#dear evan hansen reader insert | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

macbookpro-hard-drive · 3 years

Text

promise [connor m. x reader] pt.2

because i think this is a fitting end to this story. actual notes at the very end of this post, after the fic.

warnings: general swearing. this is a part 2 to a fic on @pacman-tattoo though.

12:23 AM connie: you still awake?

12:26 AM connie: babe.

12:35 AM connie: i’ll be home soon, ok?

12:36 AM connie: traffic is weirdly fucking awful rn and i wish you were here

12:37 AM [y/n]: sorry, i’m here. i was almost asleep.

12:38 AM connie: sorry

12:39 AM [y/n]: make it up to me <3

12:39 AM connie: i will

With a quiet hum, you left your phone back on the nightstand where it had been charging up until the vibrations against wood had pulled you out of your state of near-slumber. Connor rarely worked late, but sometimes he was roped into cleaning more than just the bar itself. It was temporary, he told you over and over. Eventually, he’d get his stupid book of stupid poetry (his words, never yours) and maybe he could go from there. Write more books, make things work, and one day he’d be staying at home and writing poetry while you continued to be the breadwinner once you were out of school for good (your words, occasionally his). Sure, working in an office when you weren’t swamped with classes and making pretty okay money in the meantime hadn’t been your plan originally, but... things happen. Life changed. Connor was a constant for you, though. True to the promise he made to you almost six years ago at eighteen, he never disappeared again. Not the way that he had used to. Sure, there were fights, and he would leave you alone in the living room while he shut himself up in the bedroom and dealt with the flow of emotions that rammed through him, but things worked out. On the worst nights, he’d come back out to find you asleep on the couch, and he’d end up waking you up and the two of you would fix things. He opened up to you, slowly and surely, and things worked. It was hard, certainly, but... the two of you made it work.

And now you were lying in bed in the little apartment that you shared, waiting for him to come home from bartending (Connor Murphy, working in customer service? You never could fully believe it, but he managed) and to climb into bed next to you, and maybe the two of you would talk until you fell asleep.

The sound of jingling keys from the living room caught your attention almost half an hour later, followed by the slamming of a door, and then heavy footsteps. Before you could call out to him, Connor came in through the door, fighting his way out of his shoes, his jacket, his jeans, and soon enough he threw himself directly into the space next to you. For a moment, he was hardened by whatever bullshit he’d faced during the day, but one look at you was enough to soften his gaze.

You sat up, reaching out to brush his hair from his face. “Long day?”

“The fucking worst.”

Despite the aggravation in his voice, you chuckled. “You wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head, hopping back up. “It’s stupid shit,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.” But he paused before he could move away, dipping forward to press a kiss against your lips. “It’s fine,” he said again. “I promise.”

As he walked away, you merely watched as he began to strip out of his clothing before changing into a faded band t-shirt that often was used by one of you as a sleeping shirt. You admired him for a moment. Six years ago, he was... thinner. Bonier. Ever since things had shifted between the two of you, he’d put on a bit of weight (enough to become less of a bean-pole and more... okay) and he generally seemed brighter, if you were honest. Maybe that was what getting out the Murphy house did for him. He’d cut his hair, although it still stayed long enough to hang in his face if he wasn’t careful. As much as you missed the long locks, you were happy. He’d begun taking care of himself. He had his off days, and you knew that, but he seemed to genuinely be trying for you, and he was trying for himself, too.

“You like the show?”

You couldn’t help but snort. “Maybe I do,” you reached toward him, doing grabby hands. “C’mere,” you whined quietly. “I wanna cuddle.”

He scoffed at the notion, but climbed into bed next to you a moment later nonetheless. Instead of folded into your arms, he pulled you closer, wrapping himself securely around you, cocooning you in his warmth. The faint smell of his cologne still stuck to him, and you happily buried your face in his neck before pressing a soft kiss against his skin.

“Sometimes,” his voice vibrated in his chest, and although you went to move, he kept his hold on you. So you relaxed into him, and he continued, “I think about when we got together.”

“Mmhm?”

“I was dealing with a lot,” he said, lowering his voice. “Fuck, you know how many problems I had, and...” He paused for a moment, nuzzling his face into your hair just for a second. “And I’m glad I got help.” He corrected himself barely a second later, “I’m getting help.” When you didn’t respond, he continued on, “I’m glad it’s working.”

“I am, too,” you admitted against his skin, and he hummed in acknowledgement. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He ran a hand up and down your back, and the motion soothed you slightly. “I was scared I was depending on you entirely,” he shut his eyes. “I thought that if you weren’t here, I couldn’t be happy. But... I got better,” he said. “I’m better. I have... friends,” he said after a moment of hesitation. “I’m writing. I’m not fucking paranoid all the time. But...” He drew away from you, hands reaching up to cup your face, smushing your face slightly. “I do have you. I’m glad you stayed.”

“Someone’s sappy tonight,” you pulled a hand away. “I’m glad you stayed, too.”

“Sometimes I think I don’t deserve you,” he said, and the air grew tense for a moment. He... wasn’t being sappy, he was being honest. “But, I think... I think now I’ve learned that even with my bullshit, I... I think I deserve good things, sometimes.”

“You do,” you reached up to trail a thumb along the apple of his cheek. “Just because you fucked up and got angry at people and dealt with a lot doesn’t mean you’re not worth loving.”

He chuckled, and he said your name gently. “No wonder you’re trying to become a therapist.”

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his own for a moment. “I wanna help people,” you said. “I wanna help teenagers like you who needed it. I didn’t give up on you then, and I don’t want to give up on my future patients.”

“Even if you’re not what they need?”

“Especially if I’m not what they need,” you said. “I’ll find them someone else. Just because I can’t help them wouldn’t mean that I can’t help them find someone who can.”

There was softness in his eyes as he kissed you gently. No more scent of cigarettes and the taste of smoke (he’d given that up long ago, just so he could have longer with you), but he still held the same warmth he did the first time you kissed. “I love you.”

So you settled into his arms after giving him one last kiss. “I love you, too, Connor.”

So... I’d like to take a moment to talk, since, uh, it feels right to.

I started writing musical reader inserts back in 2017, shortly after my 17th birthday, and the first one I wrote was a Connor Murphy fic titled “Promise.” Which... is why I feel that this is a fitting ending for my writing. I don’t remember the last fic I wrote for this blog, but I never felt completely satisfied in saying “I’m done writing reader fics for musicals” since... nothing felt like an ending.

Of course, I’ll still sorta be lingering around this blog if anyone wants to DM me or send in an ask, but I’m not gonna write anymore. I sorta stopped once I got to college since I didn’t exactly have the time to do it as often anymore (and I sorta lost interest in writing for musicals, actually, since I do write elsewhere sometimes), but... that’s beside the point.

A... lot has happened since I posted that first fic. I dated someone for the first time, ended things with them, and then I fucked up majorly with some things that happened afterward. I’m still atoning for it, and maybe I never will fully do so, but it’s one of my deepest regrets. Of course, I’ve... learned I’m not the only person at fault in the situation (more like I was manipulated, but I’m not going to deny my own part there), but I think coming to the realization that I wasn’t alone there... helped. I lost a few friends, and I kept everyone else for the most part. For a really, really long time, I always wondered why. I had fucked up so majorly, I couldn’t comprehend why my friends stayed with me.

And... It’s because we love each other. I fucked up, sure, but... they knew who I was as a person. These people didn’t abandon me because they saw me for who I am. I explained what happened, I showed anger and frustration and melancholy for everything that I (and the other person at fault) had done, and... they weren’t going to cast me out in my hour of need. I had made the group chat we all met in, and I tried to take an interest in everyone as best as I could. I became a different person when I was with my ex, and... and I never want to be that person ever again. I was petty, and spiteful, and when I look at who I became, I realize that I’d been changed for the worst. I like to think I’ve gotten better, and maybe that’s because of the stupid fucking trauma making me realize my place.

But... I love my friends. I love them so, so much. I don’t think I’d still be here if it weren’t for them. It’s been a pretty wild ride, and I’ve written so much for these fandoms (although admittedly not in recent years) but... I’m proud of what I have done. I love writing so, so much, and it’s always going to be a part of who I am, no matter what route I end up taking. While I can look back on some of my writing and laugh because it’s cringe-y and clumsy and I’ve definitely improved, it’s still something I did.

Even if this post doesn’t get a single note, I’m... still proud of what I’ve done and how far I’ve come, and I thank anyone reading this for coming with me on this journey. Please, take care of yourselves. Be kind. It’s okay to have bad days: even flowers need a little rain to grow.

But most importantly: love yourself and love the people that want you to be better.

Thanks, gamers. Feel free to hit me up anytime.

~ Minerva “Minni” @mango-juiiice

#mj's writing corner #dear evan hansen x reader #deh x reader #dear evan hansen imagine #dear evan hansen reader insert #Connor Murphy x Reader #connor murphy imagine #connor murphy reader insert

94 notes · View notes

cleverbroadwayurl · 5 years

Text

Chiaroscuro Portraiture (Connor Murphy x Artist!Reader)

Word Count: 3070

A/N: Okay so I attempted to get this done because I felt bad about not posting so uhh if this isn’t what you wanted, please tell me and I will fix it. I tried to kinda do like what McEwan does in Atonement because let’s be real that fluffy language is amazing. But uhh yeah again: I do take criticism if it’s not up to your standards, just let me know!

Trigger Warnings: uhh kissing, language, Zoe being angry, IF I MISSED ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW

Taglist: @catatonic-kuragin

Connor didn’t mean to take a shower at 1:30 in the morning. It just sort of happened. He didn’t mean to walk past Zoe’s room when the door was cracked, it just happened. And he definitely didn’t mean to eavesdrop on the events unfolding second by second. It just kinda happened.

Of course, the staying behind to continue to listen to the conversation was a conscious decision. He’d made himself comfortable, perfectly unseen in the hallway by you and Zoe, just outside the cracked door that emitted a sliver of light. You two had been doing this for years, since before eighth grade. God, was that right? You’d been best friends with Zoe for over 4 years? He shrugged the thought off as he lowered himself to the floor, choosing to sit—sitting wouldn’t attract attention, wouldn’t make any extra noise. It would swear him to secrecy, which is exactly what he wanted. While each sentence that left your lips was inaudible, Zoe was loud. She knew her entire house would be asleep, well, unless Connor himself didn’t feel like it. But she also knew that he wouldn’t walk over and tell her to shut up. Not with you here, at least. “Oh! I remember this!” she exclaimed, followed by bangs and crashes. “Your old sketchbook! I wanna see your progress! Show me!”

