#dewey finn x gender neutral reader

[swan--writes]

someone liked this recently (which i know bc i go through all my likes like a completely normal person), which prompted me to re-read it for the first time in a minute. now i'm rbing it bc even tho it's not perfect, i'm actually really proud of it

Can you please do a Dewey x Reader with the song ‘Naked’ by James Arthur?

What a song to end my requests on, damn. Thank you for requesting this, whoever you are. Now, allow me to make this entirely about myself.

A bit more than a year ago, I had an opportunity to say something to somebody, and while I meant everything I said to him, I didn’t say everything I meant. This is what I should have said.

Warnings: a breakup

Words: 1,540

Hey, you there.

Shirts, socks, pants, toothbrush, chord charts, guitar picks – including the one that had fallen behind the radiator in your living room and you’d never bothered to fish out.

Can we take it to the next level, baby, do you dare?

By the time you had all of Dewey’s things together in the gym bag you never used it was mostly dark outside. Cloudy skies again, but you felt clearer than you had in months. Since you started dating Dewey. You cared about him, more than you could express in just one day. It would likely take months for you to fully process your feelings. But enough of them had made it into the clearing of what mental space you could spare for you to know what needed to happen now.

Dewey needed to leave.

‘Cause if you can’t say the words…

You had been waiting long enough.

I don’t know why I should care.

You were sitting on the couch beside the bag when he got to your place from work.

“Hey, babe!” he greeted you, breathless, eyes shining. He stomped the snow from his boots and kicked them off at the door. What little of his face you could see between his hat and scarf was red from the cold. His nose was especially bright.

Dewey was adorable, and the thought was a pang in your heart. Still, you waited patiently for him to finish filling you in on his day so you could tell him what was on your mind. No going back now.

“…so Freddy’s losing his friggin’ mind at this point, Lawrence can’t focus on what he’s doing, the backup singers have stopped. And then April comes in with this sick riff and Freddy loses track of what he’s doing…” Dewey collapsed onto the couch on the other side of the bag. You just watched him. “Those kids are amazing, I swear.”

Yeah, I’m right here…

Dewey leaned his arm on the gym bag and shook his head. Then he stopped, frowned, and looked down at the bag. “Hey, babe?”

“Hm.”

“What’s this doing out here?” For the first time since arriving at your apartment, Dewey looked at your face. Panic immediately spiked in his eyes. “What?”

I’m trying to make it clear…

“We need to talk,” you said quietly. This wasn’t the way you wanted to start, but what else were you supposed to say?

That getting half of you just ain’t enough.

Dewey hesitated, but shifted to face you more fully. “Okay. What’s up?” He tried to laugh, but it seemed to get caught somewhere in his throat.

You took a breath, trying not to be too dramatic but needing to steady yourself. “Okay,” you muttered. Then you turned your gaze fully to your partner.

I’m standing here naked.

“We don’t fit into each other’s lives as well as we used to,” you said. “I know you’ve been busy, and you know I have been too. But I have been trying to make a space for you, and I’m not really feeling that from you.”

Dewey tried to give you a look. “Well, that’s not really–”

You held up a hand. “Let me say this.”

More surprised than anything, it seemed, Dewey closed his mouth. You took another short breath and pressed on with your rehearsed monologue.

The mirrors in your apartment had probably had enough of you.

“Now, I know that I have a tendency to worry about my relationships--all of my relationships when they start feeling distant.” That much was true. “But I also know that if I don’t trust my instincts, I usually end up out on my ass.” That was also true.

You laughed then, lightly, trying to lift some of the heaviness between the two of you. The corners of Dewey’s mouth turned up ever so slightly, and you silently congratulated yourself.

“And what my instincts are telling me is to screw censoring my feelings. Because I have been,” you admitted. Dewey nodded, possibly in understanding, or maybe in agreement – you weren’t sure. Still, you continued and said, for the first time, “I kinda love you, Dewey.”

He stopped moving.

You rolled your eyes at yourself. “No, not ‘kinda.’ I do.” You looked at him again. He seemed paler than usual, but he was maintaining a poker face. “And I know you don’t feel the same, and I wish I could be okay with that. But, um…” You tried to keep from twisting your lips. Dewey said your name, but you held up a hand again. Your hand was shaking. You decided not to care. “But it’s not.”

Hey, get out.

“Maybe it’s a matter of time – or timing – or maybe it’s not. I don’t think it really matters. We’ve been together for four months, and I’m already the one who cares more.”

I’ve got nothing left to give, and you give me nothing now.

“Again,” you muttered, mostly to yourself and looking at the back of the couch rather than at Dewey. He was still watching you. “And I think it’ll probably stay that way.”

“Do you?” Dewey asked faintly.

“Yeah, my heart doesn’t like to let people go. It’s kinda stubborn that way.”

“And you don’t think that I’ll…” He swallowed. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t care about you.”

“I know.”

“‘Cause I do. I care a lot. I think you’re amazing.”

“I--yeah, you too.” You tried to keep your tone self-aware enough that he would get the joke. He seemed to.

“I’m just not–”

“I know. But I am.”

I wanna give you everything.

For the first time since Dewey had sat down, you checked in with yourself. Your heart was throbbing. You had known this would be hard, but God, this sucked. Then again, this was also the most honest you had ever been with Dewey.

In the four months that you had been together, you had connected at least a hundred times over dozens of subjects. Dewey got you. He got you in a way you weren’t sure you would ever find again, and the thought was terrifying. So you had put this off. When he started cancelling your plans at the last minute, for reasons he had ‘forgotten’ to tell you about, you set your frustration aside. When he started forgetting you existed unless you were directly in front of him, you brushed off the hurt. When he stopped making plans with you altogether, you tried to get over it. You really, really tried.

He wasn’t as bad as all that, really. Dewey had bright eyes that seemed to glimmer when he was excited about something. He had clusters of freckles across his back that danced in the morning sun. His laugh was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. Dewey was kind (mostly), and reliable (when he wanted), and thoughtful (usually), and brilliant (always) and stunning. Yes, he was stunning most of all.

And you loved him. You loved Smart Dewey, and Drunk Dewey, and Musical Dewey, and 2AM Dewey making weird noises and dancing around the room. You loved his wild hair, his smile, the way he would prod at you when he wanted to understand something. His sloping shoulders and soft lines. How could you ever have not loved him? From minute one you hadn’t stood a chance.

It sucked.

And it was only a matter of time until it all boiled over and you both fell apart. You would always love him; you knew that in a way you had never known anything before. You also knew that letting go now was the right thing to do.

I’m not gonna wait until you’re gone.

“I don’t know if this hurts you, but if it does, I’m sorry I have to do it.” You had never been this honest with him before, and the look in Dewey’s eyes told you that he knew it.

‘Cause you pretended you don’t need anyone.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry for being an asshole.”

“Thanks.”

Can’t you see that I’m naked?

“Will I see you again?” he asked.

Your mouth formed a solid line, and you suspected you had that small frown above your nose you only got when you didn’t know what to say.

Dewey looked away. “Oh.” He nodded. “Okay.”

See that I’m naked!

Your ex-partner wrapped his hand around the handles of his gym bag without asking what was in it. He had to know. He stood and walked back to the door, and set the bag down.

I’m not gonna try until you decide…

Dewey put on his coat, then his scarf, then his hat, then his boots. Then he picked the bag up again, gave you a parting glance, and turned back to the door. He squared his shoulders and left.

You’re ready to swallow all your pride.

And just like that, he was gone.

For months, you would cry about this moment. In your car, in your bed, on various friends’ couches and shoulders. Your mind would find some new detail to fixate on every two or three weeks, and you would lose it all over again.

I’m standing here naked.

You would wish he had told you exactly how he was feeling. You would wish you had told him just how much you loved him.

I’m standing here naked.

You would realize that you would likely never see his eyes again, and that the last time you had seen them they had been so, so dark. There were a million little things that would hurt you so deeply.

I’m standing…

And, eventually, you would come to see that you had done the right thing. You really had.

For now, though, all you could do was stand and lock the door. Dewey had left his key with you. You turned the deadbolt and felt the click in your bones.

I’m standing here.

.

.

please like and reblog, if you are so moved

tags list: @skiddyyo @missihart23 @ballerinafairyprincess @thewolfisapartofmysoul

if you would like to get on the tags list, feel free to shoot me a message or drop me an ask

[foolurfriendsfunatparties]

Hello,

It's been some time again. I just came on here to just let you guys know that I think I am going to not write anymore beetlejuice x readers. I will keep this blog up so people can reread or find me but I just haven't felt the passion to write for this blog anymore. I may randomly come in and maybe drop a single story so there's that to look for. I just really wanted to say thank you to everyone who loved my little garbage stories and for getting me to 300 followers (never would I ever dream of that). I really have loved giving people some fun stories to read and I had a fun time making a blog for a specific genre of stories. Keep living life to the fullest friends!

