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musical-shit-show · 1 year

Note

hi, I love the way you write dewey finn so much!! may I request #18 from prompt list 2 and/or “you are terrible at this.” from prompt list 3 for him please?

close enough to touch

Pairing: Dewey Finn x Reader

Inspiration: #18 (“it’s okay, i couldn’t sleep anyways.”) from Prompt List 2 and #36 (“you are terrible at this.”) from Prompt List 3, requested by anon

Warnings: Awkward flirting, fluff

Word Count: 2,370

Author’s Note: Sorry this took so long, anon! I was really struggling with this one but I hope you like it! I’ve been meaning to write some post-School of Rock Dewey, and if people like this I wouldn’t mind doing another teacher!Reader one shot. So please let me know if this is something y’all like in the comments and reblogs! Also, check out my Masterlist, Prompt Lists, and About Me page, and submit an ask! It might take me a little bit longer with some requests but I promise to always make those my priority. I’m also working on my Beetlejuice series (to fill the void of course) so hopefully there will be more chapters of that coming soon. Thanks to everyone who’s supported my writing so far and enjoy!

“Don’t look now, but he’s staring at you again.”

“Who?”

“The music tutor.”

You decided to not look up from your coffee mug, the creamer you had just poured swirling slowly. It was the end of your second week at Horace Green, and Mrs. White had quickly taken you under her wing.

The teacher’s lounge was buzzing with activity, since the second Friday of every month meant free pastries from the local artisanal bakery. Apparently incentivizing the molders of young minds with sugar and fat never failed.

You placed an almond croissant on your plate, trying your best to stay discreet, “What’s his name again? Danny?”

Mrs. White laughed lightly, “Dewey,” she said with the smallest hint of disdain, “He’s the one I was telling you about last week. The one who impersonated a substitute last semester.”

Your jaw fell open slightly, and you decided to get another look of this guy. Turning from the spread of baked goods, your eyes wandered over to the other side of the room, where you saw the culprit averting his gaze from your direction.

He was, in a word, unkempt. His clothes were mismatched and ill-fitting; the button-down shirt hiding under his loud sweater vest was about half a size too large, and his dark jeans looked half a size too small. Most of the male teachers at Horace Green typically wore sport jackets and khakis, or at least a tie. Clearly Dewey didn’t get the memo.

His hair was also rumpled, dark brown and wavy and spurting in all different directions. You guessed he had rolled out of bed without running a brush through that mess, let alone even looked in the mirror.

You also noticed a significant amount of stubble growing on his round face, finishing off the whole scruffy vibe he had clearly committed to. He was almost…cute. His eyes were the same color as your coffee, deep brown with a touch of lightness.

“Not to state the obvious, but isn’t that a crime?” you murmured, trying to be discreet as you gossiped with your co-worker.

She answered with an eyeroll. “Of course it is,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. She took it black, two sugars. “But Rosalie—Ms. Mullins—decided to not press charges and hired him instead. Caused quite an uproar, but the students love him, so…”

You peered at him again curiously. Dewey was had just finished scribbling something in his notebook, breathing a heavy sigh as he slouched back into the plastic chair.

“I wouldn’t get involved if I were you,” Mrs. White warned, clearly noticing your interest in him, “From what I’ve heard, he’s nothing but trouble.”

You nodded. “Believe me,” you lied, “I know when to stay away.”

~oOo~

A sigh of relief left your chest the second the final bell rang at 3:15 that day. Teaching 10 and 11-year-olds how to structure essays all day really drained you, no matter how polite and well-behaved they were.

You gathered your belongings quickly and were walking briskly to your car when you heard your name being called behind you. You turned to see Dewey, and you couldn’t help but raise your eyebrows. He was carrying what looked like stacks of sheet music.

One misstep and he’d be picking up papers until sundown.

“Uh, hi,” he said as he caught up to you, the cold January air making his breath visible. He attempted to extend his arm for a handshake, but retracted when the heaps of music in his one arm began to falter. “I’m uh, I’m Dewey. Or ‘Mr. Finn’ as the kids say, but you can call me Dewey.”

Looking at him more closely, you decided he was even cuter than you first thought. With Mrs. White’s warning ringing in your ear, a part of you wanted to turn the other way, tell him you were in a hurry to get home, make up some excuse to not get involved.

