lonely.

You nodded, keeping your eyes on him. “At some point, sure. But right now, I wanna be with you more.”

Dewey looked up at you hopefully. “Oh…yeah?”

“Yep.”

“I guess we’ll always have blanket forts.”

You are at the top of my lungs.

“You mean I’ll always have blanket forts, you mooch.” Dewey laughed, and you smiled at him fondly.

Drawn to the ones who never yawn.

Tags List: @skiddyyo @paxenera @a-okay-rj @the-geeky-lady @darkblueeyedperson @hannah-de-lioncourt @ironmansuucks @missihart23 @dinosaurias @heknowshisherbs @ballerinafairyprincess

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shasha-writes-things · 1 year

Text

More Fandoms??

i might branch out a bit writing all my fics for all my fandoms here instead of just letting this be a theatre blog seeing as i feel like i write less theatre things. probably going to be some Mario stuff, Hamilton (which i never added due to this starting as an Alex Brightman blog) Helluva boss drabble Hazbin hotel lemme know if youd like that on here I'm going to try to create a master list to section things off. also please send requests if any of these strike your interest i do x reader imagines can do full length chapter fics as well as ships so throw em at me!

#theatre #musicals #mario #mario movie #send me requests #dewey finn #beetlejuice fanfiction #hamilton the musical #helluva boss #hazbin hotel #bowluigi #bowuigi

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baby-beej · 4 years

Text

Hello lovelies! I’m back again and I have no clue where this idea came from but here we are. I’m not completely happy with it and it took forever to write, but anyways I hope you enjoy!

No laughing matter

You had known Dewey Finn for most of your life. You’d met in high school, in the strictest math teachers class. It was a known fact that both of you sucked at math, this was the formation of your lifetime bond.

Freshman year, arriving to your first math class and plonking your self down in the back row to avoid being asked questions as much you could. Knowing that 99.9% of the time your answers would be wrong.

The boy who dropped down at the desk next to yours seemed to have the same tactic even going as far to sit with his hood up.

The teacher starts the lesson and you try to follow along but you find yourself quickly losing focus. You were then given page after page of math problems to complete. You wracked your brain for the answers, but any brain cells you had left seemed to have disappeared.

It’s then you feel a tap on your shoulder. Turning to your right, the boy next to you is looking at you slightly embarrassed.

“Um..hey..can I..um..borrow a pencil”

The first day of school and he doesn’t have a pencil. “Oh, sure”, you grab one of your brand new pencils and hand it to him, doubting you’ll ever see it again.

“Thanks”, he offers you a smile and you find yourself smiling back.

He turns back to his paper momentarily before turning back to you. “Also do you have any idea how to do this?”

That was only the beginning of your friendship with Dewey Finn. It started with the two of having conversations in math class, which then moved to hallways, at lunch and everywhere after that.

The two of you were basically inseparable. Spending everyday after school on ‘homework sessions’. Meaning you attempted to do your homework whilst Dewey tried to distract you by blasting rock music and forged excuse notes.

At some point during high school you felt yourself developing a crush on him, but you pushed those feeling down deciding it would be weird.

Your friendship continued right through college despite your different career paths. Dewey had always been set on being a rockstar so decided to follow his dreams although it wasn’t always successful. By the time you’ve graduated from college your closer than ever, talking everyday and holding you weekly Friday movie nights.

It’s because of these movie nights that the problem started. The problem being you’d once again developed a crush on Dewey, and this time you couldn’t ignore those feeling no matter how hard you tried. You say crush but you knew deep down you loved him in a way you had never loved anyone. You couldn’t describe the pang to felt in you chest when you’d see him with any other girl, how you would to give anything to be in those arms. You’d tried dating other people but nobody else could satisfy the ache in your heart.

It was a regular Friday night. Movie was set up, snacks were spread and the two of you on your coach usual in your usual positions. Throughout the week you’d felt undeniable pain in your mouth and upon further inspection you’d noticed that your gums were infact red, swollen and from time to time bleeding. There was no way you were going to the dentist, you’d had an irrational fear of it since you were kid, the whole process freaked you out.