That’s right, that yellow book that was bound with little metal pieces. The special paper that never seemed to flap in the wind but could catch shading like nobody’s business. He could remember you sitting in biology at the large black tables, eyes squinted in concentration towards the back of the classroom where the windows were. He always assumed you were drawing the spidery veins of branches outside, noticing how with each passing cold day, they would get bleaker and bleaker, until he assumed you were drawing something that would look like broken glass on a page. But in the summer, at the beginning of the school year, the leaves canopied the trail that the track and cross-country assholes would take to “condition” for their meets. As the year would go on, the trail would be used less and less; around Halloween, it was always muddy, and then always covered in gross slush by the time Winter came along. He assumed you liked to draw in the footprints of the poor people who had to still use those trails after a particularly rainy day. He guessed it would make for a cool drawing, at the very least.

He could remember you doing that a lot, noticing in the fall light how your hair perfectly framed your face, the light hitting it in such a way that almost made you look more delicate than those glass figurines that his mom had collected when he and Zoe were babies. Your eyes would scrunch at the windows, getting that new twig barely notable by the passing eye, but everything to you. You must’ve drawn those same trees often—Connor didn’t usually pay attention to his classmates, but he could distinctly remember you sketching like that, day after day. That had to mean you did it often. So yeah, Zoe had a point; your art must’ve gotten better as the years went on and as you kept pulling it out to do a new study of some new art term Connor had never heard before.

Connor could also remember you in his house sometime over the summer, or was it last year, sketching something in the room. Zoe would always claim to be studying with you as he lazily made a sandwich after his hellish school day, and yet somehow still irritating Zoe. He could remember you trying to capture how the light just barely lit the room in a golden glow and attempting to get each curve and angle of the room just right. He assumed you used softer leaded pencils for the walls, giving it texture that it deserved. If Connor didn’t know any better, you’d be getting into some high class college for architecture, right angles so sharp you could swear it would prick your finger by just running it over the page.

And there was of course the library. You’d always sketch in the library. Sitting at the same table, you’d construct your artistry with nothing more than imagination, a pencil, and some special paper. He’d only been in there to get a book, any book, to convince someone that he was actually doing work and actually trying. Maybe do something for his mom for once, or perhaps himself. But you were there, carefully crafting your version of the bookstacks and cases around you. It was a solid 20 minutes of him looking before he could hear you uncap that special pen with the felt tip and black ink that could stain every piece of paper if you weren’t careful enough. The angles must have been perfect that time; pen is permanent. With another glance at the aisle Connor had been in, he spotted the book he needed: Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?. A nod to the librarian, and a quick glance back at you, he was off.

And then—

“Wait a second. Why are most of these done as portraiture? You hate drawing faces. And more importantly, why are they of Connor?!”

Connor misheard something. He had to have. When did you have the time, the effort, or even the means to draw him? Zoe was right, why draw him when he wasn’t anything special? Silence didn’t last long, Zoe’s demanding continuing.

“Some of these are dating like months, fuck, years ago?!”

He finally heard your voice through the cracked door as his eyes remained wide and trained onto one of the hardwood floorboards. “Zoe I can explain.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Zoe—”

“I’m serious, don’t go in depth about how much you adore my brother. I don’t want to hear it.”

Zoe bolted out of the room, completely missing Connor outside of her door as she did so. She stepped down the stairs quickly, stomping on every step as she did so, her steps almost percussive as her anger. The door nearly slammed in the draft that followed her speed, but Connor caught the white door with his foot, carefully making sure that it wouldn’t slam and actually wake up the whole house. With that same foot, he opens the door a little wider so he can actually peer in, curious about the sketches in question.

The only light that’s on is Zoe’s bedside lamp. There’s a soft glow around the room, similar to lighting a dozen candles and leaving them as the sun sets past twilight into dusk. The colorful clock against the pink shaded lamp says a harsh 2:06 AM. Had he really been out there for half an hour? His eyes shift to you, who is crumpled on Zoe’s bed. He doesn’t need to look closer to know, to understand that you’re upset. You’d just caused some kind of conflict between you and your best friend of however many years it’d been now. It probably looked like you betrayed Zoe, using her only to get to him. It’s at this moment that Connor decides to slowly step in, but is wary of the things that are on the ground.

Your sketchbook catches his eye, the beat up book open to a sketch of him, the shadows of his face darkened by a bold marker, the lights done by a hard leaded pencil. The date underneath the drawing is marked last week, showing off your progress beautifully. Connor can’t come up with any words at first. It’s…perfect, which sounded dumb to him. It perfectly took each aspect of Connor and threw it onto a page. If anyone looked at it, they would easily be able to tell exactly what Connor was like, exactly what his mannerisms were, and they would be able to easily distinguish one mood from another. It’s almost a brighter version of himself staring back at him, one who looks so confident but so lost. And Connor remained speechless, unsure of how to express his feelings.

Another minute went by before he actually said something: “Fuck, that’s really good.” A sniffle practically erupts from you before you look up at him. The two of you make eye contact, and in a swift attempt to grab the book, it ends up in Connor’s slender fingers. He begins thumbing through the pages, his eyes grazing over each and every line, every erased mark, every place you’d used pen instead of pencil, each shading variation, each curl you’d drawn; every single time you chose to draw him in a different light than he could’ve ever imagined. None of them were did in color, almost as if you were preserving the pages, as if you’d scan them in and color them digitally so you could get the blending just right. His eyes flew over dates as he kept turning, pupils dilating at each new sketch; the first drawing he’d seen was dated a little over a year and a half ago.

Then there’s one he can place; it must’ve been an exam day or something in biology because he could see the trees behind him, each branch perfectly placed, almost like someone had altered a photo rather than drawn it out. The leaves were somewhat there, the lush summer branches fading away into fall. But they’re there enough that Connor knows this was drawn at the beginning of the year—only some of the leaves are shaded in to show their differing colors. Purple was done in a dark grey, a softer lead, while green leaves were almost stark white, done in a harder leaded pencil. They were outlined beautifully by a pen, or perhaps many different pens.

Then it hits him—you didn’t care about the trees. You weren’t getting the perfect pitch of the ceilings in the kitchen that sat downstairs, memories burning onto the sketchbook’s pages. You weren’t trying to capture the world in a new light. You had been trying to get him in different shadings—a test in chiaroscuro. He had to hand it to you, each sketch was done artfully, completely taking each curve of his face and each line flowing directly into another, but in such a way you’d gotten every little thought that had ran through his head on that particular date. Connor’s heart started beating a little harder as his hands got a little sweaty, eyes still trained on one particular drawing and the way the pen swirled on the page. He licked his lips before speaking up again, not even bothering to tear his eyes away. “All of them are actually, really fucking good.”

He heard you shift forward, Zoe’s bed making that too familiar creak he usually heard from the other side of the wall. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he finally looked up and locked eyes with you. It was obvious you were upset—which was a dumb thought, Connor realized. Of course you were upset. Your best friend just stormed out of the room and down the stairs because you’d been artfully drawing wonderful images of her brother. Pink surrounded the color of your eyes, your waterline more prominent than Connor had ever seen before. It was his turn to study your face, each contour in the dull light of the stupid pink lamp Zoe had gotten when she had turned 13. Your facial features cracked, a smile finally escaping through the blurry clouds that had been drawn up around you. “I mean, I’m not an art critic or anything, but I love them.”

“Oh.” It was a suppression of something, Connor couldn’t tell what—your eyes flicked to the floorboards. “Thank you.”

He nodded before stepping forward, wire bounded notebook being extended out towards you. You took it gently, almost as if the moment would be ruined by sharp, abstract movements. There was a moment of nothing, your eyes meeting his again, before you started going through the drawings just as Connor had. No words were exchanged, they didn’t need to be, as he sat down on the bed next to you, admiring your hard work. He hadn’t gone through all of them, that much was apparent even in the darkness. Your style changed as the dates became more and more present, almost grabbing Connor in a new way that he couldn’t even fathom—when he was in a bad mood, the lines were sharp, almost making him look stuck in an abstract world that consumed him. You had started to include white pencil to highlight the lights of his face and the darks that seemed to surround him at any given point. There was one that Connor had been smiling, the stark contrast of grid to fluid making itself clear. White colored pencil littered that page, giving his cheeks and overall vibe almost a sunshine attitude. He wasn’t even sure how you’d done that, how you’d caught him smiling so long that you actually could draw it out. Your latest date appears, only two days ago before you start to close the book.

There’s a moment of nothing, completely dullness except the yellow that blanketed the room. With another beat, he looks up, a newfound fondness of you completely taking over, heart ablaze like someone had used your sketchbook as kindling for something—anything other than numbness. It’s now that Connor realizes he was leaning into you, getting closer and closer until this very second—faces inches apart and eyes scanning, searching, almost fleeing around memorizing each color of your eyes. The pink is almost gone, and you start to lean forwards, eyes not deciding what they want to look at: his eyes or his lips. The space is closing more and more, the process expedited as Connor begins to mirror your actions, the moonlight outside now seeming like the only thing that’s illuminating in the room. Before proceeding, he pulls away for a second, deciding that maybe he was just misreading cues from you. You could just be trying to get up to find Zoe, soon leaving the house and out of Connor’s life. But he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want this to end, he wants to know the curves of your face, the way you look when everything is geometric and scheduled and when everything is fluid and free, the white pencil contrasted with the black marker, each level of shading on your face. He wanted to know you at your lightest and darkest, when the leaves are lush to the leaves die and make the windows look cracked from the inside. It’s another moment until he finally gets the grip he needs, asking you “Can I kiss you?”

You nod eagerly, hands already snaking around the back of his neck and pulling him closer. He resists for a second, a mumbled “I need a verbal yes or no. Otherwise I worry that I crossed a boundary,” escaping him.

