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musical-shit-show · 4 months ago

Note

“i fucking love you.” “hang up, and tell me this when you’re sober.” Dewey Finn x reader angst? Can go either way. I love ur work so much onh my goodness I can’t get enough

modern idiots

Pairing: Dewey Finn x Reader

Inspiration: Prompt #3 (“i fucking love you.” “hang up, and tell me this when you’re sober.”) from Prompt List 1

Warnings: Cursing, drinking, suggestive dialogue, mutual pining, angst, fluff at the end

Word Count: 2,200

Author’s Note: So, I’m actually embarrassed at how long this took. I think I just hit a wall at soooo many points, but I’m hoping the end result is what the original requester had in mind. Thanks everyone for their patience. I know I’m not the most consistent poster, but I hope to take the next few months to write more and redo my layout to make my masterlist a bit more streamlined. As always, check out my about me page and prompt lists if you’d like to submit an ask. I’d love to get a BJ ask out before the end of spooky season, but unfortunately, I’m drowning in Halloween activities. But definitely stay tuned and enjoy!

“So,” you heard a flirty drawl come from your phone speaker, “Got any fun plans tonight? Maybe…a hot date?”

You snorted a laugh as you surveyed the scene in front of you: a large bowl of popcorn, fluffy blanket draped across your lap, Sex and the City playing on the TV at low volume.

“Oh yeah,” you replied sarcastically, “I actually have a line of suitors out the door just waiting to ask for my hand. It’s all very Regency era.”

“I’ll just pretend I know what ‘Regency era’ means and say…good for you, babe,” Dewey said, making another giggle escape from your throat.

Nobody made you laugh like Dewey Finn. He was your best friend and more recently, your best fuck buddy. You swore you’d never get yourself into a situation like this, but with Dewey it just felt so…easy. Natural.

And if you were spending your time fucking him, you’d have less time to stop and think about how hopelessly in love you were with him. Definitely not the easiest predicament to get yourself out of, but at least it involved good sex.

“Remind me to force you to watch Pride and Prejudice sometime,” you mused, popping a few kernels of popcorn into your mouth, “We need to get you educated, Finn.” Now it was his time to laugh, and you felt your heart flutter as his rich chuckle filled your ears.

“Well, maybe I could come over tonight to get some…tutoring…” he probed. You could practically hear his smirk from the other side of the phone line.

You quickly remembered how disheveled you looked. Even though he was your best friend, Dewey was still a man; And you knew all too well how superficial men could be, no matter how well they thought they knew you.

“Eh, I don’t know,” you said, running your fingers through your hair that definitely should’ve been washed the day prior, “Maybe sometime later this week? I haven’t showered today and—”

“Perfect, I haven’t either,” he cut you off, “We can shower together.”

This motherfucker.

“Very smooth,” you considered. But you couldn’t give in so easily. You knew every time you slept with him, the harder it would be to repress your feelings.

Dewey waited on bated breath. He wanted, no, needed to see you. Not because he had grown accustomed to a consistent booty call, as nice as the arrangement had been.

No, he was finally going to tell you how he really felt.

That he loved you. And way before you had ever shared a bed; he thought maybe he had loved you from the first moment you met. Which sounded unbelievably cheesy every time Dewey thought about it.

But it was true. He was sure of it.

He just felt like the biggest idiot in the world for not telling you before landing in this mess. The no strings attached, friends with benefits kind that you had both agreed on.

It’s what you wanted. And for a while, he tried to convince himself that it’s what he wanted too. That it would just be enough just to hold you, touch you, kiss you.

But Dewey, despite his best efforts, was a romantic. Even if you rejected him, at least he’d put himself out there. The thought was terrifying, but he couldn’t stand the torture anymore. All he needed was for you to actually agree to see him.

“I just don’t think tonight is a good night, Dew,” you said finally. He furrowed his brow. You had never passed on a hangout, not even before you two had started hooking up. He tried to ignore the knot forming in his stomach.

The line was silent for a noticeably long beat. “You still there?” you squeaked, wondering what was up with him. Surely, he could wait a couple days? Maybe that would be enough time for you to get your shit together and act normal.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, yep. Still here, sorry,” he muttered, “It’s fine, I’ve actually been meaning to go out with Ned anyways so…I’ll text ya.” The disappointment laced in his voice made your heart hurt.

“Dew, I’m so—”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” he cut in before you could properly apologize, “I, uh, gotta go.” And then the line went dead.

You felt your guilt wrap around your heart and constrict it like a python. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see Dewey per se, but you didn’t know how to be around him any more without spilling your guts and confessing.

And the thought of being rejected and losing his friendship was too much to bear. If suffering in silence was the way to keep him in your life, you’d happily take that torment.

Getting up from the couch, you swung open your fridge and eyed the two unopened bottles of wine you had bought weeks earlier. You quirked an eyebrow to your empty apartment, Carrie Bradshaw still monologuing from your living room.

Maybe you wouldn’t be as tormented after a few glasses.

~oOo~

Dewey didn’t feel like drinking. The bar was too loud, the patrons were too preppy, and the beer he was nursing was too expensive.

He made a mental note to never let Ned pick the going out spot ever again.

It had only been a few hour since he last spoke to you, but he had been absentmindedly checking your contact in his messages the whole night. He wanted to text you and apologize for acting weird, but he couldn’t find the words.

He couldn’t escape the sinking feeling that you had lost interest in him; It tore him up inside to think that you didn’t want to see him anymore, or worse, had found someone else.

He could’ve kicked himself for letting your friendship become anything more without him telling you how he really felt. He was a coward, and now the thought of losing his best friend made his stomach turn.

Dewey’s shame spiral was interrupted by his phone buzzing incessantly.