But it was clear he was interested in you, and you’d be lying if you weren’t at least a little intrigued. And besides, it’d be rude to not at least introduce yourself, right?

“Hi, Dewey,” you parroted, giving him another once over. “I see you already know my name.” He was already flushed from the cold, but his cheeks turned a darker shade of pink.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Right, well, I got it from the staff directory. Just…wanted to introduce myself. I teach the kids music after school most days.”

“I know who you are,” the statement came out colder than you intended, “I did see you this morning, do you make a habit of hanging out in the teacher’s lounge?”

He gulped. “No,” he answered, “No, I just…I had a meeting with Rosalie this morning about the spring concert.”

Pure enough excuse. However, Mrs. White had also let it slip that he and Ms. Mullins apparently had a fling a few months prior, which only intrigued you more. What was so special about this guy that he could avoid a criminal trial for identity theft and date his boss in one fell swoop?

“I see,” you said coyly, trying to scrutinize him without being too obvious, “And are you and Rosalie…close?” If Dewey’s face was pink before, it had now turned to an embarrassing shade of scarlet.

“Oh, um, no,” he said, clearly flustered. “Nope. She’s a great…lady. And really cares about the kids. But…no. Not very close.” You nodded, completely unconvinced. You didn’t want to believe the gossip, but with a response like that, how could you not at least consider that it could be true?

Dewey shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his grip tightening on the sheet music. “We kissed,” he blurted, exhaling heavily, “Like, twice. She’s great but…I’m single. Very single.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his honesty. It was oddly refreshing. “Should I be taking that as some kind of hint?” you flirted, smiling softly. You couldn’t care less that your nose and fingertips were growing red from the cold.

“Only if you want,” he said, a shy smile dancing on his lips. Panic overtook his features only seconds later. “I mean, shit, not to be too forward or anything—”

“You know, you are terrible at this,” you said, cutting him off. Dewey flashed an embarrassed grin, letting out another breathy laugh, “How about I just give you my number and we just go from there?”

The two of you quickly exchanged digits and walked to your respective cars separately, unknowingly sharing excited smiles that lasted all the way home.

~oOo~

A few weeks later, you found yourself sticking up flyers for the School of Rock’s annual midwinter concert after the final bell had rung. Dewey had somehow roped you into posting the brightly colored papers on every corkboard, chalkboard, and section of blank wall space in the school.

“I thought you’d be headed home by now,” you heard Mrs. White call from down the hall. You jumped slightly, the haughty timbre in her voice surprising you.

Plastering on your most innocent smile, you turned to face your colleague. “I will be soon,” your voice was dripping with saccharine sweetness, “Just hanging these flyers and then I’m home free.”

She quirked an eyebrow, “Any big weekend plans?” You shook your head, turning back to the wall where you stuck up another flyer. You hoped she would just walk past and be none the wiser.

Mrs. White approached you, skeptical. You were friends, sure, but she was old enough and smart enough to know when someone was hiding something.

And unfortunately for you, as soon as she caught a glimpse of exactly which flyers you were hanging up, it all clicked.

“I thought I made it very clear that Mr. Finn was nothing but trouble,” she said, sounding eerily like a disapproving mother. Despite your heartrate increasing rapidly, you remained calm.

An incredulous scoff left your lips as you placed your free hand on your chest, “Mrs. White,” she rolled her eyes at you using her surname, “I was simply assisting another educator in promoting a fundraiser for this school that seeks to promote the arts and enrich our students’ lives.”

“Did you rehearse that?”

“A little. But I mean it, Mr. Finn has been nothing but professional. We’ve barely even spoken outside of planning the concert.”

That was a lie, of course. The truth was, ever since you and Dewey had exchanged information, you had texted and called and even met up a few times outside of school. Of course, they couldn’t exactly be called dates—at least that’s what you told yourself.

He seemed nervous around you at first, sure, but as soon as you got to know him, that faded away and you were left with a carefree, albeit scatterbrained work buddy. And despite the occasional flirt, it was clear that he wasn’t as interested in you as you first thought.

Which only crushed you the tiniest bit.

Mrs. White glanced at the colorful flyer again, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, “Well, of course I’ll be there to support our students’ artistic endeavors,” she said, a small smirk on her lips, “But don’t think I still don’t have my eye on you.”