It was when you attempted to bite into a piece of popcorn that Dewey notices your discomfort.

“You ok?”

“Oh yeah, my teeth are just a little sore”

“Really, how long?”. He turns to face you.

Your hesitant to tell him knowing he’ll insist you get it checked out. “About a week”

“Shouldn’t you get it checked out?”. So predictable.

“No, it will be fine”. Your tone is firm leaving little room for argument. The both of you are silent for a minute until Dewey speaks up again.

“Your free Monday right?”. You nod knowing you have the day off. “Cool”.

He takes out his phone and dials up a number and begins to speak to the recipient. “Hello, I’d like to make an appointment for Y/N for Monday morning? 11:15, yes, perfect, thank you”.

He hangs up and turns to you with a smile.

“Dewey”, you whine.

“You were never going to do it by yourself and before you argue you will be going or I’ll take you there myself”.

You sigh, knowing he’ll go through with his promise, you reluctantly agree.

Monday afternoon you are completely freaking out. Despite almost backing out several times you’d went to the dentist that morning only to hear the worst news you’d heard that year. It was when you were debating all life choices that have led you to this moment that you receive a call from Dewey.

“Please tell me you actually went.”

“Yes”

“And..”

You could almost feel the tears beginning to form in your eyes as your forced to say it. “He says I need my wisdom teeth removed.”

“Oh damn”

Dewey knows just going for a check up was a lot for you but surgery, he knew that you’d need a huge push for that.

“When?”

“Next Wednesday”.

“Do you want me to take you?”

You feel a bit of relief flood you, thankful that someone who cares about you will be there. “I’d love that, thank you Dew”

“No problem”

The dreaded day arrives. You had been awake for half the night anxiously thinking of anyway you could avoid it. It felt like you’d only fallen asleep when your alarm blared alerting you that the time had come. Throughout the morning you’d felt your stomach in knots and had fought back the urge to throw up several times.

Dewey arrived to pick you up right on time, which was unusual to the usually tardy man. You greeted him and then you were quiet for most of the journey. He noted that you were pale and he could see you trembling slightly. He took one hand of the wheel and took yours, this simply gesture seemed to relax you slightly. You hoped Dewey didn’t feel your heart flutter.

You arrive at the dentist, check in at the front desk and then are sent to the waiting room to anxiously wait to be called in. Dewey tried his best to distract you, although you were grateful for his attempts you were just too nervous.

You swear your heart drops to your stomach when your name is called. Dewey gives your hand a squeeze and whispered “you’ll be fine, I promise”.

You force a smile and nod. Getting up and slowly heading to the room. Your were sat down in the chair and given a quick overview of the procedure. You don’t remember much, expect being injected with anaesthetic.

Dewey stayed in the waiting room. He was just as freaked out as you were, he cared about you more than he’d ever cared about anyone. Over the years of friendship he had developed feelings for you but never thought you’d feel the same. So no matter how much he’d wanted to confess he’d always try to ignore the love he felt when he was with you.

He’d spent the past week researching the procedure and wisdom teeth removal after care. He watched videos, read advice from strangers and horrified himself by looking into everything that could go wrong. He’d even gone shopping for supplies, stocking up on ice packs, soups and of course your favourite ice cream. He’d planned to stay at your apartment as long as necessary, he was going to be the best nurse he could be.

It felt like he’d waited a lifetime, when a nurse came out and said you were ready. He was brought into the recovery room were you were laying on the chair your eyes were closed but he wasn’t sure you were actually asleep.

The nurse handed him him information leaflets and a small package with some supplies. She explained that they given you a sedative to help you to relax. Dewey has already read up on sedatives knowing you’d more than likely need one, discovering that each person reacted differently to the medication. Some acted loopy, some cried uncontrollably, some just slept through it and others were a mix of all three.

Dewey thanked the nurse and headed over to you. You half open your eyes and give him a dopey grin with your cotton filled mouth.

“Heeey you”, you words are slurred as if you were drunk and slightly muffled from the cotton.

He chuckles, “hey, you ready to go home?”

“Nooo, lets do something fun, lets go to Disney world!”