Signing off!

[nbmlmxreaders]

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A post shared by Saki :) (@sophia.deetzz) on Apr 23, 2020 at 12:40pm PDT

goddamn y'all... im fanning myself over here,,.,.,

Alex Brightman has more talent in one finger than I do in my entire body

[voiddrop]

Oof id love some headcanons of Beej and Dewey overstimulating their s/o please

Beetlejuice

Lil shit loves to overstimulate you

He does it frequently as punishment when he’s domming

He’ll edge you for hours but then he’ll keep that vibrator pressed against you until you damn near pass out

Loves hearing your mindless babbling when you get too overstimulate

Also loves to fuck you while you’re overstimulated and listen to you SQUEAL around his cock

Will fuck you hard and fast do not even tempt him

Lots of “C’mon baby, just one more,” while he fucks you

He only stops when you safe word or if you’re like nearly passing out from the pleasure

Dewey

Dewey loves it when you ride him while he overstimulates you

He’ll hold you close while he fucks up into you quickly and listen to you sob and moan his name

“You sure it’s too much, baby? I think you can take more for me...”

He’s also a massive fan of eating you out into overstimulation

Dewey has a bit of an oral fixation

Just a lil bit

He loves how your thighs clamp around his head, how he can feel them tremble

Loves how high-pitched you get as you beg for him to slow down but pull his head closer

He fucking loves it

Man could go feral for that

[hellfirenacht]

Fortune Cookies

Dewey Finn x Reader (gender neutral)

Prompt: "I'm just doing what the fortune cookie said. Who am I to stand in the way of fate?" 

---

You very rarely got Chinese food, but when you did you always asked for extra cookies and stuffed them in your bag as snacks for later. It reminded you of the chocolate candies you got when you were younger with the toys inside before those had been banned, or the boxes of Cracker Jacks that you’d used to eat before the prize inside was all connected to some stupid app. 

You were a simple person, you saw a snack with a prize and you hoarded them. Often times though, you found yourself sneaking your cookies to your cousin when you picked them up from their fancy school when their parents were too busy. One time, when your cousin’s parents were out of town for two weeks you had gone online and bought a whole bag of fortune cookies to keep the two of you entertained after school. 

It was during one of these times where you finally got to meet the music coach your cousin was always telling you about. Dewey Finn wasn’t what you expected out of a teacher of Horace Green Academy but you could see that was exactly the reason all the kids loved him. 

Your cousin and yourself were cracking open the fortune cookies outside of school when Mr. Finn stepped up and made an attempt to introduce himself.

“I know the bell just rang but I hope you brought enough of those to share.” he said in a tone of voice that was meant to be teasing. 

His face when you started handing out the cookies to everyone in class was priceless. Cookie after cookie came out of your purse with no sign of stopping until you finally handed one over to him. 

Mr. Finn couldn’t help but laugh as he opened his cookie. “...If it seems the fates are against you today, they probably are. Well, that explains a lot.”

“Better luck tomorrow.” you said with a smile before heading back home with your cousin. 

That’s how the next two weeks went. You’d pick up your cousin and share a fortune cookie with them and Mr. Finn who had started to ask you to call you by his first name by the end of the week. You’d politely declined for a day or so before giving in, unable to resist the smile on his face when you agreed. 

“So how much Chinese food do you eat to have all these cookies?” he asked that last Friday of you needing to pick your cousin up. 

“I bought a bag of these online.” you admitted. “I thought it’d be fun and give them something to look forward to after school.”

“You were right. I know I’ve enjoyed it.” he gave a small smirk and leaned in closer. “You know how we used to read fortune cookies in college?”

You couldn’t help but grin. “You mean, the ‘in bed’ clause?” you asked back quietly, letting out a small laugh. 

“Hey, I’m just saying that if we use that then every fortune cookie you’ve given me has come true.” he pointed out. 

“Didn’t you get one that said ‘you can’t have everything, where would you put it all?’ yesterday?” you asked. 

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at you and you let out a small snort. “And I believe one of yours said ‘it was time to let loose’.” 

Your cheeks flared red at the comment. Dewey Finn had been quite flirty with you over the past two weeks but he’d never said something so directly at you. 

He was attractive, you couldn’t deny that. Though his hair was unkempt and his clothes clearly needed to be ironed, there was a certain charm to his roughness. It was cute, and you had to admit that you had started packing an extra cookie for him for the chance to chat with him again. 

You were starting to understand the term “hot for teacher” now. 

“Mr. Finn I do believe I the one I got after it said ‘ignore the last cookie’.” you teased. 

Before he could answer back your cousin was pulling you away, saying that they wanted to hang out before their parents got back home. So with a smile and a wave you said goodbye to Dewey and took your cousin home. There was an expression on his face that you couldn’t quite place as you left. 

---

The next Saturday was your day off, the day where you could wander around town and enjoy yourself. At least that had been the plan until the rain came out of nowhere. You hurried out of the rain, and ducked into the first shop you could find, hoping that you weren’t too soaked. 

A familiar voice called out your name in a questioning tone. You turned and found yourself in a music shop, surrounded by CDs and guitars. In front of you you saw the mad who’d called out to you and you felt your heart leap in your chest. Dewey’s smile was brighter than the harsh florescent lights of the store as he made his way towards you. 

Outside of school he looked different, more relaxed. He was wearing an old t-shirt with bacon and eggs on it as well as a red hoodie, slightly wet from the rain as well. 

“Hey! I didn’t see you at all last week.” he said, his statement leaving a question hanging in the air. 

“I uh, I was only picking up my cousin while her parents were out of town.” you said. “They came back.” you added lamely. 

“Too bad, I was starting to miss those cookies.” he said, giving you that same look you had seen a week ago when you left. 

You reached into your bag and handed him several. “Between you and me, I’m kind of sick of these.” you admitted. 

“Hey the rain’s letting up, do you wanna maybe, I don’t know, walk around?” he asked suddenly, taking the cookies. There was a hint of eagerness in his voice that you didn’t want to say no to. 

“I’d love to.” you said, walking back outside with him. The streets were slick and covered in puddles which Dewey didn’t seem to mind stepping in. 

For the next few hours you found yourself talking to this man about anything that came to mind. Awkward small talk about how your cousin was doing in the music program evolved into long drawn out discussions about music and where the line between Rock and Metal was drawn. 

As the two of you walked around he handed you a cookie from the pile that you handed him earlier. Though you didn’t think you’d ever want to eat another fortune cookie again, you couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes. 

“Come on, one more. Plus there are no kids around so we can read them with the ‘in bed’ clause.” he teased.

“Okay, fine.” you agreed. 

“Yours first.” he said and your shook your head in amusement as you unwrapped and cracked your cookie. 

“The fortune you seek is in another cookie... in bed.” You shrugged. “They can’t all be winners”

He laughed in agreement and cracked open his, looking over it for a moment before looking at you. “Hmm...”

“What is it?” you started to ask, but then his lips were on yours firmly for a moment, before pulling back just as quickly, leaving you dizzy with feelings. 

“I... what was that for?” you blurted out, staring at him dumbstruck. You weren’t complaining but you also wanted an explanation. 

 "I'm just doing what the fortune cookie said. Who am I to stand in the way of fate?" He replied in a tone of voice you couldn’t quite grasp. 

“Wha-... what did it say?” you asked. 

“True love is around the corner.” he leaned in again slower this time, tilting your head up. Your heart was racing slightly as he leaned closer and closer, stopping just before his lips met yours. His brown eyes were looking straight into yours and his stupid smug smile was so warm and inviting that you found yourself breathless. “....in bed.”

“Wait- what?” you managed to blurt out as he kissed you again. The both of you laughed into the kiss but you didn’t pull back. After all, who were either of you to stand in the way of fate?