“Yes,” is exhaled from you onto Connor’s lips, giving him full access to everything he didn’t know he needed or fuck wanted until this moment. There’s a level of softness to the moment your lips grazed his, the laziness of the night consuming both of you. Relaxation seeps into the kiss as it deepens, providing a sense of warmth that could only be described as rosy cheeks and whipped cream. It’s here that Connor realizes that his heart had skipped a beat, the pink organ working in tandem with yours, blossoming into something spontaneous and wonderful with you. Connor’s hands glide from where they were to your face, almost capturing the light you’re giving him, an ability to feel like the sun is inside of his hands as the kiss deepens further. Everything is synched—a puzzle finally put together by warm light and soft touches. Something erupts in Connor and he can only hope the same from you, it’s a sense of fluff, a sense of complete and total comfort and security, almost as if someone had come in here and wrapped you and him in a blanket as silent snow fell outside. It was heated, like a warm shower after a night in the rain, but soft, sweet, something fluttering from inside into the outside. It was almost like this was something long awaited, and better than expected; far better than expected.

Footsteps stomped up the stairs, and the air turned cold, a firm reminder that the world could touch them. Connor already knew what it was—Zoe was coming back from making hot chocolate downstairs. The darkness of the room returned, almost blinding to Connor as he attempts to smoothly get out of the room before Zoe sees and gets even more upset. Purples plague the walls, steps coming louder and louder as he practically stumbles out of the room, hoping that his sister wasn’t looking up as she went upstairs. With a sharp glide out of the room and into the complete darkness of the void, Zoe slipped in and began to talk to you about something he couldn’t quite hear.

Shuffling down the hall so he isn’t heard, Connor recounts the events in his head. Maybe that had been a bad idea. Maybe the warmth around you two as you kissed was just something to dwell on but never have. Maybe it was better this way.

Fuck that. He slipped into bed, covering himself with the covers, still imagining your hands around him, circling him with warm light that rivaled sunlight at the end of the first warm day of spring after a harsh winter in the Northeast. He attempted to get that from his blankets, but couldn’t. He craved that moment now that he’d had a taste of it, every contradiction, line break, finally forming into a continuum, an image of your smiling self depicted by the lines that finally painted a beautiful picture of life. He needed everything you offered: the darks, the lights, the curves, the edges. Connor craved it as he rolled over, eyes closing for the night, the last image in his head of you artfully crafting him on the page before smiling at him in that way you always do. His heart skips a beat before falling into a smooth rhythm, breathing following the pattern as the world washed away in the golden light that consumed him.

#Connor Murphy x Reader #connor Murphy x artist!reader #deh x reader #deh x artist!reader #dear evan hansen x reader #dear evan hansen x artist!reader #deh reader insert #dear evan hansen reader insert

204 notes · View notes

denimwrites-archive · 6 years

Note

Hi, I love your writing

Dear Evan Hansen - Connor Murphy x Comatose!Reader#77. “I can’t… I can’t lose you.”#96. “I’m sick of being USELESS.”

Connor was in denial when he got the phone call from the hospital. You were a good driver. You couldn’t get into an accident, it just wasn’t possible. He felt numb as Zoe drove him to the hospital, she tried using calming and encouraging words, but they just went in one ear and out the other.

But when she pulled into the parking lot, Connor came alive. Jumping out of the car before it had even fully stopped, he rushed into the emergency room, desperate to find you.

The nurses calmly showed him to where you were stationed, explaining that you sustained some head trauma and that you were probably going to be unconscious for the foreseeable future.

“So they’re in a coma?” He asked, frantically.

“Yes. And we don’t know when or if they will wake up. Most cases like theirs, we just have to wait for some swelling to go down and everything’s fine, but we have to wait until tomorrow’s MRI to know for sure. I’ll leave you two alone,” the nurse explains before leaving.

Connor looks at you in shock. You look like you’re peacefully asleep, but he knows that you won’t be waking up any time soon. His heart breaks at the thought of not seeing your smile in the morning, or any morning afterwards.

Taking a few tentative steps closer, he moves the chair in the room closer to your bed. His eyes never leave your face as he sits, hand gently moving to take yours. Your hand is warm and all Connor wishes is for your hand to tighten around his like it always does, but your hand remains motionless.

“I can’t… I can’t lose you. Please be okay. You’re so strong, stronger than I could ever be. I need you to be strong, and get through this, so we can get through life, together.” Connor doesn’t even realize he’s crying until one of his tears lands on his arm. “Please,” he says quietly.

Zoe had walked in unnoticed while Connor pleaded with your unconscious body. She gently places a hand on his shoulder, and he doesn’t even acknowledge it, too lost in his pain.

Connor’s forced to leave the hospital when visiting hours are over, but he’s back first thing in the morning, completely ignoring school and desperate to be there when the MRI results get in.

The test was scheduled at 4 so Zoe goes as moral support, but nothing she says can stop Con from pacing up and down the hallway. “How long has it been?” He asks, yet again.

“It’s been less than fifteen minutes, chill.”

“I can’t chill! This is (Y/N) we’re talking about! It’s just– I’m sick of being USELESS!” He shouts, drawing the attention of some of the nurses nearby. Zoe gets out of the chair she was sitting in and grabs Connor by the arm.

“Okay, you need to breathe. You are not useless. I know that you feel hopeless right now, but (Y/N) is going to be fine, and you’re going to get through this too. They would want you to be strong–”

“They were the strong one,” Connor interrupts, “and if they don’t wake up, I don’t know what I’d do with myself.”

But then a doctor walks up to them. “Good thing they’ll be waking up within the week,” he says with a chuckle.

Connor turns to him in surprise. “You’re sure?” He asks, too scared that it might not be true.

“Positive. It was just a small bit of swelling, once it decreases they should wake up. We see things like this quite a lot, no need to worry. Doctor’s honor.”

“See? Told you they’d be fine,” Zoe adds on behind him. Connor’s face lights up in relief and turns, picking up his sister and twirling her. “Okay, you’re happy, you can put me down now.”

He sets her down and gives her a proper hug. “Thanks,” he whispers in her ear.

“No problem,” Zoe responds. She knew that you wouldn’t let any accident keep you from Connor for long. You two were too close for that, too in sync.

Connor did go back to school the following day, but was by your side from the second school let out to the end of visiting hours. When you finally work up, Con cried and you wiped away his tears. “There’s my strong man,” you say, not able to contain your smile at the sight of him. He nuzzled his face into your palm, too caught up to reply. He was just too relieved that you were awake and with him again.

#request #Drabble #drabble saturday event #connor murphy x reader #connor murphy fanfiction #connor murphy #dear evan hansen x reader #dear evan hansen fanfiction #dear evan hansen reader insert #deh x reader #deh fanfiction #deh reader insert #musical x reader #musical fanfiction #musical reader insert #my writing

61 notes · View notes

pacman-tattoo · 7 years

Text

i never planned on you [connor m. x reader]

i love newsies and i love this song, thank u

warnings: uh swearing and slight implied suicide attempt mentioned??? nothing happens but it’s implied

The silence of the night kept you aware, your bag bouncing and bumping against your back with every step, the steady beat keeping you awake and going. Just a little farther and you would cross the Murphy’s front yard and find you’d scale the tree closest to the house - right over the garage - and Connor would be waiting for you, window open as he probably wallowed in whatever edgy music the fucker would be listening to. You would smile and tell him he’s an edgy fuck and he’d laugh and change the song. You’d throw yourself onto his bed and regret it immediately because you always forgot to take off your bag and whatever book you had would jut into your back and send you swearing - and Connor would laugh again and you’d sort of smile and realize you’re sort of in love with your friend.

Sort of. At least, sort of were the words you told yourself every time you thought about Connor and how you sort of liked your friend and sort of wished he saw you in the same way and how you sort of stared at Connor’s lips and how you sort of wished you could kiss him or that he’d kiss you. Sort of meant you could live without it. So if you sort of had feelings for Connor, you could probably deal with the fact he definitely didn’t like you like that. The two of you would still be friends (or whatever he considered the two of you, honestly) and still have these dumb late night talks and-

And that was a lie. You’d be crying into chocolate ice cream the moment you were certain Connor didn’t give a shit about you and be stuck with the thought that you fucked it up or something. Fuck that shit.

You crossed the Murphy’s front lawn, avoiding stepping on flowers or kicking the small garden gnome, Timothy (as Zoe dubbed him), who peered up at you from between two little bushes of flowers. Connor always laughed at you when you told him how much you hated the thing because it kept fucking moving from one spot to another, and at some point you were convinced that he or Zoe was fucking with you. You scaled the tree, bark rough against your fingers and once you found the branch you always would rest at, you stole a glance to Connor’s window. Thankfully, it was open, and you were quick to make your way from branch over the small jutted out bit of roofing to Connor’s window, nearly throwing yourself in. The sound of your heavy footstep jerked Connor out of whatever thought he’d been in, and he glanced over and smiled at you. For once he wasn’t listening to his stupid, shitty, edgy music - instead he had pulled up a playlist you had made for him. You sort of smiled.

“Really, Murphy?” You rested your hands at your hips, “no edgy shit tonight, you fuck?”

He laughed. It was nice.

He shifted over, laptop balanced in his lap as he tapped away at something. You slid into the spot next to him, resting your head on his pillows and breathing.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, Connor, I’m fine. Just tired.”

He went back to typing. “Then why’d you come here?”

You sort of shrug, as much as one can shrug while lying on a bed. “Didn’t wanna stay home.”

“Then go to sleep, you little shit.”

“In your bed?”

“Where the fuck else? Sorry - I’ll go wake my parents and tell them your majesty needs a room to themselves, and my humble dwelling isn’t enough-”

“Fuck off, Murphy, we both know you’d kick Zoe out of her room.”

He laughed a bit. You sort of laughed before hugging the blanket closer to you. The faint smell of smoke seemed to cling to it. You shut your eyes.

“God, you fucking break into my house and now you’re sniffing my blankets-”

“Fuck off, Murphy. We both know you’d kick my ass if you didn’t want me here.”

He didn’t respond.

He felt the shift as you turned over, glancing over as you pulled one of the thin, soft blankets over you. He would have said something. He somewhat wanted to say something - but fuck, he wasn’t good with feelings or words for shit like this. He only watched you for a moment, watched as you hugged the pillow closer to your chest and shifted restlessly - like a fucking cat, he would have said - before shutting your eyes and finally finding someplace comfortable.