Dewey is trying his best to hold his laughter at your ridiculous statement. “Maybe not today, but someday ok, how does your apartment and then to bed sound.”

“That’s boooringg”

With quite a bit of struggle your soon in the front seat of Deweys car. Within the time it took to get you there, you’ve babbled several statements such as how monsters inc is an underated cinematic masterpiece and how much you hate when people don’t walk their cats. Dewey finding you completely hilarious, agrees with you about everything said.

The drive home brings even more nonsense statements as well as tears. When after asking Dewey to rate his cousins out of 46 (yes 46) and he rates his cousin Harvey a 37.5, you suddenly burst into tears. After a few moments of trying to calm you down, whilst keeping his eyes on the road, you tell him that your moms work college had a hamster with the same name two years ago but it had since past. He couldn’t understand the issue as you didn’t seem to have any emotional attachment to it but within a thirty second window your back to babbling about monsters inc once again.

“Deweeey”

“Yes”

“Can we pwease too Taco Bellll”

“You can’t eat solid food, you’ll tear the stitches”

“No, nooo, s’okay I have a plan, you order a crunch wrap and then get them to blend it in one of their blendy machines and kaboom not solid!”

“I don’t think so”

“Fine mister spoooill sport.” You poke his cheek causing him to smile.

When you arrive back to your apartment, you insist on trying to walk which of course results in you falling over within three steps. Dewey picks you up from the floor and your in fits of giggles, he supports your weight and lugs you to the door.

He quickly heads towards your room and sits you on your bed and starts to close your curtains. You fall back and wrap your arms around a decorative pillow and exclaim how much you missed it and how much you love your bed.

“You knoow what else I really, reallllly love?”

Dewey ready to hear another silly statement sits next you to on the bed and faces you, “what?”

“You”

He chuckles, “yeah, yeah I love you too, now come on let’s ge..”

You cut him off, “nooo, not like thaaat. Like really love you, like I just wanna kiss that cute little mouth.”

He’s stunned. He’s speechless. He looks at you trying to gage what the heck you just said. You continue your ramblings completely unfazed about what you’ve just said.

“I don’t know why you waste all your time with all the other girls when you could have me..I mean I love you more than anyone..even myself”

He’s still in shock unable to move or speak. He’s trying to process this new information. Never in a million years did he think you’d feel this way about him. He finally turns to face you to see you fallen asleep propped up against your pillows.

He stands up carefully lifting you up, pulls back the covers and gently lays you down pulling the sheets over you. He can’t help tucking you in slightly and pushes a piece of hair behind your ear. He creeps out and quietly shuts the door.

What the heck just happened? They say drunk words are sober thoughts but technically you weren’t drunk, then again you weren’t sober either. He knew he’d have to wait a while before he brought it up again to get a serious answer but would you even remember saying it? Of course he felt the same, he had for years. He was over the moon at the fact that you may possibly feel the same way too.

He decided that despite how excited he was he had to push down those feelings for at least a few days, he had to be there for you as a friend. So he began to prefer for the hell you would face when you woke up. It was around 4:30 now so you’d probably be awake in a few hours. He set out his supplies and began to busy himself.

A few hours later you slowly wake up, you feel hazy and are unsure of where exactly you are. It’s takes several minutes for you to take in your surrounding concluding you were infact in your room but having no idea how you ended up there. You try to sit up but it’s then you feel a shooting pain in your jaw and that’s when you remember you no longer havewisdom teeth.

The pain was excruciating causing you to wince in pain. Your door creeks alerting you to the fact that Dewey is standing in the doorway.

“Hey, how’s the mouth feeling?”

“Imagine stubbing your toe then times that by a thousand.”

He laughs, even in pain you didn’t loose your sense of humour. “that bad, huh?”

You nod as another pain shoots right through your mouth.

“Your probably due your meds.” He leaves momentarily returning with a bag of frozen peas and a bottle of pills. You sigh as the coldness hits your jaw providing you with some relief. He then measures out the correct dosage of pills and attempts to help you take them. It is quite a struggle as your mouth is swollen, you end up with more water spilt down your chest than in your mouth but eventually you swallow them.