[itslikethesizeofmy]

Don’t Let Go

Dewey Finn x reader

No prompt, I just felt like shaking things up a bit. Gender-neutral reader because I’m hella gay

~~~~

             “Babe? Are you home?”

             You hear the door to your apartment close and a voice approach your bedroom, along with the familiar voice’s belongings being tossed on your couch.

             “I’m in here,” you say back, sitting up in bed to wait for your boyfriend. You got off work early after working all morning, knowing the small record shop would be fine without you just this once. It was a treat-yo’-self kind of day, and you were in the mood to spend the rest of it in bed without pants on.

             “I stopped by the shop and they said you went home,” Dewey tells you as he sits down on the bed next to you. “Are you feeling okay?”

             “Mm, just tired. I felt like treating myself instead of dealing with trying to decipher what costumers are trying to ask of me,” you say as you lay back down. “If people knew the names or at least the lyrics of what they were trying to find, my life would be a lot easier.”

             “Tell me about it,” he groans. “I can’t play your request if I don’t know what you’re requesting.” Dewey dramatically flays himself across you, lamenting about his night job. While the School of Rock after school program was fulfilling, he liked being able to sing whatever he wanted on stage without being surrounded by children. “You can’t just say ‘it goes like dun-dun-dan’ and expect me to know it. There’s a lot of songs that go dun-dun-dan!”

             You giggle at his complaints, patting the rhythm of the song in your head on his back. He starts making noises to beat, inserting words where he sees fit.

             “~I let myself into your house, so maybe I should buy you a pizza~” he sings to you, propping himself up on his elbows over you. “~You deserve so much more, but pizza sounds so hella good right now~”

             It didn’t matter that the words didn’t rhyme, you laughed along to his freestyling. Dewey peppers your cheeks with kisses in between verses, rubbing his scruff against your neck. You trap his face in your hands and kiss him, making him hum in submission as you stop his song.

             “You’re so wonderful,” you tell him, squishing his cheeks.

             “Its all for you, baby,” he grins. “And I’m going to make good on my offer and order pizza.” He gets up off you and motions for you to stay in bed as he goes to call the pizza place down the street, ordering pizza and breadsticks for the two of you. You hear him rustle around your kitchen, and decide to pull yourself from your blankets and join him.

             You sit down on the couch and pick up your guitar, idly strumming as you tune. Dewey sits down next to you, placing two beers on the coffee table and relaxing into the cushions. You slow down one of your favorite songs, and start to sing, changing the lyrics only slightly.

             “I don't know what other people see, or what they think is love. But I know what it means to me I fall in love so easily,” you sing to him, and he shakes his head and smiles as you reach the chorus. “I’m a hopeless romantic, you’re not hopeless.”

             Dewey sings the next verse and the following chorus with you, bouncing his knee to match the tempo you up to meet how fast the song actually goes. He kisses your cheek as you finish the song, laughing at the change in lyrics.

             “Did I make you in a computer?” he asks you, cracking open your drinks.  

             “Its not strange science, sweetness, you just fell in love with a punk that won’t let go,” you smile.

             “Never let go,” he tells you, taking the guitar from your hand and placing it back on the stand. Dewey leans over you, pressing your back to the arm rest, and catches your mouth with his. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close. You pull away and raise your eyebrow at him.

             “Was that a Titanic thing?”

             “I didn’t mean it to be, but I guess it was,” he says. “Only a nerd would think of Titanic when their boyfriend tells them to never let go of the things they love.”

             “Guess that means you’re stuck with me,” you grin.

             “You… are too much sometimes,” he laughs, rubbing his nose against yours.

             “You love it,” you say, pressing your lips to his.  

             “I love it so much,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around your middle. Your mouths move with each other’s, slowly heating up. You sigh and relax into his arms when Dewey slips his tongue over yours, the heady taste of alcohol filling your mouth. You run your fingers through his hair as he squeezes your waist, repositioning himself in between your legs. He pulls your hips to his, making you moan as he grinds against you.

             The two of you jump when a knock on your door pulls you back to reality, the one where the pizza delivery boy interrupts your make-out session.

             “Fine, fine, I’ll get the pizza I ordered,” Dewey yells to the door, picking himself up off you. You laugh as he grumbles to himself, fumbling with his wallet as he pays for your food.  “Totally wasn’t in the middle of something…”

[swan--writes]

Can you please write human by Christina Perry for Dewey please x

Look, I might as well tell you now that all of my remaining songfic requests are pretty angsty. Imma round it out with a fluffy non-request, just be aware: we have returned, my friends, to the angst corner.

Warnings: sad Dewey

Words: 975

I can hold my breath.

Dewey could handle this.

I can bite my tongue

He could.

I can stay awake for days…

He promised.

If that’s what you want.

When he was with his students, his fellow instructors, you, he could hold it in. It was just when he was alone that he crumbled.

It wasn’t that he was unhappy – that couldn’t have been it. He had everything: a partner who loved him, a job he adored, a nice apartment, steady cash flow. But for some reason, the dry February air was sucking his spirit dry. He was terrified you would notice, yet at the same time, he was hoping you would.

Dewey hated the part of himself that wanted you to notice. What kind of partner was he, if he actually wanted you to witness his misery? His despondence? You had already been having a hard enough month, and he knew that he needed to take care of you. He was hiding it as best he could, but was it enough?

I can fake a smile.

No, he could do this. He could get out of bed.

I can force a laugh.

All he had to do was stand up. Just stand up.

I can dance and play the part…

Why couldn’t he get out of bed?

If that’s what you ask.

“Dewey?” he heard you call. You must have been in the living room. He had noticed you were gone when he first woke up, and you had closed the door behind you. There was cold sunlight shining in the crack underneath the bedroom door. He wanted to snuff it out. “Honey, are you awake?”

For a split second, Dewey considered letting you think he was asleep. But a quick glance at his alarm clock told him that would be even worse. It was already 1:00PM.

“Yeah, I…” Dewey sat up in bed. “I’ll be right out.”

His stomach dropped when, rather than waiting for him, you walked into the room. You were wearing your PJ shorts and one of his t shirts, and your steps fell quietly on the faux hardwood floor.

“Hey,” Dewey rasped, and cleared his throat. You sat beside him on the bed, trapping him between yourself and the wall. Dewey’s stomach, already low in his gut, twisted when he saw the concern on your face.

I can do it.

“What’s going on?” you asked softly.

I can do it.

“What do you mean?”

I can do it…

“You haven’t been drinking as much, you’re on a normal schedule now, and you’ve got shit to catch up on.” Despite your words, your voice was gentle. Why did you have to be so gentle? “How come you’ve been sleeping so much the last month?”

Oh. So you had noticed.

You poked his hand where it rested close to your thigh. “What’s going on?”

Dewey looked away from you then, turning his gaze down to focus on nothing in particular. “I don’t know.”

You said nothing, but waited. He knew he couldn’t outlast this silence – you had the patience of a St. Bernard with a chew toy, you would sit there as long as it took for him to crack. So, Dewey tried a different tack.

“How are you doing?” he asked. “I know you’ve been going through a lot.”

You tilted your head, still watching him. “I’m doing well, Dr. Finn.” You smiled softly. “And you’ve been amazing the last few weeks. Now let me worry about you.” Dewey watched as you tapped a short rhythm on the palm of his hand with two of your fingers. “What’s going on?”

Even hours later, Dewey wouldn’t know what it was about the question that got to him. It might have been the way you asked, with your absurdly gentle voice and your impossibly serene expression, as if at that moment, he was the only thing in the world you cared about.

But I’m only human.

He broke down.

Before he knew what was happening, you had moved closer and Dewey was cradled in your arms. He cried into your collarbone, harder than he had cried in years. Your hand was so warm and steady on his back, your arms so strong and so supportive, that he couldn’t force himself to stop. He was dimly aware that he was choking out apologies, and that you were shushing him in that infuriatingly patient way you had.

I can turn it on…

And then he was shaking his head and pulling away and wiping at his eyes with frustrated hands.

Be a good machine…

“No, I mean…” Dewey paused to breathe, and you waited.

I can hold the weight of worlds if that’s what you need.

“You don’t need this right now, you’re already dealing with a lot, and I shouldn’t be–”

“Stop.”

Abruptly, Dewey wasn’t crying anymore. He stared at your face – still serene but with something bright and fierce behind your eyes.

“You don’t apologize to me, not for this.”

Be your everything.

Dewey sniffled. “But–”

“No.” The tears returned, and you took his hands.

How could you be so understanding about this? It had to be so tiresome for you, to be dealing with all this bullshit from the one person in your life who was supposed to be stable.

“Listen to me.” You paused, and Dewey reluctantly looked up at you. “You’re allowed to have feelings. You’re a human person, and you’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. Okay? Between me and your students and living alone for the first time…ever.” You shook your head, and got that little crease between your eyes. The one you got when you were thinking about how amazing he was. Did you…?