An hour later he finished what he was working on and submitted it. Stupid essays. You told him a week ago to submit his stupid paper and now it was three days late but whatever - he didn’t fucking care. School was bullshit anyway. He shoved his laptop onto his nightstand, and found his phone - glancing over to you. Fuck, he couldn’t sleep. And he couldn’t fucking focus on anything other than the fact you were asleep beside him,

Why the fuck did it have to be you? His best friend who found him when he felt lost and reminded him that there’s still time, that he’s been here for seventeen years and he hasn’t even had the chance to do so many things. And fuck, it sounded weird to him but there were so many things he wanted to do, but with you beside him. He wanted to go to New York and see a Broadway show again and dream about tapping again with you there, sitting beside him or cheering him on. He wanted to travel with you at his side, making stupid jokes along the way.

He never really planned on you. You had been at his school, laughing at stupid jokes with your best - and only - friend until he had moved away in the middle of junior year, and you were left quiet and alone. He noticed you lived down the street from him that year, and somewhat wanted to say something to you - like hey, it really fucking sucks that you friend left you, why don’t we hang out or something? But something kept him back. The rumors flying about him, the snide comments from Jared Kleinman that he’d gotten used to - something just didn’t want him to drag you into that.

So you did that yourself. You found him, bottle shaking in his hand and your fingers were warm around his. You grounded him and somehow soothed things over just for that day, and he was surprised when he found you back at his side over and over until you slipped into the seat next to him during Biology and never left his side. Zoe had caught him at the end of the day, telling him to talk home - and then you were there, telling her that you’d take care of him, Zoe and that led to the interrogation of who were you around the dinner table. He somehow managed to keep his temper even. You were good for that - you didn’t take shit and tended to knock him down when he really needed it. Fuck - he remembered hurting you once. He didn’t want to do that again, honestly.

Connor glanced back over to you and reached out, pulling a strand of hair behind your ear. You looked serene.

So he drew you. He liked to draw peaceful things - undisturbed forests and lakes and flowers. It was stupid but he doodled you and it didn’t quite capture you completely, but he fucking tried.

Eventually he fell asleep.

Eventually you woke up to an arm around your stomach and Connor’s chest against your back. Nothing tight - if anything, you sort of assumed he must have fallen asleep and moved. You didn’t complain. You sort of nuzzled down, closer to him, taking in the warmth while you could. Birds chirped. The sun peeked through the windows.

Everything was nice.

“Love you, Con.”

You shut your eyes.

And then, barely above a whisper, you heard him.

“Love you too.”

#bean writes things #dear evan hansen #deh #dear evan hansen x reader #deh x reader #dear evan hansen reader insert #deh reader insert #dear evan hansen imagine #deh imagine #connor murphy x reader #connor murphy

311 notes · View notes

obiwan824 · 7 years

Text

New Student- Jared Kleinman x Reader

A/N: I think some of you actually followed me for DEH stuff? So here’s some content for all of you!

All eyes followed her as she slowly opened the door and stepped through. She offered a small smile and wave to the class. With a lack of response, she looked down and adjusted the backpack strap hanging off of her shoulder.

“Class, this is Y/N Y/L/N, our new transfer student.”

Y/N looked up, her gaze falling right on Jared. With her eyes piercing into him, he was forced to look down, heat creeping into his cheeks.

“Hi, I’m Y/N!” she said brightly. Evan quickly poked Jared’s shoulder, but he didn’t need any push to look at her. When the class said nothing, Y/N smile only grew. She began to walk, her strides somehow still confident and sure even as the students watched with narrowed eyes. She suddenly turned around and met Jared’s eyes again, the corner of her mouth turning up in a smirk. He only blushed harder, reading a nearby poster to keep his eyes off of her.

When Jared looked up again, she was walking again towards- towards him! He swallowed hard as she got closer and closer. He was able to see every detail- the confident smile on her lips and the sparkle of joy in her eyes. Jared was unsure of her intentions- he certainly wasn’t that confident on his first day of high school.

And then she was in front of him, her perfume was the only thing he could smell, her sparkling eyes inches from his.

“Is this seat taken?”

And her voice, like velvet or silk, it sounded like a song in his ears. He could only stutter out a response. “Um- um no-”

She smiled and took the seat next to him, placing her bag on her lap and looking through it for her supplies. Jared watched her with interest, not wanting to ever tear his gaze away from her. She grabbed a pen, flicking it through her two fingers in some sort of rhythm that he couldn’t follow. He watched her throughout the class, unable to focus on the lesson. Only the bell could shake him out of his daze.

He watched as she slowly stood up and grabbed her bag, dropping a note on his desk. The minute she was gone, he quickly unfolded the paper.

It was a phone number.

Jared grinned to himself and did a little fist-pump. “YES!”

#dear evan hansen #dear evan hansen x reader #dear evan hansen reader insert #dear evan hansen oneshot #dear evan hansen imagine #jared kleinman #jared #kleinman #jared kleinman x reader #jared klienman x reader #jared klienman

67 notes · View notes

toutallyahoe · 3 years

Text

drabble dump pt5

requested by: –

pairing(s): various x male reader

warnings: cursing, character death, hints of smut

a/n: hmmmMMmmmmMMMm

"beautiful" — tommy jarvis (friday the 13th: the game)

[Name] adoringly looked at the man sleeping beside him. One of his hands lazily playing the sleeping man's hair as he softly smiled.

"God... you're so beautiful," [Name] softly muttered. There was a gleam of amusement in his [Eye color] eyes when he saw the supposed sleeping man beside him smile.

"Well... God made me beautiful," Tommy had said as he crack one eye open to see his lover's amused face. "Unlike you, he fucked up."

[Name] laughed at Tommy's words as he leaned close to the other man and placed a soft kiss on Tommy's forehead.

"Shut up, dork."

"together" — connor murphy (dear evan hansen)

Connor rolled his eyes, plucking the cigarette off from [Name]'s lips and instead put it on his, he took a puff. "Didn't think to find you here," he had said. [Name] shrugged.

"Had to get away," [Name] grunted as Connor plopped beside him on the table he was occupying outside 7/11.

There was silence between the two. After awhile, Connor laid his head on [Name]'s shoulder.

"You think we'll survive this shit?" Connor asked as [Name] let out a dry chuckle.

"No," [Name] had said as he laid his head on Connor's. "But who cares? We're together."

"cute" — kieran duffy (red dead redemption 2)

Kieran let out a surprised gasp when [Name] hauled him up by his legs. Kieran instinctively wrapped them around [Name]'s as his back was pressed on the solid wood of the tree.

"[N]... [Name]!" Kieran squeaked as he then immediately clamped one of his hands on his mouth to prevent any noises leaving them as [Name] entered inside him.

The said man merely chuckled at his actions and placed a soft kiss on his cheek as his lips were hidden by his hand.

"Sorry," [Name] half-heartedly apologized as he squeezed Kieran's thigh. "But you're too cute, mi amor."

"secret" — javier escuella (red dead redemption 2)

"Lo que digas gilipollas," Javier had said. [Name], who was near Javier couldn't help but snort as he rolled his eyes.

"Muy divertido, mi amigo," [Name] said, patting Javier on the back as Javier turned to look at him. Surprised Javier was until he remembered that [Name] knew Spanish, making Javier grin.

"Olvidé que hablas español," Javier had honestly said as [Name] shrugged. Not minding the annoyed glance from the man who came to them and insulted Javier.

"A veces yo también," [Name] chuckled. "De todos modos, ¿quieres insultar a este hijo de puta?" [Name] asked.

Javier grinned. "¡Por supuesto!"

"smells like you" — newt scamander (fantastic beasts and where to find them)

Newt smiled when he saw the potion on his cauldron was well. Newt could smell something nice. The potion was Amortentia which he brewed from curiosity.

The smell of musk, new parchment and the forest is what Newt had picked up. And something... something Newt can't quiet put place.

Eyebrows furrowed, Newt tried to remember what that smell was. He swore the scent was familiar.

The aroma was the woody smell of a broomstick handle. A thing he remembered a close friend of his carried with.

Newt's face flushed as he realized who it was. It smells like [Name].

< prev | next >

#drabbles #drabble dump #x male reader #rdr2 x male reader #male reader #dom male reader #male reader inserts #seme male reader #top male reader #kieran duffy x male reader #javier escuella x male reader #friday the 13th: the game x male reader #tommy jarvis x male reader #dear evan hansen x male reader #connor murphy x male reader #newt scamander x male reader #fbawtft x male reader

242 notes · View notes

astrochemstry · 3 years

Text

Jared with a reader who is a writer:

Im trying to cope with school guys this is gonna be a lot tbh maybe i should make a blog for this guy idk

Can be interpreted as platonic or romantic

Gender neutral reader

Inspired by this post (x)

Good luck bro

Seriously this guy is gonna make it h ELL

He found out you write bcs maybe you have this special notebook for it

Or like youre on the phone and have a specific app or its just that youre typing for too long

And he took it

Forgive him hes an asshole

Thought it was a diary at first tbh

“Dear diary- wait what?? This happened to them???”

Uh you found out and ofc youre mad bcs bruh thats my privacy

Also HC hes a fast reader

Read almost everything youve wrote and is

IMPRESSED AS HELL

But ofc he wont just admit that right there i mean

*Jared voice* who does that???

couGh anyways maybe you ignore him and stuff

Or act coldly bcs of that

And hes trying to figure out how to apologize

Evan knows abt the situation and is trying to help

Evan: why would you take their stuff in the first place??

Jared: I don't know maybe they don't wanna talk anymore i shouldnt try-

Connor, from what i could get from the Wiki and the book, is a decent listener

AND THAT COUNTS FOR GOSSIP TOO

Connor: Just get up and talk to them. They want you to.

Jared is surprised actually bcs wow THE Connor Murphy just gave him advice

“Uh- thanks. Ill.. Ill try.” “Don't mention it.”

And for Jared, for some reason he just wanted to say this: “Uh, sorry about the.. The school shooter- uh, chic comment.” then he runs away lmao

Connor yells back “Good practice but you’re a coward”

I feel like i just made a mini fic rn oh shit im getting off track anyways uH

HE APOLOGIZES

WELL NOT DIRECTLY

He sits down with you and as youre about to get up and leave he just goes

“You know, maybe you can add some buff guy into that story of yours since it could fit the theme.”