You could tell she wasn’t being completely serious, but a small shiver of fear still wracked your spine as she walked towards the exit, the click clack of her pumps echoing on the linoleum tile.

You called goodbye sweetly, playing your role as nothing more than a helpful new teacher who was just excited about music education. Stapling up the last piece of paper onto a mostly bare bulletin board, you couldn’t help but overhear the noise of excited chatter coming from the music room down the hall.

The door was closed, but you managed to sneak a peek through the tiny window to see Dewey chatting with the bassist, who was about the same size as her as instrument. You felt a grin creeping onto your face.

Dewey’s passion for music came out the most when teaching the kids; even after watching him play a gig at the Roadhouse, you never saw his eyes light up more than when he was in that practice room.

You turned away and took a few steps toward the exit when you heard the door creak open, the chatter growing louder before muffling again. “Are you spying on me or something? You’re already getting into the concert for free, ya know.”

Dewey’s voice was more hoarse than usual, the gruffness making your stomach flip. “Not spying,” you teased, glancing over at the bulletin board, “Just doing your job for you.”

He clutched his heart dramatically, “You wound me,” he smirked, “But seriously, thanks for doing this. Hopefully we can drum up some more buzz.” You waved off his praise.

“No trouble. Consider us even since you had to suffer through listening to me babble on for way too long last night.” You two had made a habit of call each other late at night, which only confused your feelings even further. Your brain couldn’t decide if you were just co-workers, friends, or something more.

Apparently, Dewey couldn’t decide either.

“It’s okay,” he replied, running a hand through his messy waves, “I couldn’t sleep anyways.” He bared a toothy smile, wiping his palms on his dark jeans. His casual remark was innocent enough but still found a way to make your heart ache.

You decided the best course of action was to turn the attention away from yourself. “Well, I’m sure you won’t have any trouble with attendance,” you said, referencing the brightly colored flyer again, “From what I hear your kids are incredible.”

He beamed like a proud parent. “Yeah, yeah they are,” he said, “And thank you for spreading the word. Some teachers around here still aren’t too keen on me, after, well…everything.”

You felt yourself frown, your mind flashing to Mrs. White’s warnings. From what you could see, everyone had misjudged Dewey. He was kind, passionate, albeit far less put together than the other Horace Green staff, but he loved teaching and he loved those kids.

Wasn’t that enough to take a chance on?

“Hey,” you said, breaking the silence, “What are you doing tonight?”

“Well, I did have big plans with my couch and a shitty movie, but—”

“You and me. Tonight. Roadhouse.”

“Okay?” he laughed, taken aback by your abruptness.

“And this is a real date, Finn,” you added. “No take backs.” A look of panic flashed across his face, and for a split second you wondered if you had made a terrible miscalculation. But how could you not take matters into your own hands after his weeks of mixed signals?

Before you could open your mouth to apologize profusely for stepping way over that friendship line, Dewey grabbed your arm lightly, pulling the two of you around the corner and away from the only occupied classroom on a Friday afternoon.

And he kissed you.

Softly at first, so gently that you felt yourself melting into the cold painted cinderblock wall as he grabbed your waist. Prep schools weren’t designed to be the most romantic of places, but perhaps that was for the best.

Nevertheless, you let your eyes flutter shut as your lips molded to Dewey’s, your breath hitching in your throat. After a few seconds he pulled away, a shocked look on his face that surely mirrored yours.

“Sorry,” he muttered, a smirk creeping its way onto his mouth, “Surprised myself with that little stunt, huh?” You nodded as he peeled himself away from you. You instinctively checked your surroundings, but you were alone.

“Dewey, are you insane—”

You wanted to be angry with him for risking both of your jobs, but the fluttering in your heart was overwhelming. One thing was for certain, there was no mistaking that signal.

“I just, I couldn’t wait until tonight,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, “But yes. I’ll see you tonight. No take backs.”

You smiled as he gave you a quick kiss on the cheek, and watched as he happily sprinted back to his students.

*****

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

read part 2 here!