I can take so much…

Dewey said your name and it came out as a whimper, but for once, that didn’t bother him much. You squeezed his hands.

‘Til I’ve had enough.

“I’m really proud of you, love, but I’m gonna need you to take care of yourself too.”

Dewey sniffled again and leaned forward. You met him halfway and leaned your forehead against his. You stayed that way for a few moments. When the tears became too much again, though, Dewey had to move to lean his head into the crook of your neck instead. You wrapped your arms around him again, and this time he found he didn’t mind.

‘Cause I’m only human.

.

.

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[swan--writes]

Are you still doing the Dewey fanfictions based off of songs? If so, could you do "Your Song" by Elton John please?

Listen, I love Elton John. I really do. That said I did have to listen to the Lady Gaga cover to get in the zone. I’m really glad you requested this song though, this was fun to write!

Warnings: none

Words: 990

You had never done this before. You’d never done anything like this. You didn’t confess your feelings, you waited for people to notice them, and if they didn’t, well, it was probably for the best. You certainly didn’t make grand gestures. This was so far outside of your comfort zone, you might as well have been in another country.

It’s a little bit funny…

But Dewey was worth it.

This feeling inside.

And you knew there was no way he would ever confess to you. At this point, you’d known him long enough to know that. You were about 85% sure he felt about you the way you felt for him, give or take a few percentage points.

There was, of course, the nagging 15% telling you to go home, change out of your fancy clothes, and go back to lounging on the couch eating a personal pot of mac and cheese like you normally did on Friday nights. But here you were, at your work’s annual gala all dressed up, with Dewey on your arm.

You felt like you were going to vomit. But it had to be done.

Your boss was up in front of the piano giving a speech. Your inner monologue was trying to be nice – it really was – but why was he taking so damn long?

“…and with that, one of our best managers wants to come up here and show off a little.” He called out your name and extended an arm.

Damn, couldn’t he have taken a little longer?

Of course, you smiled, and you glanced over at Dewey, who seemed to have forgotten how uncomfortable he was in his tux for the moment and was instead looking – slightly bewildered – at you, and you almost lost your nerve.

I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do.

Your boss’s hand didn’t drop. You walked up to him and stepped onto the platform. He handed you the microphone and you set it into place, attached to the piano at the center of the hall.

“Okay,” you muttered to yourself. Then, “Alright,” for good measure. Then you took a deep breath, then nodded at your audience because it seemed the thing to do. You tried not to look at Dewey’s face. “I wanted to do something special for my plus one, who’s missing his students’ band practice to be here. A grand gesture.”

My gift is my song, and this one’s for you.

Feelings were one thing, but you had been playing piano for as long as you could remember. This was like breathing to you. This, you could do.

You pressed down on the first three keys, and exhaled slowly.

The first verse was slow. Your eyes never strayed from the piano; the keys, the mic, the lid. It was a baby grand, and you couldn’t be more grateful for that. It must have been recently tuned too, the sound was extraordinary. You had been afraid you would have to try to stop thinking, but this was almost easy.

Dewey’s face was in your mind, but when wasn’t it these days?

Now you can tell everybody this is your song.

You had met at the grocery store, of all places. You had both reached for the last bag of pre-popped popcorn. He had insisted on playing rock-paper-scissors for it, and also insisted on cheating.

It may be quite simple, but now that it’s done…

Somehow, he had convinced you to buy him a coffee in exchange for the bag. Coffee had taken well over an hour, and you wound up splitting the bag anyway. He had become a quick friend.

I hope you don’t mind…

His whole child band, Roadhouse, basement-dweller…thing had been a bit off-putting to you at first, but you supposed that was a fair trade off. Your high-end corporate lifestyle was a bit much to him, even after you had gotten used to his lifestyle.

I hope you don’t mind that I put down in the words…

But the one place you could always connect was music. To Dewey, that was everything. And, after a few months of Chinese food nights, movies, lunch outings when he dragged you away from work, and crashing at his new apartment only to wake up to him quietly strumming his guitar in the next room, Dewey had somehow become everything to you.

How wonderful life is while you’re in the world.

Dewey was the softest, kindest, most fricking supportive person you had ever known and, God, you were crazy about him. There was, however, only one way you knew how to even begin to try to tell him that, and this was it.

“So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do…you see, I’ve forgotten if they’re green or they’re blue.” You had thought about changing a word, but for all the time you had spent trying not to gaze lovingly into Dewey’s eyes, nothing was worth changing Elton John’s lyrics. “Anyway the thing is, what I really mean: yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen!”

You knew you were an expressive singer, and you hadn’t been able to get Lady Gaga’s Grammy performance out of your head anyway. Half of your coworkers were probably judging you. You didn’t care yet. After you were done? 50/50 chance you would.

“I hope you don’t mind--I hope you don’t mind that I put down in the words…” You took a breath. You had to. There were tears in your eyes.

Almost by accident you looked at the crowd, and your gaze landed right on Dewey. He was staring at you with an openness that almost stole the breath you had just taken. He was soft, and he was steady, and you knew--you knew how he felt. What were you supposed to do with that?

So you exhaled through your nose and finished the song. That, you could do. “How wonderful life is while you’re in…the world.”

Outro. Mandatory applause. Dewey making an incredibly loud ass of himself. You smiled at the keys, then stood and swept away from the piano. Dewey was making his way through the crowd about as gracefully as you would expect.

You did try to speak – you really did. You opened your mouth and everything. Before you could say a word, however, Dewey’s lips were on yours.

Well. This, you could do.

.

.

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[swan--writes]

Can you do a Dewey song fic with the song tell me you love me by Demi lovato?

In which reader and Dewey argue, and no-one gets what they want.

In college, before I got into our Lord and Savior Alex Brightman, I was really into Fall Out Boy, and for some reason I always associate this song with FOB’s album, Mania. So, I would walk around campus playing the songs Tell Me You Love Me and Church back to back. Good times.

Warnings: unhealthy relationship, swan-typical language

Words: 995

Oh no, here we go again…

You didn’t remember what you had said this time. Something about how Dewey’s career rested on the backs of a bunch of ten year-olds – a fact that had always made you somewhat uncomfortable for reasons you couldn’t articulate. You could never remember how these things started.

Fighting over what I said…

Your fiancé grew defensive so easily. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you couldn’t blame him. Mostly though, you were just tired. So you leaned back against the counter heavily, hands grasping the edge, and watched him go.

I’m sorry.

“Are you even listening?” Dewey asked with more resignation in his tone than accusation.

“Yes, I’m listening.”

I’m sorry.

“Look, I just–”

“Would you rather I didn’t have a career?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Well, what did you say then?”

“I don’t know, Dewey,” you sighed. “Does it matter?”

He stepped back away from you and scoffed. “Does it--?” He shook his head and looked away. “Wow.”

You had always heard that the most stressful part of a relationship was during the wedding planning stage. Perhaps it had been foolish of you to assume that the stress actually came from the wedding planning process.

“No, I mean…” You shoved yourself away from the counter and stepped up to your partner. “I mean, forget I said anything. I’m sorry. Of course your career is valid.”

Head still turned to the floor, Dewey lifted his eyes to look at you. “Is it?”

“Yes.” You took his shoulders gently. “You and those kids are lucky you found each other.” You leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

Oh, tell me you love me.

Dewey took your waist in his strong hands and kissed you fully on the mouth.

I need someone on days like this, I do.

He guided you back until you were pressed against the counter again.

On days like this.

This was how it went between you. Instigate, argue, back down, soothe, repeat ad infinitum. It hadn’t always been this way, you were certain of it. Well, mostly certain. You weren’t the sort of person to choose this, were you?

No, things had been good in the beginning. Things were always good in the beginning. But at some point, support had turned to advice, had turned to criticism. Gentleness had turned to passive aggressiveness. And at the same time, wanting had turned into needing.

All my friends, they know and it’s true.

You needed Dewey in your life. Without him, what else was there? You knew he felt the same, and you knew there was no getting out of it.

I don’t know who I am without you.

So you hinted, then asked, then pestered, and finally Dewey asked you to marry him. With a sense of finality, you said yes.

You had been questioning your decision ever since.

But what was the use of questioning? You had made a choice – a commitment – and you knew that you would stand by it. You knew that Dewey wouldn’t leave; his coworkers already knew you were getting married. It was enough that you had to force yourself to not think about what he might be telling his coworkers about you, you didn’t need to think about what your fiancé would tell them about you if he broke things off.