Dewey then insists you eat something telling you the pills will upset your stomach if you don’t. Despite eating being the last thing you wanted to do you agree and let him heat you up soup and spoon feed you even though you are perfectly capable of doing it yourself. You think it’s cute that he cares so much so you try to be a good patient. You mange about half a bowl before your in too much pain to eat.

The two of you then spend the rest of the evening watching movies on your laptop until you eventually fall asleep against Deweys shoulder. He feels like his heart may burst and simply lies down on his back and moves you with him and falls into one of the best nights sleep he’s ever had.

The next few days are a bit of a blur. With several ice packs, meds and tears. Dewey felt helpless as he watched you struggle through the pain and tried to do what he could. Eating was basically out of the question. The strong medication left you unable to stomach anything and the agony of your mouth made it almost impossible. At one point Dewey made the mistake of forcing you to eat, this didn’t end well and as a result the trash can in your room was put to use.

He began to worry about the little food you were eating and decided anything was better than nothing. So he waited until you took a nap and slipped out to the nearest ice-cream store. He decided vanilla was the safest option so ordered a pint. As soon as he got home he scooped you a big bowl and brought it too your room where you were beginning to wake up. He handed you the bowl and urged you to eat, of course the trash can near by just in case. Surprisingly you finish the whole bowl without any issues, the cold ice-cream actually is quite soothing on your throbbing gums.

One night when the pain seemed to be excruciating you couldn’t sleep. You couldn’t get the ice pack to sit comfortably or to hit the right spot. Dewey being the superhero he was set up a movie, placed the ice pack on his chest and instructed you to lay your head on top. The ice pack stayed in place and soothed the pain. Dewey runs his fingers through your hair which causes your eyes to grow heavy and soon your asleep. It’s this that makes Dewey realise that this is what he wants, you safe in his arms. He hadn’t brought what you said up deciding you weren’t in the right condition to discuss it. But he knew what he wanted and that you wanted it to, but how did he tell you?

Within a few days your feeling much better. Dewey has nursed you back to full health with his many tips and tricks. After living on a diet of ice-cream for three days you were finally back to eating marginally normal. Your kind of disappointed that Dewey had to leave as you’d really enjoyed his company over the last few days. But here he was packing up his last few things ready to go home.

Before he leaves, you pull him into a tight hug. “Thank you so much Dew, I don’t think I would off survived this without you.”

He returns your embrace squeezing you tighter. “No problem, I’m always there for you. Call me if you need anything else, ok”

You nod and release him from your grasp and watch as he heads towards the door. He opens the door but before stepping out he stops and looks over his shoulder.

“Oh and by the way, I love you too”

He then turns back without another word and leaves shutting the door behind him. Your jaw almost hits the floor.

What on earth just happened?

#dewey finn #dewey finn fluff #dewey finn fanfiction #dewey finn x reader #school of rock #school of rock fanfiction

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thewolfisapartofmysoul · 4 years

Text

Hey lovelies...

A sweet Dewey Finn x reader fic. Verrrry fluffy, verrrry happy, verrrry clingy, verrrrry drunk. Dewey accidentally discovers he can pull off a very low, growly, hoarse, husky, gravelly voice. Just like a certain ghost-with-the-most we know. 💚

Something really special.... me and the amazing, sweet, talented @ironmansuucks have been working on together.

We genuinely hope you guys enjoy this one.

I LOVE YOU MORE THEN PIZZA

“Hey guys, c’mon… tequila!!” Dewey wiggled his eyebrows, smirking at his friends as they headed back to the bar, for what felt like the millionth time that night. It was Friday after all, and as usual the boys were drinking the place dry of tequila after a long week. Dewey and the kids had been practicing extra all week for a show booked for the following Friday. They had worked so hard and Dewey was so proud of them but he was exhausted. His voice was completely messed up from singing and shouting with them all week and he just needed a night off. It was scratchy and hoarse, almost sore sounding but it wasn’t, and it was easy to tell by the way he was throwing back the tequila shots, most likely making his voice worse. But he didn’t care. He was having fun.