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musical-shit-show · 1 year

Text

pieces fall right into place

Pairing: Dewey Finn x Reader

Inspiration: Prompts #6 (you ramble a lot. it’s adorable) and #71 (i’m gonna make you forget that asshole) from Prompt List 2

Warnings: cursing, infidelity, fluff, kissing, smut (minors dni!!!), oral sex (female receiving), Dewey is, uh, handsy

Word Count: 2,597

Author’s Note: Okay…first time writing and posting smut. This is very new to me, so apologies if it’s rushed. I’m hoping that with practice and feedback I’ll improve as time goes on, but I worked on this for a while so I didn’t want to sit on it any longer. I already put it in my warnings, but this one shot is NSFW and 18+, so if you’re a minor, please keep scrolling for this one. I’ll also be marking this as smut on my Masterlist. As always, check out my About Me page, and my Prompt Lists to submit an ask! I’ll also take other prompts (within reason) and am always down to answer questions/receive feedback! (Just please be kind I am sensitive). Thanks so much for the support and happy reading <3

“You can’t let him keep doing this to you.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Please don’t make me spell it out for you. You have got to be smarter than that.”

“Dew, I don’t—”

“He always stands you up and I know how long it takes your ass to get ready. At this point, it’s getting pathetic.”

You scoffed at your best friend’s harshness. Dewey Finn was rarely one to mince words, but ever since you hit a rocky patch in your relationship, he was all too eager to bash your boyfriend. And it was starting to get on your nerves.

“It’s not pathetic!” you raised your voice in defense, “I…he’s busy. School is really kicking his ass right now and he’s having a hard time with his clinicals—”

“I know,” he conceded, eyeing you. You were wearing a simple black dress, ready for a date that was currently in jeopardy, “I know, I just think that you shouldn’t get your hopes up with him, especially since he never answers your texts. He’s always late, and that’s coming from me.”

You opened your mouth to fire back, but you saw your phone light up. It was Graham.

“It’s him,” you said, unable to hide your smugness to Dewey, “He’s on his way to the restaurant.”

Your roommate sighed. The two of you had met years ago at a record shop, both scouring through the classic rock section. It was the perfect meet-cute; unfortunately for Dewey, you were newly taken. Still, you hit it off, and a few months later found yourselves sharing an apartment.

This oddly didn’t seem to bother Graham; he must not have thought of Dewey as a threat. Either that or he couldn’t have cared less about what you did when he wasn’t around.

Not that Dewey was complaining. He loved hanging out with you, he really did. You were his best friend. But every so often you’d let your gaze linger a little too long, or laugh a little too hard at one of his jokes, and suddenly his stomach would be doing backflips.

It didn’t matter anyways; you had a boyfriend and Dewey just had to accept that. Even if your boyfriend barely paid attention to you and constantly blew you off. It angered him to no end, because he knew you deserved better. But Graham was going to be a doctor, and was nice enough to you that you stuck around.

He offered stability. That was something Dewey couldn’t guarantee, not in the same way. And that feeling of inadequacy had slowly invaded his entire psyche to the point where the mere mention of your boyfriend was unbearable.

Not that he’d ever let you know how he really felt, of course. It was always safer to play the protective best friend role, and Dewey was a natural.

“Dew!” his train of thought was interrupted by you staring expectantly at him, “How do I look?” You were standing by the door, your eyes glittering. Dewey could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He swallowed, “You look…beautiful. As always,” you grinned sweetly at him, feeling your chest flutter in return. Despite his apprehension, Dewey always knew how to put a smile on your face.

“Thank you,” you replied, smoothing down your hair, “I’ll let you know if I’ll be back later, okay?” Dewey nodded, turning his attention back to the TV as some mindless reality show served as background noise.

“Oh, and before I forget,” you said, half of your frame already in the hallway, “Could you help me out with my car sometime this weekend? It’s making that weird sound again.”

Dewey put on his best ‘best friend’ smile, “‘Course,” he said, “All the ladies say I’m great with my hands, after all.” You laughed as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

After you shut the door, his spirits instantly drooped. Maybe he could put on a movie to distract himself, or maybe he could practice a few riffs that were giving him trouble.

Maybe that would deflect his attention away from the thought of you going home with him, undressing for him, moaning his name.

It was going to be a long night.

*****

Dewey somehow dozed off on the couch, only to be awoken by the sound of your front door slamming shut.

“Shit!” he yelped out of fright, jumping from his horizontal position. You were standing in front of him, your eyes bloodshot as mascara streaked down your face.

You had been crying. Hard.

“He cheated on me,” you said, your voice low and scratchy, “He took me out to a nice restaurant for the first time in months to tell me that he fucking cheated on me.”