So it went for the better part of a year. You scouted locations, you picked wedding clothes, you taste tested cakes, you fought over the menu. He let go of your wedding planner behind your back, and you very nearly lost your mind. But after months of battles and skirmishes, you finally made it to the day of.

Through the ups and downs…

“Ho, don’t do it.”

“I have to.”

“It’s bad luck.”

“So is the groom getting high before the ceremony.”

“…true.”

Laura had been your best friend for ages, and you knew that she would have your back if you decided to sic her on Dewey. But you wanted to do this yourself.

Hair half-styled, robe tied tightly around you, you left your dressing room and scurried down the hall. It wasn’t so much that you were concerned Dewey’s friends would convince him to smoke a joint. It was more that you couldn’t find it within your heart to trust that they wouldn’t. So, you knocked on his door.

It went about as well as you would expect.

“I know your friends might try to convince you, and I–”

“Yeah, they might, or they might not.”

“I just want you to actually be there with me.”

“Can’t you just trust me? Just this once?”

“What are you talking about? I always trust you.”

“Right, yeah. Sure.” Dewey started to back into the room again, slowly guiding the door closed.

“Dewey--”

He closed the door.

You glared at the door for a long moment, then spun on your heel and returned to your room.

“How did that go?” Laura asked knowingly.

“Shut up,” you mumbled.

You got dressed. You took pictures. You were getting married on your parents’ property, and the spring greenery had come in enough that you were sure some of the shots would be stunning.

It was only when you went back into the house that you noticed something was wrong. Ned and Peggy were at the base of the staircase when you walked in, whispering to each other. When Peggy saw you, she dropped her eyes, told Ned something you couldn’t hear, and rushed off. Your friends ushered you upstairs past Ned before you could ask any questions.

Once you were back in your dressing room, however, everyone left you. Something about ‘checking the arrangements.’

For a long moment after they were gone, you sat in silence. There was a vague ringing in your ears, left over from your teenaged years. Even when you pressed your ear to the door, you couldn’t hear anything on the other side. So you sat in your chair and waited.

Minutes later, there was a quiet knock.

“Yes?” you called.

Ned stuck his head through the door, and Laura’s appeared just below his.

“Hey,” Ned said nervously. “So, we uh…”

Everything I need…

“We can’t find Dewey.

Is standing right in front of me.

You didn’t look away from the mirror. You couldn’t. You could hardly move.

I know that we will be alright.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Alright, yeah.

.

.

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[swan--writes]

A Very Mr. Finn Christmas

There was something about ‘Dewey Christmas’ that just sounded...wrong. Anyway, Merry Belated Christmas to those who celebrate! ❤💚

Warnings: none

Words: 1,936

The year had been a bastard. First was your dog dying, then Dewey getting sent home for last school year because of the pandemic, then the spike in visibility of police brutality and the protests. The summer had been brutally hot, you weren’t working, you and Dewey had had to quarantine separately for more than a month and neither of you had been able to see any of your friends. You spent so much time on the couch at your parents’ place upstate before your partner eventually joined you, once his own lease had run out. Despite both of your relief at Dewey getting out of the city, that had also been when he found out for certain that he wouldn’t be able to see his kids in person. California had caught fire, one of your grandparents died of lung cancer and had a funeral you couldn’t attend because of COVID, and another was all set to spend Christmas in the hospital.

Yes, the year had indeed been a bastard, but thankfully, it was almost a dead bastard.

Since your parents had broken down and gone to visit your aunt, you and Dewey had the large house to yourselves for two weeks. The two of you had been pleasantly surprised: despite both needing a healthy amount of alone time, you still weren’t sick of each other. Not only that, but your relationship had fully survived the year. If anything, you were closer now. You still loved his soft eyes, the give of his chubby stomach when he held you, the way his arms felt like your own personal radiators.

Perhaps you shouldn’t have been surprised. Dewey Finn was the kindest man you knew, and the best partner you could have asked for. As immature and rambunctious as he could be, he was also sweet and soft and – though he would never admit it – quite sensitive. Dewey hadn’t seemed to want to talk about it, but he was pretty clearly heartbroken that he couldn’t see his students face-to-face this year. He had held most of his frustration in, since he knew how much it bothered you that you couldn’t work at all with the pandemic happening. Still, you could hear him grumbling in the office your parents had set up for him.

Now, at Christmas, you were trying to find ways to make the season special for your partner. By the last week, you were holding yourself back from writing out a literal Festivities Schedule. You had made a plague year Christmas playlist, trying your best to channel him as you arranged it. It was far from perfect, but you thought he appreciated it.

Your dad’s studio was full of art supplies, so you and Dewey painted ornaments. Neither of you were particularly skilled, but he didn’t care, so you decided you didn’t care either. Fortunately, you had thought to wear clothes you could get paint on because, naturally, it had taken all of ten minutes for your painting session to turn into a full on paint battle to the death. You were fairly certain Dewey had started it, though he insisted on his innocence. Either way, you wound up with Shining Stars gold on your nose and Dark Winter Skies blue all over your sleeve. Dewey got a streak of Santa Red on his arm and splashes of Sparkling Snow glittery white across his shirt and pants. You were sure you still had some glitter in your hair from when he had tackled you and, in a gruff Muppet voice, insisted that you had turned him into the Glitter Monster. Dewey had tickled you until your tears of laughter had soaked into his shirt.

Eventually, you thought to tap out and, breathlessly, you kissed his hand in surrender. Dewey had kissed your nose in return, and come away with a smudge of gold paint across his lips. So he left to wash his face, and you left to make Christmas cookies, and he joined you in the kitchen. You spend the rest of the night playing Mary Lambert’s new holiday EP and singing at each other, harmonizing at all the best parts. He, of course, had no patience for ‘Ave Maria,’ and took the opportunity to wrap his arms around you – getting yet more glitter all over you – and gently sway with you.

The next day was when the snowstorm hit. Your parents’ plow guy cleared the driveway (twice), but you and Dewey were responsible for the walkway. You woke up early to shovel first thing in the morning, despite Dewey’s unconscious arm trying to prevent you from getting out of bed. Peeking through the curtains, you almost let him.

One hour after you went back inside, you could hardly tell that you had shoveled at all.

The snow was lighter on the walkway, however, when you went back outside with Dewey to shovel again. You got the sense that he was enjoying it far too much, and you wondered if he had ever had to shovel before. You imagined that growing up in NYC didn’t leave many opportunities, but you didn’t ask. In fact, you were especially quiet all day.

Finally, when you lost power, Dewey asked if you were alright. It wasn’t until he asked that you realized that the seasonal depression had snuck back into your brain. Dewey was predictably wonderful, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to hold back tears. Your partner stood back while you lit up the stone fireplace in your mother’s library, then rolled you up in a blanket on the floor, scattering a few pillows around you.

Dewey heated apple cider over the fire. He picked out a small copy of A Christmas Carol, bound in soft red leather, with gold leaf decorating the cover. It had your mother’s name in it, and just below that, yours in shaky lettering. That did make you cry, but only for a moment. Dewey leaned back against your legs and read the first stave to you while you drank your cider. You took over for him after that, for the next stave. Since you were both musicians with decent vocal stamina, you managed to get through the entire book before you had to call it a night.

When you woke up the next day, it was Christmas Eve. The power was back on, the decorations were hung, the tree was decorated, the presents were wrapped, and the cookies were soft. All that was left was to prep dinner for Christmas Day and dance in the kitchen. As far as Dewey was concerned, there was no type of dancing better than kitchen dancing, and you had to agree. Your parents’ kitchen had plenty of open space, and you could twirl each other around or slide in your socks without running into counters or corners.

The plow guy came by to do one more pass over the driveway and throw down some salt. You donned your mask for the first time all week to bring a box of Christmas cookies out to his truck. It surprised you, how thrilled you were to speak to a new human.

When you returned to Dewey, it still felt as cozy as ever. He jumped around to what almost felt like sacrilegious renditions of Christmas songs, including – though not limited to – a truly perplexing version of ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ by a supremely emo band from the early 2000s. Dewey had insisted it be added to your playlist, and who were you to argue?

He brought out his guitar while you made the sweet potatoes. You were particular about your grandmother’s sweet potato recipe. When he rolled up his sleeves to make pie dough, you hopped up onto the counter, sufficiently out of the way. Dewey wouldn’t give you his exact recipe, though considering his tendency to use bowls instead of measuring cups, you weren’t entirely certain that he knew his exact recipe.

By the time you were both finished with all of the dishes, it was pitch dark out. There was butter underneath his fingernails and French bread underneath yours, flour on both of your shirts, and tension in both of your backs. You fell asleep long before midnight.

The next morning, you heard Dewey’s voice before you saw his face.

“Hey,” he said. His lips brushed against your ear.