He Starts giving you ideas lmao

In the middle of it he mumbles a “sorry.” and looks down bcs aw shit aw shiit

Forgive him immediately or tease him a bit your choice

Also if youre a fanfiction writer Hes gonna make jokes

“Soo, you just write fanfiction for people?” “yeah.” “and yourself?” “yep.” “So you’re like a Modern day Edgar Allan Poe?” “He didnt write fanfiction?” “But he wrote to escape reality-”

he requests stuff but its crack lmao

"Hey can you make me a fanfic where Dumbledore and Snape didnt die"

Overall, supportive bro- just cant express it well

#sincerely me is my fuel to write #I am so hyped rn wooHOO #jared kleinman x reader #jared kleinman hcs #jared kleinman headcanons #headcanons #fanfiction #x reader #headcannon #reader insert #deh x reader #deh headcanons #dear Evan hansen x reader #Dear Evan Hansen headcanon #deh hcs #dear evan hansen hcs

20 notes · View notes

atypicaleddie · 4 years

Text

im currently working on a Connor Murphy x Reader fic thats at 7000+ words right now. Im just conflicted about actually posting it....

#atypicalwrites #dear even hansen the musical #dear evan hansen #deh #connor #connor murphy #mile faist #evan hansen #connor murphy x reader #reader insert #fanfic #fanfiction

22 notes · View notes

scapingthebottomofthebarrel · 3 months

Text

So I have a few different fics I’m working on, but I’m not sure which one to focus on to post so here are the options

#reader insert #dear evan hansen #dear evan hansen x reader #newsies #newsies x reader #neville longbotton x reader #remus lupin x reader

4 notes · View notes

tonydadisbestdad · 5 years

Text

Dear Peter Parker - 13 - Good For You

Peter ParkerxReader

Dad!Tony, Mom!Pepper, Brother!Connor (yes, keeping his name)

Word Count: 1,612

Previous Next

It was finally the day of the big fundraising event. Everything was set and on schedule. It was great.

People started arriving, his aunt included. As soon as just about everyone had arrived and was seated Pepper gave a heartwarming speech about how grateful she was for everyone coming to support them and the charity.

Everything was going smoothly. Well it was until Pepper and Tony asked Peter to introduce them to his aunt.

That caused a spike in his nerves. It could be fine, so long as they didn’t say anything that would cause Aunt May to get upset with him. There wasn’t much they could say, right?

He nodded, “Sure,” then guided them over to the table she was at with M.J. and Ned and some other people he didn’t know. “Aunt May, this is Mr. and Mrs. Stark,” He said, getting her attention. “This is my Aunt May.” He said, turning to your parents.

“Hi May,” you greeted, happily holding onto Peter’s arm. You seemed excited about something, but Peter couldn’t figure out why.

“Hello,” May greeted, getting up.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Pepper said, shaking May’s hand.

“Likewise,” She added.

“You’ve got a great kid,” Tony offered.

May nodded. “Don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Peter blushed a little. He definitely didn’t want them only talking about him, but he figured they didn’t have much else to talk about.

“Thank you for inviting me,” May said. “It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing.”

“It’s all Peter,” Pepper told her. “He’s really done so much for us and for Connor. You should be very proud of him.”

“Oh, I am.”

“May, Peter’s been such a great help to us,” Tony started. “We aren’t sure how to repay him for everything… so we want to offer Connor’s college fund to him.”

Peter’s head whipped around to look at Tony, his eyes wide. You bounced slightly against your boyfriend, it clicked in his mind that this was what you were so excited about.

“What?” Both Peter and May said at the same time.

To say that they’d also grabbed the attention of his friends at the table would be an understatement.

“Y/N told us that it would be the perfect way to extend our gratitude. I think she’s right. There’s no reason you should have to stress over paying for college. Peter’s done so much good. It’s better that the money goes to him than to just be kept in a bank probably to never be touched. Please, we won’t take no for an answer.” Pepper took hold of May’s hands. “We want to help you, like Peter has helped us.”

May didn’t even know what to say. She was dumbfounded. She cast a glance over to her nephew. His expression was the same. “I can’t accept that.”

Tony put his hand on her shoulder. “Look, you might not want the help, I understand that, but please accept this gift. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s just money to us, we don’t need it. I’d rather Peter get the best education he can without any worry. He’s brilliant, I want to see him do something with that.”

Tears filled May’s eyes. Only Peter knew they were out of frustration. He sunk in his skin some. May nodded. As much as she wanted to say no, she knew that these people would not take her answer and just end up giving it to him no matter what. “Thank you, We’ll repay every penny.”

“Nonsense,” Pepper said, wide smile on her face. She pulled May into a hug. “You’re practically like family now, especially if these two stick it out, which I’m sure you’ve seen how they look at each other. Reminds me of Tony and I.” She said the last part quietly, but you and Peter still heard, blushes on both your faces to prove it.

May only nodded. “Peter, thank Mr. and Mrs. Stark.”

“Thank you,” Peter said.

Tony pat Peter on the back, and Pepper followed up with a hug.

He saw both his friends out of the corner of his eye, they looked pissed.

Peter ended up talking to almost every person there. All of them praising him for the work he was doing. Which he offered credit to his friends, which got a lot of people talking to them too.

It was only as things were starting to settle down that Ned finally found Peter alone to talk to him. “You’re something else you know that?”

“What?” Peter asked, confused.

“Some guy that we hated dies, and suddenly you’ve got everything you ever wanted. You got money for college. The girl of your dreams. His death was the best thing to ever happen to you. It’s great Peter. Too bad it was all built on lies. What do you think would happen if they found out the truth?”

Peter stared at his friend.

“Because M.J. and I were talking, and of course I’m a good friend and didn’t rat you out. But she said she was looking at those emails and it turns out she thinks something about them isn’t right. What do you think would happen if I told her the truth?”

“Ned, please… I know you’re really mad at me, but I-”

“No buts, Pete. How about an apology.” Ned didn’t bother waiting for one, figuring he wouldn’t get it anyway.

Peter’s night only got better once he and May arrived home. She was silent the entire way back, but the second they were inside she started on him.

“I can’t believe this, Peter. Did you really have to tell them that we didn’t have money for you to go to college?!”

“I-I didn’t!” Peter countered, not exactly a lie.

“I’m mortified that I just had to shut up and accept it! You didn’t even say anything! Did you know they were going to do that?!”

“No! May stop! I had no clue! Sorry my girlfriend asked me why you kept pushing me about scholarships! I didn’t tell her to ask her parents to give me money!”

“No but you knew they had money and really thought they wouldn’t try something like that? And what’s all this about them treating you the way they do? You aren’t their child.”

“Sorry they actually make me feel welcomed and accepted and they’re actually there!” He hadn’t meant to say it, but he found he couldn’t stop. “It’s better than them not being here at all!”

May silenced herself.

Peter didn’t wait for her to gather her thoughts before he stormed off to his room.

Minutes later he received a text from M.J. ‘Ya know, I really don’t appreciate you taking all the credit for everything Ned and I have done. Frankly, Peter, it all seems fake to me. Connor said he was getting better in those emails. So, if that was true why did he kill himself. I’ll figure it out, just wait.’

It was a threat, one he could not have hovering over his mind. He texted Ned first, telling him that he was sorry, he meant it.

Thankfully, Ned let it go, until he followed up with asking him to help him fix the emails.

‘Peter, I’m done. Figure it out yourself or let M.J. expose the truth… Connor wasn’t getting better like you wrote in those emails. Your fake friendship couldn’t save that. I’m done the charade, figure it out yourself. You wanted a friend so bad, maybe you should realize you’re pushing the only ones you have away.”

His words hit Peter hard. He needed to come up with something, and fast. He finally responded to M.J. ‘I’m sorry that you made me give a speech and now everyone thinks I’m the face of this thing. I appreciate everything you and Ned have done. I’m sorry I’ve been so wrapped up in things that I forgot to say thank you. But thank you. Every person I spoke with tonight I told you guys were really the ones to do everything! I couldn’t have done any of this without you. I appreciate it and I’m sure Connor would too. I don’t know what you want me to tell you about you thinking it was fake. I was friends with Connor and I hate that I couldn’t stop him from doing what he did. Just because he said he was getting better in those emails, doesn’t mean that when he did it there weren’t reasons.”

She never answered back.

That night Peter’s mind converged. It started with his aunt.

“I’m so glad you’re living the best life, Peter. The one you always wanted and couldn’t have. You abandoned me without a second thought. They rescued you and are giving you everything I never could. And you say what you need to, no care about how I feel!”

He tried to run, but it was no use, she was there and he was stuck.

Then M.J. appeared.

“Take your apologies and shove them, Peter. You aren’t sorry. Are you having fun? You’ve been dragging me along this whole time. Doing all the hard work for you. You aren’t the only one that feels invisible.”

“You’ve been playing me, and M.J. and Y/N and most especially your Aunt and the Stark’s this whole time!” Ned yelled at him. “Oh, but the Stark’s love you! So forget about the rest of us! Crush us and leave us behind!”

“I’ll shut up and let you go, would that be good for you?” May asked.

“We’ll let you run the show,” Ned and M.J. stated in sync.

Peter was panicking, he curled up on the dark ground. “I need time to think! Everything is falling off the track! I can’t erase what I’ve done! Please! How can I fix this?!”

He woke with a start, gasping for air. He needed to fix this.

Tags: @manchurian-barnes, @marrvelle-fics, @chloe-geoghegan1, @awkwardturtle25, @defenestrate-yourself-please, @3blue-dreams3, @marvellouspengwing, @lesbian-jesus-jr, @valiantelk, @godhateskyleigh, @thepowerstoner, @lou-la-lou, @marvelc00kie35, @lynnskata, @httpmcrvel. @peterparkerscamera, @buckysendoftheline, @bookgirlunicorn

20 notes · View notes

notforfollowing · 5 years

Text

So now that I know reader inserts for musicals are a thing...

...I had this idea for one where the reader character becomes Evan Hansen.