Due to not having any dinner before he went out (not to mention the 1 tequila, 2 tequila, 3 tequila 4), Dewey was well and truly fucked. Him, Ned and a few other of his friends, were stumbling around their favourite bar, making one another laugh. The music was on point and the drinks kept flowing. It was one of those nights were everything was hysterically funny and silly. Those were the best kinda nights. Doing dares, drinking games, and who could forget about the daft dancing.

Dewey was showing Ned one of the guitar riffs that he had taught the kids, air guitar of course, when suddenly someone bumped into him, shoving him forward a bit. Dewey turned round to see a massive, tall bald guy barging past him “hey man, move out my way” the man grumbled as he hustled past. What the hell? Dewey looked at Ned, drunk and confused “who the hell does that guy think he is? Move out my way” Dewey mimicked, screwing up his face and buffing his chest and shoulders. Due to his voice already being fucked up, he sounded the exact same as the dude. His voice raspy and hoarse. Ned and the other guys were in hysterics at Dewey’s impression, which only prompted him to continue.

As he headed towards the bar, he kept his shoulders buffed and his face screwed up, his friends jumping behind him, still laughing. “hey, can I order 8 tequila shots” Dewey quipped to the barman in his husky, exaggerated voice, eliciting laughs from his friends. The barman didn’t bat an eyelid and just served him. “here you go boys” Dewey continued, handing his laughing friends shots, “bottoms up”.

* * * * *

You rolled your eyes laughing.

Some while later, namely 1:30 AM, you had received a few texts from your sweet (drunken) Dewey Finn:

heeeeeeyyy ybaaby

I mioiss yuoo s oo mucjh

ccan you pleaaes com e pick me up pp lesae ?? ?? ?

You rolled your eyes laughing, knowing he was going to be absolutely steaming. You quickly replied, telling him you would be there in ten. You already knew the bar he was in due to his drunken snapchats, and because it was the one they would always frequent on Friday nights.

Due to your tiredness, and lack of drunkenness, you could not be bothered with the bar. The loud music, the smell of a mix of different alcohols, and the sweaty people jumping around was just something that didn’t particularly appeal to you right now. Grab Dewey. Get out.

Squeezing past all of the drunkards, you could see Dewey at the bar with a few friends. You felt soft at the sight of him smiling and laughing with his friends. It was always a sight you loved to see. His cheeks rosy from the alcohol and his soft, fluffy curls slightly messed up from jumping around. You made your way over to him, car keys in hand ready to grab him and rush goodbyes to get him home.

Dewey was leaning against the bar laughing when you approached him. When his eyes caught yours he lit up. His eyes growing wide. His friends were all laughing at him and you had no idea, until “h-hey baby” Dewey growled out, still exaggerating his hoarse voice causing his friends to bellow out in fits of amusement. You furrowed your eyebrows, laughing lightly “hey Rockstar, what the hell is up with your voice?”.

Dewey made his way over to you, staggering slightly “oh yeah th-is guy was like barging past me and.. and he was all like g-get out of ma way” he giggled, his voice rough even when he spoke normally. Dewey threw his arm around you and pulled you into his side. You held him up, him using you to lean against, you could smell the tequila on him.

After successfully getting Dewey out of the bar and into the car he began to get worse. The fresh air making him seem more drunk, as it always does. He was sat in the passenger side seat, his elbow resting against the window and his head against the head rest. “sweetheart… I just.. I just like you more than p-izza ok.. and I really REALLY like pizza-a”. you laughed at him and his rough, kinda sexy, voice. “thanks Dew, what a compliment” he looked at you, his eyes lidded and tired “no baby, I-I seriously lOVE pizza.. b-but I just like you sooo much mooorrrree”. He lightly poked your arm, smiling away to himself. Nearly home now.

You knew Dewey was clingy, but drunk Dewey was ten times worse. From the moment you got home he was stuck to you. “Dewey you need to let my hand go so I can take my shoes off”, “nooo I just love youuuu”. “you need to let me go so I can get changed” “no just stay with me pleeease, pleaeeaase, I’ll d-die if you don’t” he would plead, voice cracking and his hand pulling you into him.