Dewey instantly felt his temperature rise. He was nowhere close to a fighter, but in that moment, he could’ve knocked out that douche bag with one swing.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you kept going, “You were right, Dew,” you cried, falling to his side, “I can’t believe how stupid I was. It was with his fucking classmate, too. He talked about her all the time: tall, blonde, doctor in training…how could I be so fucking oblivious?!”

You started crying again, this time into Dewey’s shoulder. He held you as your tears stained his gray t-shirt, your body wracked with sobs. Your perfume still smelled fresh, the familiar scent pervading Dewey’s mind in a way that was inappropriate for the situation at hand.

After a few minutes, your pitiable weeping let up. “Please say something,” you sniffed as you looked at him worriedly, “And don’t let it be ‘I told you so.’” He couldn’t help but shoot you a wry smile. You smiled softly back, despite your eyes still being filled to the brim.

“Damn, you know me too well, don’t ya?” he snarked, “Because that’s exactly what I was gonna say.” You punched him lightly in the shoulder as he let out a mock yelp of pain. “But no, I just…I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this, any of this.”

You couldn’t help but shake your head. “Dewey, I—”

“No, I mean it,” he cut you off, “You’re…you’re amazing. And smart, and funny, and kind. Graham is an idiot for ever taking you for granted. You can do so much better than that, and I know someday you—”

“You know,” now it was time for you to cut him off, “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this before, but you ramble a lot. It’s adorable.” Even in the low light of your apartment, you see Dewey’s face go flush.

“I just…I just really care about you, okay?” he said quietly, taking your hand gently in his, “And…you’re one of a kind. Anyone who doesn’t see that isn’t worth crying over.” His gaze softened for the first time since you stepped through the door. It pained him to see you wounded like this.

Maybe it was your heightened emotional state. Maybe it was Dewey’s comforting words. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at you in that moment. The way he looked at you most days, when he thought you didn’t notice.

But for whatever reason, you decided to kiss Dewey Finn.

You pressed your lips to his, feeling the warmth of his mouth as your eyes fluttered shut. He tasted like cheap beer and salt, and you could smell the body wash he’d been using for years, simple and fresh. Your tongue quickly parted his lips, but before you could press any further, he pulled away from you.

“Wait, wait,” he said, his voice faltering, “I don’t—is this what you want? Because I…well, I’ve wanted this for a while.”

“A while?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow, “How long is a while?”

Dewey exhaled heavily. This was it. “Since the first day we met,” he muttered sheepishly, “But you had Graham, and we became friends anyway so, I just sort of accepted that we’d never…”

Silence hung in the air as you stared intently at him. “Ah shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything, and the last thing I want to take advantage because, well, you’re my best friend and—”

“Dew,” you breathed, “You’re doing that rambling thing again.” You wrapped your arms around him, tangling your fingers into the messy brown waves at the base of his neck. “And for the record, you’re not taking advantage. I want this. As long as you want it too.”

You saw a devilish glint flicker in his chestnut eyes. “Oh, I do,” he said with a smirk. Without any more hesitation, his lips slammed into yours. You were taken off guard by his abruptness, but it didn’t matter. He was kissing you hungrily, nipping at your bottom lip.

An involuntary moan left your throat. You never felt this kind of spark with Graham, not by a long shot. With Dewey, it was something entirely different. Something better.

You let out a small squeal as Dewey hoisted you up, still peppering kissing on your neck and collarbone as he carried you to his room. Sometimes you forgot how strong he was; you were sure you wouldn’t forget again.

“Dewey, that tickles!” you said coyly, a warmth in the pit of your stomach growing. He stopped his assault on your clavicle and eyed you hungrily, catching your lips again between his.

He was intoxicating. A drug that you didn’t know you needed, but now you couldn’t go more than a few seconds without a hit. You wanted more. You needed more.

He broke the kiss again, his eyes half-lidded as he placed you on the bed. You skillfully unzipped the back of your dress and pealed it from your body. Dewey felt a twinge of self-consciousness.

“It’s okay,” you said, clocking the anxious look that fell across his face, “I’m nervous too.”

“You have no reason to be,” he laughed, “You are so goddamn sexy.” You felt heat creeping up your neck. Dewey never had trouble complimenting you, but now it felt new. You didn’t have to suppress the butterflies in your stomach any longer.