The last thing they remember was the train ride home from seeing the show, but here they are, in front of Evan’s computer. The words “Dear Evan Hansen” on an otherwise blank Word document, and a blinking cursor afterwards. On their left arm, a stark white cast.

And Heidi Hansen approaches them, waving a 20 dollar bill, addressing them as if they’re her teenage son.

It takes a few minutes for them to even process what’s going on. But once they do, they realize they’ll probably have to stumble their way through the rest of the musical as well. Going to school, running into classmates, struggling to compose a letter...

...Connor Murphy’s death.

It dawns on them: since they know what’s going to happen to Connor, doesn’t that mean they’re now responsible for it? Shouldn’t they try to prevent it by any means necessary? Does it even matter; is any of this real?

Not wanting to take any chances, they set out to change the script.

#dear evan hansen #deh #reader insert #if anyone out there is more equipped to deepen connor’s characterization please let me know

10 notes · View notes

macbookpro-hard-drive · 5 years

Text

weak [connor m. x fem!reader]

like what i do? consider buying me a coffee!

look i know ive been like. dead. but i sorta pushed myself to finish this in order to post Something

im so sorry ive been so inactive hhh ive been busy with work and college and

warnings:

The first time you met Connor Murphy, he’d been leaning against a washing machine with a book tucked underneath his arm, fumbling with his wallet. The soft swears spilling from his lips seemed to fill the air, and part of you wondered whether you should just come back and do laundry later - considering the demanding weight of the basket in front of you was starting to become grating - or if you should just go in and do your laundry, despite the intimidating air he seemed to carry around him. The weight of your laundry basket barked at you, and you made up your mind and walked in, apparently immediately grabbing his attention. He looked up, saw you standing there awkwardly as you made eye contact before hurrying over to an empty washing machine to start making sure you had sorted shit correctly. The sound of a heavy sigh grasped your attention, your shoulders jerking slightly as heavy footsteps grew closer. You looked up, and there he stood - taller than you and built like a beanpole, hair pulled back into a low, lazily crafted bun.

He didn’t say anything at first, sort of looking down to his wallet for a moment. Then his eyes caught yours as he shut the empty leather wallet, and jammed it into his pocket. You immediately grew tense as you nearly dropped the shirt you’d pulled out, and then your nails dug into it as you watched this complete stranger approach you. He sighed, then frowned, and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Fuck, sorry - hey, uh, do you have any extra change? Fuck, sorry - I don’t have anything smaller than a twenty and, uh-” he paused, “I ran out.”

“That wasn’t smart,” you said without thinking, before immediately growing flustered. You dug into the bag you’d swung carelessly over your shoulder before heading out to do laundry, pulled out the coin purse you kept full of spare change - which was mainly shit that your parents kept sending you, as a ‘just in case’ you need it for whatever reason, despite the fact you’d been fine and more collecting coins rather than using them - and tossed it to him. The weight crashed into his chest, and he looked from the little black bag to your face.

“What the fuck do you have in here?” He asked. Maybe your bag was growing a little heavy.

But you failed to suppress a small smirk and answered him anyway. “Coins.”

His eyes flutter from you to the bag and then back to your face. “... Gold coins?” He asked, unzipping the little pouch. Then he paused, before finally replying to you as he strode back over to his laundry. “Thanks.”

“I want that back, y’know,” you said.

“Yeah. Whatever. Sure. I’ll pay you-”

“The rest of the bag, dumb ass.” You clicked your tongue, “don’t pay me back.”

“Whatever.”

So you continued what you were doing silently, debating whether you should plug in your headphones and turn on a podcast or something - or maybe see if this stranger will watch your shit just in case and run back to grab your laptop and plant down somewhere and see if you can knock out a bit more of one of your papers. You stood there in silent debate, realizing that this dude still had all of your change in his hands right as you went to find your quarters. You looked back to him, and he was just standing there, toying with the zipper mindlessly. He didn’t look back to you.

“Yo. I’d like to do laundry, dude.”

He looked back to you. “Oh. Yeah. Right.”

The next thing you felt was your bag hitting your chest, and you watched this dude smirk as he turned back to what he was doing, now finding his phone and fumbling around aimlessly with it instead. You debated asking his name - but in the end, you really didn’t care at that time. He finished his laundry, thanked you for your shit, and then walked out - hopefully with a plan to fold that shit once he got back to his dorm room. You plugged in your headphones, and left the sound of three brothers distract you from the bullshit amount of time you’d be sitting here. Could you leave? Sure. Did you trust it? Absolutely not - not after the last time when some asshole stole one of your hoodies. Sure, you got it back - but not without a few stains that you immediately struggled to wash out, causing for you to waste a fuck-ton of change with multiple washes.

The next time you met Connor was late at night inside a coffee shop that wasn’t too far from your campus. The one in the building was closed, and you’d rather go buy a cup from wherever rather than try to find any coffeemaker and make it for yourself. Honestly, you just didn’t want to wake anyone up with the smell of burnt coffee - that would be a string of apologies you didn’t want to have to make. So you sunk into your boots, shoved your wallet into your sweatpants pocket, and set out to the nearest place you could find that was open - a small local joint, according to your phone. You were relieved to find that it was in fact open, and escaped into the shop, the sweet smell of coffee greeting you. The tired eyes of the barista greeted you, and you felt bad for coming in so late - how much longer was this place open anyhow?

She let out a soft sigh, stretching as she walked over to greet you. College student. You could feel the exhaustion radiating off of her. You glanced at her name tag - Joanne - before she finally greeted you. She rolled her shoulders back, the soft pop audible even to you as she forced a smile, “welcome to the Bean Hut,” she said, “what can I get for ya’?”

You glanced to the menu, rocking back and forth as you searched for something. You rattled off your order, trying to keep it as simple as you could so that she wouldn’t have to strain herself too much - because jesus, you were actually starting to get concerned for her health. You glanced over to the emptying case of different treats. She caught your gaze as she punched in your order, pausing as she debated something internally.

“If you want something, get it. We throw away what we don’t sell,” she said, “waste of food but, fuck, what can you do?”

“How much is the banana nut bread?” You asked. She rattled off a price, so you bought a slice for your roommate and a chocolate croissant for yourself, watching her unfold a paper bag with THE BEAN HUT printed on the front in stereotypical hipster coffee shop font. After a moment, you hurried and unfurled your money, handing it to her as you heard the front door of the shop open with a jingle, and glanced over your shoulder while taking the bag from her.

You hadn’t introduced yourself to him before, as you didn’t have the chance to, but you immediately recognized the stranger as being laundry-boy. How many lanky dudes with man-buns were there on campus anyhow? Besides, you really couldn’t forget how fucking cold his eyes were. He scanned your face, taking in each detail as he tried to pin something to you because you were familiar but he just couldn’t pinpoint where.

“Welcome to the Bean Hut-” Joanne had begun, only for Connor to glance from her to you, “oh. Connor. The usual?” She asked.

“Yeah - hot chocolate and a-”

“A vanilla bean scone,” she finished, already in the process of punching in his total, “I know.”

You looked over to this Connor, jamming your hands into your pockets, “are you gonna need some extra change this time, Connor?” It was dumb and it was nothing but it was enough to get his attention, as you caught his eyes flickering to you for a second as he opened his wallet.

He pulled his card out of his wallet, handing it over to Joanne to run. He sort of smiled and said, “thought I recognized you,” before turning to face you. “I’m good. Thanks.”

You weren’t sure if he was being friendly or what. That’s just how this dude seemed to speak - sorta unwavering, always with cold eyes and his hands hidden away in his jacket or jean pockets no matter what. But you just sort of forced a smile, rocking back and forth on your heels as you glanced over to Joanne, busy at work with making your drinks. “You come here a lot?” You asked, looking back to Connor.

“Yeah. Usually.”

“Busy?”

“No,” he sort of shrugged, “I just like the hot chocolate.” He left it at that, not pushing forward. You were a stranger - he didn’t have to spill his entire life story to you. This was just a fluke in fate, a mistake where your paths crossed again and it probably wasn’t meant to happen. At least, that’s what Connor thought - you looked like you were nothing like him, bundled up in warm sleepwear while he was stuck looking like he was going out for the night again. Connor didn’t do that. Connor didn’t like going out with his roommate to parties, he didn’t care for drinking unless he was home or somewhere he couldn’t fuck things up. You sucked in your cheeks, giving him a once-over.

The first time you’d seen Connor, he’d only been in a t-shirt and sweatpants - the usual college attire, you’d come to learn - but now he stood before you in jeans that were baggy at the knee and ripped (factory ripped, you’d decided at the lack of fraying), leather jacket over a unzipped hoodie over plaid, and worn leather boots that you could see staring to stretch away from the soles, begging to be replaced soon. You finally spoke up, cutting through the awkward silence that had drawn between you, “going somewhere?”

“Didn’t change.” He looked over to you, “are you working on a paper or-”

“Yep,” you popped the ‘p’, “research paper. Physics. It’s boring.”

“Boring?”

“To most people, yeah.” You shrugged, “I mean, it’s cool and all, but I don’t even need it for my major. I just wanted the science credit-”

“So you chose physics.” Connor stared at you with bewilderment, “y’know, there’s easier classes on campus-”

“I took AP Physics my senior year in high school. I’m not going in blind, hon,” you tried to suppress the smallest little smile. He just stood there, watching you badly fighting back a smile, and then the crumple of a paper bag caught his attention as Joanne slid a medium-sized coffee-cup over to you, and then a bag to Connor, before turning back to her job.

You barely had the time to take your drink and turn before Connor stopped you. “Hey,” he’d called, causing you to glimpse back at him over your shoulder. “It’s Connor.” He said, reaching back to the counter behind him, “my name- I mean,” he stumbled over his words, “Connor Murphy.”

After a moment, you smiled. “[y/n],” you said, “nice to meet you, Murphy.” Then you were gone, the soft chime of a bell marking your exit as you took your walk back to your dorm. Connor Murphy. You committed the name to memory. Something told you that you’d meet him again - somehow. You lifted your cup to your lips, fighting back to urge to tear it away as the burning liquid spilled onto your tongue as you let the warm caffeine seep into your body, into your entire being. You’d have to go back sometimes. Maybe you’d run into Connor again.