After forcing him to drink a glass of water, poor baby was tuckered out. He continued to drink the water with one hand and patted your head with the other. You looked at him and his tired eyes, confused and laughed. “what am I? your dog?” he nodded, gulping the water. His eyes were closing and you knew you had to get him to bed, hoping he wouldn’t be sick. It was nearly 3 AM.

As soon as he got into the bedroom Dewey threw himself on the bed and closed his eyes “night” he croaked out. “no no no Dew you need to get your trousers off you goof” you moved over to him. “nooo I don’t want too.. too tired” he whined. “Dewey Finn sit up and take those Jeans off. I have just washed those sheets and I’m not having your black jeans staining them” you warned, folding your arms. He huffed loudly, like a child, and stood up, unbuttoning his jeans and moving his legs so they would fall down. He could be so lazy sometimes.

Finally you were both in bed. Dewey scooted over to you, getting his body as close to yours as possible, his hand sneaking to your side, sliding up to your ribs and rubbing the skin there. “so soft…” he cracked, his eyes closing with sleepiness. You smiled at him, but furrowed your eyebrows worriedly “remember Dew, if you feel sick, wake me up” you cautioned. He simply nodded and grumbled in response. His voice sounded as if it was sore, you troubled. Whatever he had done to it, the amount of tequila he had consumed certainly wouldn’t have helped him. You shook your head, “you crazy dude” you whispered lovingly, running your hand down his face admiring his rosy cheeks, and wild hair.

* * * * *

You sighed in sheer relief that morning when Dewey didn't get sick at night. The trashcan beside his side of the bed was luckily un-used. It was kind of a miracle why though, the amount of tequila he drank had been enough to fill up your half of your bath-tub. You shook your head on the pillow as you eyed your boyfriend. He was soundly sleeping on his side. His hair was messily spread out on the pillow, standing up and difying any sort or gravity. You loved Dewey Finn with all your heart, he was just a hyper kid sometimes. A bouncy, hyper kid, with amazing charm and guitar skills... sometimes on too much liquor.

You traced his every feature with your eyes, letting his beauty sink into the deepest level of your soul.

It was almost angelic, his soft face combined with the rough scruff on his cheeks. The rising sun making his messy brown hair glow like the sun herself reached out to kiss it. He smelled like the bar you picked him up from, combined with the fresh smell of your bedsheets, and something unmistakably Dewey.

You rolled your eyes, internly cursing yourself. The boy drank half a bath-tub of tequila last night... You had to carry him home... and yet here you was. Falling even more in love with that dorky, bouncy rock-star. You couldn't be mad at him even if you tried. He only tried to have a good time... that's all.

You shot your Dewey one last glance, before sneaking out of bed. You put on your cozy socks, and grabbed Deweys sweater on the way out. Just before you closed the door you heard Dewey mutter something as he stirred in his sleep, and you smiled at the cute noice. You left the door peeking open a bit, and threw on Deweys worn ACDC sweater. It smelled like him, minus the smell of liquor he was currently sporting.

You tip-toed down the stairs, in desperately need for some coffee. You always were an early bird, while Dewey woke mid day if you'd let him. That part you couldnt change... no matter how hard you tried.

You figured his hang-over-ass would also enjoy some coffee, so you made one for him as well. Yours was filled with lots of milk, and a tiny bit of cinnamon.... Dewey drank his coffee black.

As you passed the stove you figured he could use some hang-over-proof-food as well. So you grabbed a pan, cracked two eggs open and started making scrambled eggs on toast. Humming softly to yourself, watching the still rising sun seep through the kitchen window as you prepared breakfast.

You were suprised when you felt two strong arms wrap softly around your waist, pulling you into his embrace. You chuckled and yelped a bit in suprise when dewey came to stand behind you, his body still sleepily warm as he pushed himself up to you against the stove. You felt the weight of his head rest on your shoulder and smiled at the feeling of his stubble on your neck, when he pressed a soft kiss on it. He swayed you gently from behind, moving in sync with your humming.