Grabbing the front of his t-shirt, you pulled him on top of you, kissing him more aggressively than before. You heard a small whimper escape from Dewey’s throat, his hands wandering up the sides of your body towards your chest.

He fumbled with your bra clasp for a few seconds before freeing your breasts and leaving them vulnerable to the cool air. Dewey’s room was always inexplicably colder than yours. You made a mental note to suggest your room next time.

Dewey made quick work of discarding his own shirt, throwing it across the room in a dramatic flourish. You couldn’t help but let out a cackle as you pulled him closer to you, your fingers prickling over the stubble that almost constantly adorned his face.

“What is it?” he asked softly, his eyes trailing down your exposed frame, “Having second thoughts?”

“No,” you answered firmly, “I don’t think I’ve been more sure of something in my entire life.” He squeezed your sides, his calloused hands making your skin tingle. “But Dewey? I want to forget. I want…I want to never think about him again.”

He cocked his head as he straddled you, his eyes darkening with lust, “Oh babe,” the pet name made an unexpected shiver run down your spine, “I’m gonna make you forget about that asshole, don’t you worry.”

His words buzzed in your head, but you didn’t have time to form a response. Dewey had moved to pull off your panties, and you were now completely exposed to him. You laid on your back, feeling the tickle of Dewey’s facial hair on your thighs as he kissed them lightly.

He spread your legs apart with his palms, looking back up at you like a man starved. You inhaled sharply as he dove mouth-first into your pussy, lapping at the wetness that had already accumulated inside you.

You panted as his hands gripped your thighs, pulling them even further apart to help him gain full access to you. You could feel him smile as you let out another involuntary groan, and then promptly resumed licking your folds.

A stray hand had removed itself from one of your thighs and was now travelling up your torso, making its home on your breast. Dewey kneaded it in his large palm, caressing every millimeter until finally taking ahold of your nipple. He pinched, teased, and rolled it between his fingers.

Oh god, he was good. Too good. Good enough to make you melt around him as he ate and squeezed and claimed what should’ve been his years ago.

“Does that feel good, baby?” he asked huskily, finding the willpower to pull himself from between your legs. You managed to squeak out an ‘Mhm’, still reeling from the overstimulation.

You didn’t even have the wits about you to realize Dewey had already removed his jeans, a thin layer of cotton boxers now the only thing separating the two of you. Your heart was caught in your throat.

He crawled back up to meet your lips, one hand moving downward to your clit while the other cupped the side of your face gently. That was an interesting trait Dewey possessed; he could be rough and soft all at once. The side effects of his method, for you at least, were utterly dizzying.

You could feel the pressure building within you, the rhythm against your clit varying. He knew how to read you, instinctively sensing when to slow or quicken his pace.

After a few minutes, you felt a familiar sensation that travelled from head to toe. “Dew, I’m gonna—” Dewey met your cry with another attack on your collarbone, this time making sure to nibble love bites onto you. You wanted to be his, and now you’d have the marks to prove it.

His pace was not letting up. In a matter of seconds everything—his attention to your clit, his other hand gripping your side for stability, his breathing hot and ragged so close to your ear—became too much.

You felt the release of orgasm wash over you, and you gripped Dewey’s shoulders as you squirmed underneath him. He didn’t let up, the circular motion of his digits continuing as you rode out your climax. Dewey had stopped his effort to give you hickeys only to watch the look of contentedness break out across your face.

It was better than anything you had experienced at the hands of someone else. And here you thought you were the only person who could make you cum that hard.

As you caught your breath, you saw a self-satisfied smile spread across his face as he continued to straddle you. The pressure of his weight felt oddly comforting to you.

“What?” you asked, snapping right back into your old, snarky rapport.

He shrugged. “I did tell you I was good with my hands, didn’t I?” he joked, his fingers nimbly teasing one of your nipples again as you gasped with pleasure. You hadn’t even had close to enough, however.

“Finn, if you don’t shut up and fuck me, I swear to god—”

“Shh, shh, shh, hey,” he cooed, pushing his dark locks aside as he wiped sweat from his brow, “All in good time, huh, dollface? I’ve been waiting for this for years. It’d be a shame if we didn’t both savor this, don’t ya think?” You groaned, a smirk creeping onto your face.

It was going to be a long night.

*****

thank you for reading! please like/comment/reblog if you enjoyed!

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