If you were honest, you’d never been that much of a party person. Or, well, rather - you’d never been a ‘let’s go party with complete strangers and get wasted’ kind of person. Parties with friends? You were down - but now you were sitting in the corner of a room with a red cup in your hand, guarding the drink with your life. You’d lost sight of your roommate, slightly cursing that fact since she’d asked for you to keep an eye on her if she started drinking - which had happened almost ten minutes after the two of you arrived. On the better side of the spectrum, she’d worked up the confidence to finally talk that guy in her intro to theatre history class that you could tell was into her, and maybe they’d be making out somewhere. On the other hand, you’d get up and find her sometime soon, ditching your drink for the night because it was shitty beer, not even the kind of stuff that you could normally stomach. You’d hoped that maybe someone would have pitched in, maybe brought wine coolers or something with any more flavor than that sad grain water shit. But you’d stopped looking after a while, dodging between drunk freshmen and listening to girls coo over the smallest things - which made you fight back a smile, because drunk girls were always adorable in your opinion, some getting more giggly, and on the rare occasion you’d had one asked if you’d eat and try to feed you peanuts when you’d admit that you hadn’t. It was a sweet notion - fuck anyone who said that drunk girls were embarrassing. You’d punch a fucker for harassing a drunk girl, or any girl.

The music seemed to increase in volume after minutes, leading you to finally push yourself out of your seat, finding the kitchen and dumping the shitty beer into a sink before you wandered with the intent of finding your roommate. To your surprise, she’d been sitting out back with journalism-dude’s arm around her shoulder, laughing at some video on his phone, headphones shared between them. You only smiled as you turned, wandering around inside with the hope of finding somewhere quiet. Bedrooms were a no-go, since you didn’t want to walk in on anyone fucking (the risk alone was too much for you, because how do you walk away from that sort of thing? You weren’t sure.) and bathrooms were only a somewhat safer bet. After a while of wandering, you’d finally found an unlocked bathroom that seemed empty when you knocked. And lo and behold, you opened the door to find a certain scrawny dude sitting in the bathtub, phone now pressed to his stomach as you pushed your way inside.

“Are you fucking stalking me?” Connor said, staring at you with furrowed brow as he watched you shut the door behind you.

“Shut up, Murphy.” You hesitated to lock the door, but glanced back to him, “mind if I-”

“God, fucking please,” he scowled, before shifting slightly, giving you enough room to sit beside him if you wanted.

You weren’t about to turn the offer down. The door clicked locked, and you crossed the tiny bathroom to sink into the spot next to him, snagging your phone from your back pocket in the process. “So why are you here?”

“Roommate dragged me here.” Connor looked over to you, clicking his phone on and off mindlessly, “some shit about wanting to get out and enjoy college. You?”

“Same thing, I guess,” you shrugged, “roommate’s crush was gonna be here and she wanted to talk to him. So I came along to make sure she doesn’t get into trouble-”

“And now you’re doing that by hiding in a bathroom.”

“She’s with that dude and they’re watching something together. She’s safe for right now, dude. I’m not shitty like that,” you frowned, “c’mon, Murphy. Do I seem like the kind of girl to just abandon her friend like that?”

He shrugged, looking back to his phone for a second. “[y/n], right?” He asked, finally looking back over to you. You nodded. He shifted again, pressing his back against the corner as best as he could. “What’s your story?”

“My what-” You’d started, “Murphy, what the fuck-”

“I’m just trying to make fucking conversation.”

You stared at him, watching as he rolled his eyes and went back to his phone without a word. Fine. “I was raised in a town not too far from here, I took a bunch of AP classes in high school so that I look pretty fucking good on applications, and now I’m here. Nothing special.”

He glanced over to you, not really responding at first. And finally, he sucked in a breath, and put his phone down as he finally turned his attention to you. “Guess we have that in common.” He said, and you perked a brow at that. “The ‘nothing special’ shit.”

“Spill your story then, Murphy.”

He smiled a little at that before looking away, licking his lips before he finally settled on a starting point. “Uh, I guess - I’m from out of state, I have a sh-” He stopped there, “I have a pretty okay sister and okay parents,” he said, both feeling a bit strained for him to say. “I, uh, dealt with some shit in high school, aaand now I’m here in a bathroom at a party.”

You shifted, trying to find comfort in sitting against the edge of the tub and the wall. “I feel like you’re leaving out details. C’mon. Spill shit.” You paused for a moment, “you say something, I say something. Go.”

Amusement flickered in his eyes as he smiled again, “alright. I took tap for years as a kid. Loved it,” he said softly, “and then I threw that out.”

You nodded, pursing your lips together. What could you tell him? “I have a dog at home. Her name is Pepper and she’s the best girl in the world.”

“I played baseball as a kid.” He drummed his fingers against his leg, “and threw that out later, too. It was fun, though.”

“Nice.” You hummed for a moment, mentally scrolling through your library of things to tell. “I was in a production of Cinderella when I was ten as one of the stepsisters. It was the best fucking shit, and I kicked ass in the role.”

He chuckled at the thought. “I wrote a lot of shitty teen poetry in high school.”

“I still write a lot of shitty teen poetry in college,” you smirked as you brushed hair from your eyes. “Shitty teen poetry is fun, Murphy.”

You watched him shift against the uncomfortable tub and wall. “I smoked a lot of weed.” He shrugged, “I don’t smoke as much anymore.”

“Surprise, surprise.” You rolled your eyes, “never saw that one coming, Murphy.” Before he could protest, you elbowed him, “I’m kidding. You only somewhat look like a stoner.” You let out a heavy breath, trying to come up with another fact. “I have a little brother. He’s in high school.”

“I have an annoying little sister. She’s also in high school. Jazz band.”

“He’s on the soccer team - but he has been thinking about taking art classes again. He used to draw a lot.”

“I draw a lot.” Connor said, “considering I’m an art major.” He smiled at you, “tell your brother to go for it.”

“I’m undeclared.” You let out a sigh, “not sure yet. Maybe I’ll major in English or something.” You couldn’t fight back a smile, “can you draw me?”

“Can I? Yeah, definitely, if you’re paying.”

“Guess my poor college ass is just gonna have to take a rain check, Murphy.” You finally stole a glance at the time. “I should probably go check on Tessa. Walk me out, Murphy?”

You pushed yourself up and out of the tub, spine popping in the process as it ached from the awkward curvature of the tub and wall. You stepped away, only to be surprised when Connor rose too, stretching as he stood, shirt riding slightly above his hips and giving you a glimpse of a sliver of skin. You tore your eyes away from that. You almost expected him to notice and greet you with a crooked smile and a “like what you see?” But he didn’t, double-checking his pockets for his phone and wallet - you begun to doubt that he would have even noticed your little glance. You unlocked the bathroom door, stumbling out into a quieter hallway with Connor in tow, and you wandered downstairs. When you couldn’t spot your roommate, you fished out your phone, only to find a single text there for you.

Tess: journalism guy coming back w me, sorry

You groaned slightly as you turned back to Connor, about to say something when he merely showed you his phone, sort of pinching at the bridge of his nose with annoyance. You understood why the moment you read the text.

J: wont be back tonight. enjoy the dorm to urself.

“Great. Our roommates are fucking,” you clicked your tongue, “or that’s just a really fun coincidence.”

“He never shuts up about Tessa.” Connor jammed his phone into his jeans pocket, “c’mon. You’re staying with me, I guess.” He took you by the wrist, guiding you out of the party.

“Cool. Fun. Sleepover with art major Connor Murphy. I’m down.” You said, excitement just oozing out of you - absolutely. Completely. Good thing he was guiding you, or you’d probably melt into a fucking puddle. You were glad Connor couldn’t read minds. He didn’t need to hear your stupid snarky shit.

“You’re taking Jer’s bed,” he shrugged, “he won’t care. And if he does, then tough shit for him.” He released your wrist, letting you fall into step beside him. “Sorry.”

“For what? Our roommates happen to be into each other. It’s just a coincidence, Connor.”

He didn’t verbally respond. He only shrugged at that, and the two of you continued on your walk towards your dorm. Thirty minutes later, you’re standing in his room and he’s already stripped off his jacket without a second thought, before he started digging through his clothes. You didn’t expect for a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants to hit you a second later, as he looked over to you, eyes flickering down to the shirt that’d fallen to the floor. Minutes later and he turned away from you, making some comment about how he would say something about the bathrooms, but he didn’t need to risk someone finding ‘some girl on their floor’ right now. You only shrugged, turning away and changing as quickly as you could. His shirt and pants were longer than you expected, honestly - and maybe that was because he was a tall dude.

“That’s J’s bed.” Connor motioned toward one, “take it. He can deal.” He threw himself onto his own bed, comforter shifting.

You walked over and set your phone down on the nearby nightstand before finally sitting down and watching Connor. “You draw, right? Can... I see some of your work?”

He just sorta glanced over to you as he plugged his phone in, the soft chime filling the pause in the air. Connor shrugged as he stood, walking over to his desk, picking up one wire-bound sketchbook that’d been sitting in the corner, holding it out to you. “Class shit.” He shrugged again, before picking up a smaller, Moleskine one that had been carelessly thrown on top of his laptop, and he tossed that one to you as well. “Pocket sketchbook. I draw random shit in that one.” And he gingerly picked up another, a landscape one, and walked that one over, sitting down beside you. “Aaaand watercolor shit.”

You set the watercolor book and his pocket sketchbook on the bed beside you, flipping open the wire-bound one he’d first handed to you. Pages upon pages of tonal work - different objects, all with shadows dancing in different places - greeted you before gesture drawings saw, messily scribbled down with features often ending up slightly smudged. Connor watched you flip through the pages, before shutting the book once they turned blank. Next was his watercolor - one he seemed a bit more careful with, from how he brought it to you with careful grasp. You flipped it open slowly, a picture of a landscape there to greet you: lush greenery, mountains, and a lake. For some reason, you couldn’t shake the small home-y feeling you’d gotten from it. When you flipped through the rest of the pages, there were other landscapes, and some paintings of birds, and then the last was a vague sketch of a figure, done completely in greys. You shut the book, and Connor took it from you to deliver it back to it’s place on his desk.