You groaned and snuggled deeper under your Christmas quilt.

“Hey,” your partner said, more insistently. He squeezed your waist, and you groaned again but opened your eyes.

“Yes?” you muttered.

Dewey nosed at the skin below your ear. “Merry Christmas.”

Your eyes sprung open now, and you sat up. “It’s Christmas.”

“Yeah.” You could hear the smile in his voice. He must have been awake for a while now.

“Merry Christmas.” You looked at him then. There was a cold gray light filtering into the room, and you could see snow falling gently through a gap in the curtains across from the bed. Dewey’s hair was mussed, and a few waves hung in his face. His stubble was coming in full force. His tee shirt was wrinkled. There was still some Christmas Tree green clinging to the edges of his fingernails.

“What are you lookin’ at?” he asked you playfully.

You suppressed an eye roll and settled for tapping his nose. “You, wise guy. You’re cozy.”

“I’m cozy?”

“M-hm.”

“Can a person look cozy?”

“Well obviously, ‘cause you do. You’re cute.” You tapped his nose again, twice, very lightly. Dewey scrunched up the bridge of his nose, but didn’t lose the soft joy in his expression. “Oh! I have something for you.” You reached blindly for your phone, feeling around on the bedside table while Dewey straightened up.

“Didn’t we set out all our presents?”

“Yeah…” you dragged out the word. “This was sorta last minute.” Your partner waited while you found your phone and opened up your photo gallery. When you found the video you wanted, you opened it and held up the phone between yourself and Dewey.

“…baby?” he said when he saw what was on the screen,

“Yeah?”

“What is this?”

“I may or may not have conspired with your students behind your back.”

In the video, Summer was yelling at his band, trying valiantly to get them all into some sort of order. It seemed to be working. The students seemed to be in their band room, but most of them wore masks. The only kids who were unmasked were Dewey’s singers, and they were spaced apart from one another.

“Is that legal?” Dewey asked. You elbowed him, and he laughed. It was a quiet laugh, though. Almost astonished.

“Hi, Mr. Finn!” Summer said in the video, now facing the camera. “We wanted to do something for you, after all your hard work during these times. So we–”

“She means your–”

“Freddy! Shut it!” Summer snapped. After a short breath, she turned to the camera once again. “We put a little something together for you.” With that, Summer practically touch-stepped offscreen.

When you glanced over at Dewey, he was watching you.

“What?” you laughed.

“I love you.” You heard cymbals playing through your phone’s speaker.

“Shh, it’s starting!” You snapped your attention back to the screen. Dewey shook his head, but followed your gaze.

“I love you too,” you muttered quickly, as the first chords of ‘Faith Noel’ began to spring from Lawrence’s keyboard.

Outside, the snow fell softly to the ground. Inside, beside Dewey, you were warm, and he was cozy, and he loved you. What more could you ask for on Christmas?

.

.

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[swan--writes]

What’re your thoughts on the masterpiece that is In The End of Time( A Cappella Version) from the School of Rock soundtrack?

Why...did I not...write this...MONTHS AGO? I banged this out in LESS THAN 30 MINUTES. SON OF A *continues grousing in the next room for another hour*

ahem~ Anyway, I hc Dewey as autistic in much the same way that I probably am autistic.

Warnings: none

Words: 595

“Dewey, honey, I’m sure it’s great but I–”

“Yeah, but you can’t know that!”

“I know you. You’re amazingly talented, and I have to–”

“Look, just--just hang on a sec. Alright? Lemme just run this by you, just real quick.”

“Sweetheart, I’m late for work.”

“So am I. Baby, please?”

You groaned, but dropped your bag to the floor and sat down. “Fine. Go for it.”

Your partner dropped the puppy eyes instantly. “Alright, so…” Dewey stepped back away from you, into the middle of the basement floor. Vaguely, you wondered if Ned and Peggy were still home.

Dewey didn’t have his guitar within reach, but he didn’t seem to think he needed it. You were sure he didn’t, and given the funk he had been in since No Vacancy had kicked him out, you thought it might be safer for everyone if he didn’t have it anyway.

“It begins on a dark stage,” Dewey said dramatically. “And then a beam of light, and you see me…and my guitar.”

You folded your arms, crossed your legs, and raised an eyebrow. Maybe this would be worth being late for work after all.

Dewey started making guitar noises. Then he started to…sing? “In the end of time, there was a man who knew the road, and the writing was written on the stone.”

Oh, so this was why he had worn his Metallica shirt while he was writing yesterday.

“And then a thin layer of fog comes around my ankles.”

“Dry ice?”

“Exactly, yes.” Not even your interruption could break his commitment to the song. “In the ancient time, an artist led the way. But no-one could seem to understand. Chiiiimes!

“In his heart he knew that the artist must be true, but the legend of the rent was way past due--and then Katie comes in on the bass!”

“Wait, is that was this is about? The rent?”

Dewey was too busy making bass noises to answer you. “Well, you think you’ll be just fine without me but you’re miiine! You think you can just kick me out of the band?” Now he was banging his head. “And then Zack comes in with a face melter!”

“Are you allowed to tell me your students’ names?”

“Probably!” Dewey sang. “Well there’s just one problem there: the band is miiiiine! How can you kick me out of what is mine?”

You had to admit you were impressed by his range.

“Well you’re not hardcore, unless you live hardcore. Oh! And then the backup singers go: Well you’re not hardcore--No you’re not hardcore! Unless you live hardco--Unless you live hardcore! But the legend of the rent was way hardcore!”

You couldn’t help yourself then. You gave him a standing ovation. There was sweat around his collar when he finally dropped his air guitar and started hopping around.

“Bam! Bam! And then confetti! Explosions! And then that’s…” He swallowed and swayed to a halt. “…that’s all I got so far, that’s…” He swallowed again. “Hoo…”

You bit your lip and smiled, because what else could you do? “Amazing. I love it.”

“Yeah?” Dewey asked, still breathing hard.

“Yes! It’s fun! It’s great!” You stopped clapping, stepped up to your partner, rested your hands on his lapels, and gave him a chaste kiss.

“Thanks, baby.”

“You deserve it.” You kissed his cheek. “Okay, gotta go. Bye!” Within seconds, you were up the basement stairs and running out to your car.

Dewey stayed behind a moment, hands on his hips. He paused, then smiled and said, “Sick.”

.

.

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[swan--writes]

Can I please request for the Dewey song fic for either shallow, always remember us this way or I’ll never love again. Sorry I couldn’t choose 😅

Swan from 2/20: I tried to include elements of all three of your suggestions, but I chose to focus on this one because, as it turns out, I have some Stuff to work through. Wheeeee!

Swan from 1/21: Yup, still got some Stuff to work through, but we’re getting there.

Boy, am I insecure about this one, but I hope y’all enjoy the angst.

Warnings: emotional breakdown

Words: 950

That Arizona sky…

“Nope.”

“Dewey–”

Burning in your eyes…

“No way.”

“Sweetheart–”

You look at me and, babe, I wanna catch on fire.

“No. Don’t tell me, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Okay, but I need to say it.”

Dewey sighed, and you thought you heard a sniffle in it. He dragged a hand over his face and tried to push some of the hair away from his forehead. It settled back into place immediately, and still, you had to restrain yourself from reaching out to fix it. That was what you had always done. Fix things.

Taking care of Dewey was more than a pastime – or even the thing to do now that you were together – it was a way of life. It was how you loved him. For months, every cotton swab or bandage to his instrument-worn hands, every cup of hot tea when he was sick, every time you had ever tuned his guitars for him was you loving him. And loving Dewey Finn the way you always had was a way of life. (Truly, overwhelmingly, totally, deeply, how else were you meant to do it?)

It was exhausting.

It’s buried in my soul…

So you told him. Right there at the kitchen sink, you told Dewey how much you loved him. How sometimes it hurt your heart how much you loved him.

Like California gold.

“And I just--I don’t--I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all of this. I know you love me too,” you said, and held out a hand before he could say it, or anything else. “I know you do, but it’s different. The way that I love is different, and I thought I could handle it, but I can’t. I don’t know how to do this.”

Dewey sighed again. His eyes were bright and glassy and refusing to let go of yours. “Okay, but how many times are we gonna do this? Like…” Your partner gave a frustrated little huff. He crossed his arms in front of himself as though he were trying to keep something contained. “It just seems like we keep having this fight.”

“It’s not a fight,” you muttered, finally breaking from his gaze and looking down at the floor. The tiles shone yellow in the overhead light.

“But then why do I feel like it is?”

So when I’m all choked up and I can’t find the words…

You shook your head and shrugged. Dewey groaned. He hated it when you shut down like this. You hated having conversations like this.

Every time we say goodbye, baby, it hurts.

“I don’t wanna keep fighting you for us.” You didn’t respond, but his words felt like a chisel at the corner of your heart. Why did you always have to start this stuff? Would it really be so hard to just leave it alone? “Look,” he said, “lemme just tell you how I’m feeling.” You nodded to the floor. The darkness from the window behind you was pressing into your back and into your brain. “I love you.”

When the sun goes down…

“I don’t think I can let you go.”

And the band won’t play…

“And if you left me, I’d never move on.”

I’ll always remember us this way.

Your throat tightened. Dewey’s voice softened and came closer. “Baby, you keep saying we love each other too much.” You cleared your throat as quietly as you could, not wanting him to think you weren’t listening. “When are you gonna realize this is normal?”