It was you.

And his heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

“Hello?” he answered tentatively, rising from his barstool to find a quieter place to talk to you. He found himself running outside, the late summer air still percolating with humidity.

He heard you giggle on the other end, followed by a snort. A snort.

You never snorted. Unless you were drunk.

“Heyyy Dewey,” you drawled. You had already finished your first bottle of wine and had just opened the second. Which meant you were feeling very bold and very honest. “How’s your night going?”

Dewey couldn’t help but let a small smile flit across his face. Even when you were very clearly smashed, you still managed to be polite.

“Uh, it’s going okay,” he said, glancing back towards the door to the bar, “Definitely not as good as yours sounds.”

“Andwhat’sthatsupposedtomean?” you slurred, eliciting a laugh from Dewey. You could feel the confession rising in your throat, burning like bile.

“All I’m saying…” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “is that you seem like you’re really enjoying your night in.” He couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt; Maybe if he hadn’t been so short with you, you wouldn’t have been self-medicating alone in your apartment.

You groaned into your throw pillow, unable to fight the urge any longer. “I’m sad.”

“Why are you sad?”

“Because, I fucked it up. I fucked us up,” You felt salty tears sting in your eyes. It wasn’t like you to be the drama queen, but wine always made you a bit weepy.

He sighed. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” Dewey said gently, feeling even guiltier for being so pissy earlier, “I’m sorry. I just…really wanted to see you tonight. But there’s always other nights.”

A small sob caught in your throat at the statement. Though you were happy to know he wasn’t going to kick you to the curb, the weight on your chest wouldn’t let up until you told the truth.

“I-I know,” you sounded so pathetic, but there was nothing you could do to stop yourself. “You’re just…Dewey, you’re my best friend. And I-I was scared, but I’m not scared anymore.”

Dewey shook his head. He really shouldn’t be taking you at your word when you were plastered like this. “Look…you don’t have to do this.”

“But I do, Dewey. I fucking love you.”

He didn’t know what to say. He just knew he couldn’t hear that from you right now, not when you might not actually mean it.

He took deep breath and hoped he was making the right choice. “Hang up, and tell me this when you’re sober.”

Your stomach sank as you heard the piercing beep beep beep that indicated the end of the call.

~oOo~

Dewey shuffled into his apartment hours later, leaving Ned behind at the bar with the rest of his friends. At least one of them was having a good night.

After hanging up with you, he tried, really tried to take his mind off of what you had said. But he couldn’t. Every time his thoughts lingered, your words played on a loop over and over.

I fucking love you.

It didn’t seem real. It almost felt like a prank, though he knew you could never be that cruel. But that nagging feeling told him that it was just the alcohol talking, and that you’d call him up tomorrow for a very awkward conversation.

He sighed heavily, switching the TV on to distract himself. His calloused fingers drummed on his knee rhythmically, a nervous tick he had picked up after years of band practices and rock concerts.

He contemplated grabbing another beer from the fridge; he wasn’t even a little buzzed, but maybe taking a page out of your playbook would act as a temporary cure to the unease he was feeling.

His thoughts were again interrupted by his phone buzzing.

You again.

Only this time, he contemplated letting the call go to voicemail. He wasn’t sure how drunk you’d sound on the other end, especially after he ended your last call so abruptly.

With a deep sigh, he picked up. “Hello?” he answered hesitantly.

“Hey,” you replied. To Dewey’s surprise, you sounded stone cold sober. “Can we talk?”

He felt his entire body tense.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, we can. You sound…better?”

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh. Your head was pounding, your stomach was churning, and your eyes were watering from embarrassment. “Yeah, never better,” you deadpanned.

You couldn’t help but gulp, swallowing your shame. “I’m uh, actually here,” you stumbled awkwardly, “Like, at your place.”

Before you could even think of what you’d say next, Dewey’s door swung open and he stood in front of you, wide-eyed and clearly shocked at your presence.

You both stood in a rigid silence for a moment, unsure of what to say given what had transpired earlier that evening.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” you squeaked.

He couldn’t help but give you a once over, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Running his fingers through his dark brown hair, he blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Did you mean it?”

You blinked stupidly. “Did I mean it?” you had to repeat his question just to let it sink in.

“Yeah,” he doubled down, “Did you actually mean it when you said you loved me? Or was it the booze talking? Because honestly if it was the booze talking, I’d completely understand, I mean shit, I say things I don’t mean all the time when I’m hammered, just ask Ned—”

“Dewey—”

“—I mean seriously, I was being such a fucking jackass earlier, but it’s only because I’d never thought you’d be into me the way that I’m into you, and—”

“Dewey!” you said again, finally cutting off his rambling, “Breathe.”

He took a shallow breath.

“I meant it,” the words tumbled from your mouth, “I love you. And I’m sorry that it took me getting completely shitfaced after our fight for me to finally tell you. I really was scared of losing whatever we had, and I totally get it if you don’t feel the same way and—”

“Now I gotta shut you up, babe,” Dewey said, his voice smooth despite his cheeks being flush.

He grabbed your waist and pulled you towards him, placing a surprisingly gentle kiss on your mouth. You had kissed Dewey hundreds of times since you began hooking up, but there was something different about this one.

It felt like he wasn’t holding back anymore, and neither were you.

Just as you started to deepen the kiss, he pulled away. “And if it wasn’t obvious, I love you, too. And I really am sorry for tonight.”

Your heart swelled at hearing him reciprocate, and you threw your arms around his neck. “I’m sorry, too. I guess we were both being idiots, huh?”

He nodded, and you giggled. “Maybe…we could make it up to each other? Say, right now?”

You smirked, and kissed him one more time for good measure. “That’s the best idea you’ve had in months, Finn.”

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