You struggled to keep your attention to the breakfast you were making, instead of focussing on Dewey behind you. Dewey started to nibble on your neck while you continued to stirr the eggs in the pan. Dewey noticed the slight hitch in your breath while he softly suckled on your pulse point and tried to sneak his hand under your sweater. You squeeled a high pitched sound and grabbed his hand under your sweater before it could get to its destination. He growled in dissapiontment and you felt him pout against your cheekbone, scruff tickeling your cheek when he did so.

You squeezed his hand and mumbled: "Let's have breakfast first, okay cassanova?"

Deweys hands moved towards your sides, he took a step back and he pressed a kiss on the top of your hair. He hummed in response at your suggestion and slapped your ass before slumping into the kitchen chair.

A high pitched yelp escaped your throat, and you was just about to lecture him but when you turned around your mind went still. Comletely still. Aside from the singing choir in the back of your head.

His bedhead was still all over the place as he slumped into the kitchen chair. His brown locks standing in different angles on his head, framing his beautifull face. The golden light of the sun still surrounding him with a bright halo, almost like the joy of life shine out of him. The bright light of the sun reflected in his eyes, and it made his gaze even more entracing. His head rested in his hand and his droopy eyes were full of sleep, but also full of admiration when he looked at you. He brushed his free hand through his messy brown locks, making his hair even more chaotic. A satisfied smirk ghosted his lips and Dewey Finn looked smug as hell.

How could he not, you were practically giving him heart eyes at the moment.

You turned around quickly, struggling to focus on the eggs in front of you again.

You turned off the stove and flopped the eggs on the kitchentable unceremoniously. You sat down across Dewey and sipped your coffee while eyeing your boyfriend over the coffee cup, with a fond smile on your face. Gosh... you loved this man.

He happily beamed back at you and digged into the eggs, his hoarse voice cracked: "Thanks love..."

You couldn't help but laugh at the state of his voice... all fucked up from the shouting and singing of last night. That voice....

A thought popped up in your mind, talking about last night...

That voice. The voice that made you laugh and giggle. Made you sing and hum. His voice made you happy and emotional. Grounded you and guided you. Deweys voice had you aroused in seconds, and you loved every tone it could make... but this voice. It was hoarse and husky and gravelly. Croaky and somewhat nasal.

This hang-over, worn-out growly voice was something else.

You tried to pinpoint exactly what it was that this side of his voice made you feel.

You asked a question to keep Dewey talking in that gravelly voice, so you could feel some more of...

Whatever it was that you seemed to feel at it hearing him talk in that voice...

"Hey Dew... you slept okay? You didnt get sick man. That's great!"

Between eating his toast and sipping his coffee he replied, again with a low, husky, growly voice: "Yeah... that's pretty cool indeed. Lucky me, huh? Hey... Thankyou for picking me up last night..."

You were lost in thoughts as he lowly kept growling through his scentences. The only thing you could think off was that voice was making your knees weak. Good thing you were already sitting... Cause with the orange glow of the sun, combined with his scratchy low croaking voice you were sure could swoon at the spot.

This voice of him was something else. You certainly felt something.

... a lot of someting.

Dewey noticed your mental absence as he continued to growly speak. He noticed that your breathing had changed, and he saw the rosy colour your cheeks had gotten. He saw your pupils widening, you bit your lip and then left your mouth slightly agape. You licked your lips as he sneakily tried to slip more and more pet names for you into his conversation. His voice dropping lower, more breathy and huskier by the second.

He was in the middle of a scentence when you lost your fight to pure lust, love and desperation. You launched yourself over the kitchentable and kissed him with all the love that was bubbling inside your soul. He bit your lip as a deep growl escaped his throath and you panted between kisses: "Mister Finn.... you are an absolute angel... and your voice... Especially your hangover voice... Should be illegal."

Tagging: @little-miss-shy-goth @paxenera @heknowshisherbs @missihart23 @geminiacally @go-commander-kim @gegehaddock @baby-beej @sadpuppetshows @hoodoo12 @large-unit @thats-specific @vicunaburger @stranger-strings @bugdrinkss

We hope you enjoyed it. We sure enjoyed writing it! @ironmansuucks ... a deep bow and thankyou for doing me the absolute honour of writing with you. 💜 It was a pleasure, dear.

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