“Oh, come on.” The words came out before you could stop them, even rasping as you were. “Neither of us knows that. We have no idea what we’re doing.” When you looked up at him, he was only a foot away. His hands had tightened across his chest and his brow was lifted in the most vulnerable expression you had ever seen.

But all I really know…

“I know you.” It was almost a whisper. There was that chisel at your heart again.

You’re where I wanna go.

“I’m so tired, Dewey,” you whispered back, voice breaking.

The part of me that’s you will never die!

“So why didn’t you just tell me that?” Not having an answer for him, you just shook your head again. “I’m your partner, let me be there for you.” Now he did reach for you, hesitantly at first. When your gaze flickered down to his half-outstretched hand, but you made no move to pull away, he pressed forward. Dewey’s warm, callused hand wrapped around your arm. (Gentle, firm, heartbreakingly tender.) You didn’t notice the tears on your face until you felt the dampness of his tee shirt.

“You don’t get to check out,” Dewey said softly.

“I don’t wanna leave,” you told him.

I don’t wanna be just a memory, baby.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

You sniffled and snuck your arms out from where they were sandwiched between the two of you. You wrapped them loosely around his middle and closed your eyes.

“I don’t know how to do that. I just…” Your breath caught. “I don’t know how to love you when I’m not taking care of everything, and I know how that…how that sounds.”

Dewey squeezed around your shoulders, and the warmth of the gesture pulled too many tears from your eyes for you to go on. Your partner let you cry and rested his cheek against your head. He was swaying with you now, gently pulling you from side to side

So when I’m all choked up and I can’t find the words…

“I’m sorry,” you finally said.

“Nope.”

“Dewey–”

“No way. You don’t ever apologize to me, okay? Not for this.

Every time we say goodbye, baby, it hurts.

“I just don’t want you to feel like I don’t care enough, but I always feel like I care too much.”

Dewey bumped his nose against your forehead, and you looked up at him. You knew your face was a mess, but you also know he’d press until you looked at him.

When you look at me…

“I know you.” His voice was so soft, you expected you wouldn’t be able to hear it if you were any farther away. “Okay?”

And the whole world fades…

You nodded.

“Let me be here for you?”

You nodded again. Dewey kissed your forehead.

I’ll always remember us this way.

.

.

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[swan--writes]

Can you do a Dewey fic for Hold on by chord overstreet please ❤️

This was a good stretch of my writing muscles, and I’m glad I got to do that. I do enjoy writing about darker and/or ickier subjects, and this was a good opportunity to do that. That said, I had to dig into some difficult places for this one, many of them familiar.

If any of y’all think that this could be in any way re-traumatizing or triggering, please skip this one. I’ve listed some numbers below that you can call if you are having any suicidal thoughts, or even if you’re just going through a rough patch. Please get help if you need it. Talk to someone, this life is worth it. You are not alone, I promise.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 800-273-8255

Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services: 1-800-662-4357

National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI): 1-800-950-6264

Teen Line: text TEEN to 839863

Warnings: suicide attempt, blood, pills, hospital

Words: ~990

Loving and fighting, accusing, denying.

Dewey slumped into your apartment. It was mostly dark out, and he knew better than to be walking the New York City streets alone at night. Besides, he should apologize to you.

I can’t imagine a world with you gone.

He shoved his keys into his pocket and walked farther into the apartment to find you. A glance told him you weren’t in the kitchen, and when he rounded the hall corner, he couldn’t see you in your bedroom.

Your partner frowned and listened for you. He was rewarded with silence. After a few moments, though, he saw light under the bathroom door. He sighed.

“Baby?” Dewey called toward the bathroom. He knocked. “Baby, can we talk?” He leaned his forehead against the door and pressed on. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have raised my voice.” Dewey paused. “Or left. Will you open the door?”

Nothing.

Dewey swallowed his panic. He called your name.

More silence.

Now his heart started picking up in its pace. His breathing went quick and shallow. He banged on the door, but still didn’t hear a response. He called your name again, but his heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he doubted he would hear your response if you gave one. It was so, so quiet. Dewey’s ears were ringing and pounding, ringing and pounding, ringing and pounding…

He put his shoulder to the door. Then again. Then again, harder. Again, even harder. He took a step back and gave himself a running start.

Finally, the lock gave way. Dewey saw blood, orange bottles, harsh fluorescent lighting, and you.

I pull you in to feel your heartbeat.

Can you hear me screaming? Please don’t leave me.

Later, Dewey would be surprised by the things he remembered, and by the things he didn’t. He couldn’t remember getting you out to your car, or where he’d found your keys. He wouldn’t remember how many lights he had run getting you to the hospital. All he would remember was the silence in the car. No radio, no clicking of the turn signal, no you.

For a long moment, he felt as if he were dreaming. It was a cliché, but it was true. It was so dark outside and the drive was so shockingly easy that it felt like a nightmare. The freezing sense of dread that was numbing Dewey’s entire body fit right in.

He should have been talking to you, right? Should have been begging you to stay with him, or telling you it was going to be alright, or something. But he couldn’t make a sound until he was at the emergency room, yelling for help.

Helplessly praying the light isn’t fading.

“…get her into a room and…”

“…page Dr. Albright and find me some…”

…sir? Sir!”

“No, I can’t just leave–”

“Sir you have to. Please, let us do our jobs.” The nurse held out a hand to make sure Dewey would stay behind the final set of doors, and then he was left alone. There was beeping, cheap plastic seats, acrid coffee, haggard receptionists, and him.

I don’t wanna let go.

One of the receptionists took Dewey’s information, and then asked him to sit down and wait. Dewey tried sitting for about thirty seconds, but couldn’t shake the feeling in his legs like he should be running, or hiking, or something. So he stood and paced for a while. People were staring at him. He paid them no mind.

I know I’m not that strong.

He should have known. You and he had been fighting so much lately – more than you ever had. You had been together for years; he should have known you well enough by now to know that something was wrong. He couldn’t even remember what you were fighting about today, but it had to have been something stupid. You had started it, he knew that much. You had been pushing him further and further away, until finally he had walked out.

And fuck, it was selfish, but if you didn’t pull through this he would never forgive himself.

I just wanna take you home.

Dewey loved you more than he had ever thought he would love anybody. He could feel it everywhere in his body. Loving you was like tattoo pain. Like a flash flood three blocks away from home. He felt you everywhere, whether you were with him or lying on a table in a hospital room. He had no idea what the doctors were doing to you, but he could swear that whatever it was, they were doing it to him too. It hurt.

He just wanted to bring you home. He wanted to go to bed early and sleep in late, wake up with his arms around you, and maybe sleep some more. He wanted his face pressed against your hair. He wanted one more fight with you, because if you were fighting, you were…you were alive. Dewey would give anything to hear you yelling at him again.

But all Dewey could do was drop into a chair, pull his hoodie over his – he was sure – chaotic hair, and wait.

“Mr. Finn?” Dewey’s head shot up, and he immediately stood to meet the nurse who had called him.

“Yes?”

The nurse talked at him for a few moments, and Dewey hardly heard a word he said. After those few moments were up, Dewey was following him through a set of doors, down a hall to the left, down a shorter hall to the right, and into a dimly lit room with pink curtains.

Hold on, I still want you.

For another minute, the nurse was speaking again. Eventually, though, he seemed to realize Dewey wasn’t listening to a word. So the nurse squeezed his arm gently and left.

Come back, I still need you.

Dewey sat down beside your hospital bed. He rested his hand on yours. Then it was just him, the steady beeping of your heart monitor, the faint scent of sanitizer, and you.

.

.

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[swan--writes]

for the dewey fics, could you do holding onto you by twenty one pilots?

This is my third attempt to write this. Fun times. I hope y’all like it, and I’m sorry it’s late!

Warnings: seasonal affective disorder

Words: ~825

I’m taking over my body, back in control, no more shotty.

You were surprised. For all the air’s recent bluster and frigidity, you had been expecting snow this weekend. Instead, you got rain. Blustery, frigid, pelting rain. It pummeled the roof of Dewey’s apartment and crashed into the windows. It rolled across the city ground in sheets, so the water leapt up from the streets at pedestrians in small waves.

I bet a lot of me was lost, ‘T’s uncrossed and ‘I’s undotted.

You were standing in it, staring up with your arms outstretched, in the parking lot of Dewey’s apartment building. He had been in the shower when you slipped outside, but you knew that he would probably come looking for you at some point.

I fought it a lot and it seems a lot like flesh is all I got.

There weren’t many people on the sidewalks today, but you were sure that the unlucky few were giving you odd looks. You imagined parents hurrying their children along, businessmen shaking their heads and tightening their holds on their briefcases. And you didn’t much care.

Not anymore, flesh out the door: swat!

It was late February, and for the first time all winter, you could actually feel the rain attempting to slice its way into your skin. Your thin jacket hadn’t stood much of a chance against the downpour, and you were freezing. But you weren’t going numb, so you didn’t care. In fact, you could feel waves of tension falling off your shoulders and rolling away from your back, washed away by the rain. You might have been crying. You knew you were laughing; odd, light giggles.

After about ten minutes, though, you heard your name. At first, it was questioning, then mildly admonishing.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing out here?” Dewey jogged up to you, fighting with his umbrella. Vaguely, you wondered why he had brought it out here. Nothing short of a military-grade tent would hold up in this weather.

“Oh, just enjoying this day. It’s so nice out,” you said with a grin. Dewey half chuckled, looking wholly concerned.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes!” Now you were definitely crying. It wasn’t your normal cry though. You didn’t shake and you didn’t sob, you could just feel warm tears mixing in with the cool rainwater running down your face.

Dewey looked around, squinting his eyes against the weather. “Well, you won’t be for much longer if we stay out here. Come inside, baby. C’mon.” He held out his hand. You half laughed, half sniffled, and took his hand.

Remember the moment you know exactly where you’re going…

“Seriously, why did you go out there?” Dewey asked from somewhere in the bathroom. Your partner had cajoled you into the shower and gone to make tea. Unfortunately, Dewey had failed to take into account that he was lousy at making anything that wasn’t pizza pockets. He seemed to have forgotten about the tea as soon as it had begun steeping. You didn’t feel like reminding him, though, and you were prepared to drink over-strong tea.

‘Cause the next moment, before you know it time is slowing and it’s frozen still.

“What do you mean? I love this weather.” Dewey hesitated, seemingly debating whether it was worth fighting you on that.

“I’m worried about you.”

And the window sill looks really nice, right?

“You’ve been so…out of it for a while--I mean, you know this isn’t normal, right?”

You sighed and leaned your head against the shower wall.

You think twice about your life, it probably happens at night, right?

“Yeah, I know,” you mumbled. Dewey didn’t respond, and you wondered if he had heard you over the shower spray. You turned off the water and pulled your towel down from the curtain rack. “I’m sorry, you’re right, I just…I needed today.”

Fight it.

“I didn’t feel numb out there, y’know?”

“No, just cold and wet and shitty.” Something about the way Dewey said it made you laugh, and you heard him cautiously join your laughter. Then you hear him stand from somewhere – probably the toilet lid. “I’ll get your tea. Where do you wanna be?” Huh. He did remember.

“The living room, please.”

You heard the door open and close, and footsteps walking away from the bathroom.

When you stepped out of the shower, you found a pair of your sweatpants and one of Dewey’s flannels. You loved his clothes. And his thoughtfulness. And him. You smiled.

Moments later, you were in your favorite armchair in front of a window with an only slightly too-strong cup of tea and a fluffy blanket around your shoulders. Your nose was cold, but you were suspending doctoral judgment for now. Dewey had taken your temperature with his Horace Green-issued touch-free thermometer, and you were running a bit cold. He sat on the ottoman and watched you while you sipped your tea in silence.

“So, what’s going on?” he asked finally.

You shrugged. “Seasonal affective bullshit, stress, work, the usual.”

“This is usual?”

“Should I have mentioned that before?”

“It might’a been nice.”

“Sorry.”

“What? No, don’t be sorry, I just…” Dewey sighed. Then he lifted your hand away from your mug and kissed your knuckles. “You’re doing better now, though? Or…?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

And I’ll be holding on to you!

“Can we maybe find a way to channel your goodness into something that won’t give you a cold?”

You laughed again and nodded. “Sure, why not?”

Dewey shook his head.

And I’ll be holding on to you!

.

.

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[swan--writes]

For the song asks; could you write one using “Lost in you” by khai dreams? Please and thank you :)))))

We do love our fluff here. I’m grinning like an idiot.

Warnings: none

Words: 995

Normally, your days off with your partner were the least boring affair in your agenda. Dewey was the most rambunctious, creative, fun person you knew, and you loved spending weekends with him. You had been together for months, though you had known each other for much longer. In all of that time, after the highs and lows of the week, having a couple of days of quality time with him was always exactly what you needed.

This weekend had been different though. All through Saturday, he had been quiet. You woke up late to find Dewey staring at the ceiling, and while he hadn’t exactly ignored you, he wasn’t nearly as talkative as he normally was. Saturday night, you had both gone to a music event at your favorite café/bar – an independent musician was performing from her new self-produced album. Dewey loved events like that, where he could groove to something fresh. But all night he had seemed preoccupied.

Today was no different. Usually you would be cooking or finding a restaurant to go to, making the most of your Sunday evening. Instead, he was sitting on his armchair and tapping away at some report on his laptop while you sprawled out on the couch all alone. Dewey hated seeing you alone on the couch, he always said there was something missing before flopping right down on your stomach. And he never, ever did work on the weekends.

You had been doing your best to distract yourself, but after watching your twenty-seventh cooking video, you couldn’t take it anymore.

Without a word you dropped your phone, stood, strode up to Dewey’s chair, and sat down in his lap. You knocked his laptop aside with your knee, gently enough that you wouldn’t do any damage, but strongly enough to let him know you meant it.

“Whoa, hey!”

“I know, I’m sorry, but what’s up with you?”

“What’s up with you?” Dewey countered. You shook your head and pulled your sweater sleeves up over your hands.

“No, I mean you’ve been acting weird all weekend.”

You could see a defense rising in Dewey’s eyes, but before he could speak, you gave him a look. He looked down and sighed.

No, I’m not tryna complicate none of this, none of this…

You had landed straddling his lap and you lifted his chin with a sweater-covered finger before draping your arms over his shoulders.

Let me just come tell you how I feel.

“What’s up, teach?” you asked. Dewey swallowed.

Okay, um…

“Right, so, I’ve been thinking a lot about us.” He gestured between the two of you as best he could with the limited space left to him. “I know we haven’t been together real long, but…I don’t know.” He sighed.

I’m just looking for some balance and some trust.

“I mean, you know what my last relationships were like.”

“Shitty.”

Dewey laughed, letting go of some of his nervousness. “Yeah. Yeah, they were. But we’re different.”

I’m just looking for some mutual love.

“Not, I mean, that you’re different. You are, but, like, our vibe is different, ‘cause…” He trailed off, then groaned and hung his head. You laughed and nudged his forehead with your nose.

“We work well,” you said, taking pity on him. He nodded a few times, then looked up at you again.

“Yeah, we do,” he agreed. “I don’t know, maybe we both grew up.” You raised an eyebrow. “What? I’m mature,” Dewey said defensively. You raised your other eyebrow. “Mature-er,” he mumbled. You smiled. “Whatever, what I’m trying to say…” he gave you a soft accusing look, and you held back another laugh. “…is that, um…this is good.”

I'm just tryna take it slow, see where it goes…

“Why didn’t you just tell me that yesterday?” you asked.

Dewey looked away from you. “I don’t know, I just did want you to feel like there was any pressure or anything.”

“Why would there be pressure? You’re right, this is a good.”

“I didn’t say ‘a good,’ I said ‘good.’” The quotes were evident in his voice.

You tapped his back. “Don’t make fun of me, you know what I mean.” He laughed, then kissed your nose.

‘Cause you know that you'll never really know…

“I mean, I’m never sure when you’re supposed to have this conversation. I didn’t wanna have it too soon.”

“And what conversation is this?”

Dewey poked you in the side. “You know what it is.”

“I don’t though,” you insisted.

“Really?”

“Yes!”

Even though I can feel it in my soul, but you never know why.

Dewey sighed. “I don’t wanna scare you off.”

“Okay, now you’re just making me nervous.” Your partner gave you a slightly alarmed look. “Well, stop dragging it out! Sweetheart…” Dewey looked down again, and once again you lifted his chin. “What are you trying to say?” you asked softly.

Dewey took a short breath through his nose. “I don’t know, that you make me happy? That I feel okay when you’re around? Like, everything’s gonna be fine and good and I love you and--” For a moment, Dewey’s eyes went wide. You could feel yours doing the same as you took in his slack jaw and the rigidness with which he was now holding himself. But when the moment was over, he relaxed and said, “I love you.”

You leaned back and relaxed your brow, still hanging on to his shoulders. “Oh.”

Dewey’s eye twitched. “‘Oh?’”

“I–”

“I tell you I love you, and you say ‘oh?’”

“No, I mean I don’t get why you didn’t just tell me that before!”

“Because I was afraid you’d say ‘oh!’”

“No! I mean, I love you too!” Dewey leaned back now, but not so far that you had to let go. “I…I love you too.”

Oh all the silly things we hide…

“Well, why didn’t you just say that?”

You smacked his shoulder gently. “Shut up.”

Just to keep our peace of mind.

“Is that any way to talk to your true love?” He poked you in both of your sides now, and you couldn’t control the way you spazzed.

“Ah! Don’t be mean!”

No I never know…

“You’re one to talk.” He poked you one more time.

“I’m sorry! I love you, I’m sorry.”

Dewey grinned at you. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

No I never know…

You groaned and rolled your eyes.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hm?”

Dewey nudged your nose with his. You tilted your head. He kissed you.

No I never know why.

.

.

Tags List: @skiddyyo @a-okay-rj @geeky-marie @darkblueeyedperson @hannah-de-lioncourt @ironmansuucks @missihart23 @ballerinafairyprincess @thewolfisapartofmysoul

[swan--writes]

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.

.

.

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