The last was Connor’s pocket sketchbook. You slipped the band off, opening it to find the first dated image was from over a year ago. Page after page was filled with the most mundane things - a girl with an ice cream cone, her grin wide and hair being blown in the wind; a sleeping dog,, a boy with an arm in a cast seated at a desk, trees, sometimes even pill bottles.

“That’s from when I was fucking sick,” he scowled, “and my mom wouldn’t let me out of the house to do anything.” He tapped the sketch of the NyQuil bottle, “so I drew the shitty cold medicine she’d brought me.”

You nodded, flipping through. Every so often, you’d find pictures of the same girl: some of her lost in music, some of her just curled up in an chair. When you finally looked up to say something to Connor, he licked his lips, already knowing your question.

“That’s my sister, Zoe.” He shut his eyes, shifting uncomfortably beside you.

“She’s pretty,” you sort of hummed, “you’re really talented.”

He sorta chuckled at that. “Thanks.” He slipped the sketchbook from your hands.

“Kinda sad I don’t have anything to show you, unless you wanna read some shitty poetry.” He snorted at the comment. You elbowed him, “c’mon. I’m not kidding. You showed me your art, I can show you some of my amazingly shitty poetry next time we meet.” And then you paused, looking to where you’d set your phone down, and picked it up. “You,” you began, “should give me your number.”

“Why-”

“C’mon, Murphy. The universe obviously wants us to be friends or something.” You picked up your phone, pulling open the contacts, “why keep fighting that?”

He couldn’t really argue with that. He took your phone from your hand, closing out of your contacts and opening messages, punching in his number before sending a text. Barely a second later, his phone buzzed, and he shoved your phone back into your hands. “Done.” He stood, stalking across the room back to his bed.

You rolled your eyes at the string of emojis he’d sent himself, all taken from your most recently used. Original. You set your phone down, before finally crawling into his roommate’s bed without a second thought. “Night, Murphy,” you’d called out, and then a lamp flickered off, and eventually you managed to fight the foreign feeling of another person’s bed enough to drift off to sleep.

Connor was a welcome figure in your dorm room - one floor below where his was. He’d often swing by after his classes, glad to find you curled up in bed with your laptop set on top of your lap desk. At first it was Connor sliding in after he came from classes. Later it turned to Connor bringing you a hot chocolate and a chocolate croissant, and more dumb conversation to keep you company while your roommate was usually out. Other than Connor’s visits, the two of you had started heading over to the library for study sessions, or out to a coffee-shop just to sit around and people-watch while talking about whatever life shit the two of you could come up with. Sometimes it’d be about his sister and things he did when he was a kid, other times it’d be you gloating about your brother’s soccer skills.

Connor had stretched himself out across the end of your bed, phone resting on his stomach as he stared up at your ceiling. You’d been invested in this story about some shit one of your friends had gotten into back during your freshman year of high school, typing at your laptop without pause the entire time. He marveled in your ability to multi-task, honestly, because he knew he would have veered off into typing at least half of his thoughts up by mistake. You slowly trailed off, voice growing soft as you stared at Connor, his focus intensely placed on your ceiling.

“You okay?” You asked, stretching a leg out to nudge his arm. He finally glanced back over to you, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Are you staying here for Thanksgiving?”

You were caught slightly off-guard by the sudden question, but shook your head anyway. “No - why?”

“Just... wanted to ask.”

“Are you?”

He shook his head after a moment. “Mom wants me to come home.” He paused, “but if you were staying, I could have probably gotten out of it-”

“Do you not want to go home?” You interrupted him, closing your laptop and moving your lap desk aside. “I mean - you could come with me if you want, but you’d have to put up with my dad asking if you’re my boyfriend.”

“No - fuck, I mean, I want to go home. Just...” He paused, “I don’t know. There’s a couple assholes I’m not looking forward to seeing.”

“You’re from out of state, right?” You asked, forcing a small topic change. Connor had appreciated it, and simply answered you with a nod. “How are you getting home? I don’t see you driving anywhere, so...” You sucked in your cheek, “flying? Bus?”

“Flying. I’ve uh... got a flight to catch Friday after-”

“I can drive you? To the airport, I mean,” you clarified, “y’know. So you don’t have to Uber or anything.”

He stared at you. You writhed slightly in discomfort, shifting blankets around you before breaking your gaze away from his. “Okay?” He said, “why?”

“... Because we’re friends? Because I might be heading out that way anyway since I literally pass by the only airport around here when I drive home, and I thought “well, gee, I could give my friend a ride” since I care about art major Connor Murphy, my snark-master of a pal?” You smiled, “unless you’re leaving from somewhere else?”

“No - I mean, I am leaving from-” He stopped for a moment, “yeah - that’d be great... thanks.”

Zoe picked him up from the airport. She’d been leaning against her car that’d once been his, arms folded across her chest as she stood, waiting for him to finally move his ass and get out there. The sound of his bag rolling behind him filled the empty silence that he’d grown used to, the weight of his carry-on luggage starting to grow more and more frustrating with each step. He’d only thrown a couple books in along with his sketchbook, and now he was regretting it because his neck was stiff and his spine was stiffer and - fuck, did he ever mention he hated flying? His ears had popped and everything was still slightly muffled despite the fact he’d tried almost every trick he could come up with. The idea of a hot shower was utopian to him. Zoe didn’t greet him with a hug, but with her usual steely eyes as she popped the trunk before sliding back into the driver’s seat.

Great. A fantastic start to Thanksgiving break. Only more thrills would await him. He shoved the handle of his luggage down, almost carelessly throwing the bag into the back of his sister’s car. With a slam of the trunk, Connor ignored the glare that Zoe threw him as he climbed into the passenger seat, his carry-on bag nestled in the floorboard between his legs. His phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. He was greeted with a picture of you, smiling with your arm around some kid - “hope you had a great flight! 2nd fave art geek here thanks u for ur wise advice of ‘go for it’” - and he smiled slightly at your nickname for your brother.

Zoe caught a glimpse of his phone, barely a millisecond before he clicked it off. “Who’s that?”

“Just a friend,” he shrugged.

“When’d you meet her?”

“... September. Laundry girl.” He said. Zoe nodded. For the few times Connor had spoken to his family (as for the most part, they left each other alone, and it had usually been Cynthia calling Connor for an update in how he’s doing before passing the phone to Larry and then to Zoe), he was glad to see that Zoe remembered his little story of you.

“Oh.” Zoe pressed her lips together. He looked over to her, watching her expression. She was thinking - probably trying to figure out as much as she could from that little glimpse of you as she could.

“If you want to ask something, then fucking ask.”

Zoe landed on one of the most obvious questions. “Is she single?”

Were you? He didn’t recall you having a girlfriend or a boyfriend or anything. Besides - you’d probably spend more time with them than with him, right? Connor was... fine company, but definitely not better than a partner. “I don’t think so.”

“Is she your type?”

“I don’t have a-”

“You like cute girls who aren’t afraid to say shit to your face, geeky boys who are shy - but if any of them are shorter than you then you’ve probably thought about dating them at least once.” Zoe looked over to him, “you have a type, Connor.”

As he sat there trying not to gawk at how bold her statement had been, at how sharp her tongue was, his phone buzzed once more. When he looked down to see your name, he was glad to see the words “(but if you ever need an out, i’m here <3)” printed across the screen. He fought back a smile as he texted you his thanks, trying to ignore the glance from Zoe that would surely be followed up with more questions. To his surprise, she kept her eyes on the road and her mouth shut. Which, in his experience, usually meant that the moment they got home, she’d probably casually drop the “Connor has a girlfriend” bomb in front of their mom and then she would take to questioning him. To his surprise, she didn’t. At least, not until halfway through dinner while Connor was still prodding at the vegetarian lasagna his mother had made, absentmindedly answering her questions.

Then Zoe said it, casual and cool after a long sip of water. The moment she set the glass down and begun to clean up around her, it just slipped out casually, “Connor has a girlfriend.”

Before he could refute it, his mother was already beaming at the mere aspect of him having a anyone in his life. “Connor, is this true?” She was ecstatic and it slightly hurt him to crush her hopes.

“No, uh, she’s just a friend,” he said, glaring at Zoe as she strode past to put her dishes away, “we, uh, met when doing laundry. Her building’s water got turned off for a few days,” he began to sink into his seat, “and she helped me out.”

“What’s her name?” Larry piped up, surprising Connor. He was sure his dad wouldn’t care enough to ask questions. But the moment your name rolled off his tongue, his father nodded, mulling over your name alone. “Sounds nice.”

The rest of the conversation was dominated completely by questions, making Connor dig up all the information he’d learned about you. The fact you were from not-too-far from campus, your little brother, what your parents did, your major - the fact you were smart and took Physics made his mother smile, because something about the idea of him (potentially, in her eyes) having a smarty-pants girlfriend pleased her. Most likely because it meant you could maybe help him and cue the whole study-dates turning into real-dates montage as the two of you fell for each other, since she had always loved the prospect of movie romances. He shoveled the rest of his meal into his mouth, thanking her before escaping to the solitude of his somewhat-empty room.

Then came the day he ran into Jared Kleinman and his friends, overhearing the nerdy boy brag about “all the pussy he was getting at college” arrogantly. Fucking hell, Connor felt bad for whoever Jared’s roommate was - either the poor dude was legit getting sexiled over and over, or he had to deal with Jared trying to talk big game. Of course, as fate would have it, Connor couldn’t just walk into one of his favorite ice cream parlors, get his favorite flavor, and walk out - Jared had to spot him.

“He-ey, Connor!” He called out, Connor glancing over his shoulder before paying for his cone and crossing the room, jamming his free hand into his hoodie pocket. Jared didn’t give him a moment to greet him or anything, “How’s college?”

“Fine.”

“Meet anybody?” He smirked a little, “I mean, I’ll be surprised to hear anyone would approach your psycho ass, but there’s always miracles.” He snorted.

“Does it matter?”

Jared feigned pain at the remark, “C’mon, Connor,” he immediately lowered his voice, “there’s no shame in being a virgin.” With a click of his tongue, he leaned back in his chair, now smirking again his stupid arrogant Kleinman smirk. Now he remembered why he couldn’t fucking stand Jared.

Before he thought it through, he replied, “Yeah, well, good thing I have a girlfriend then.”

Immediately he regret it as Jared immediately lit up, smirk never leaving. “Really? You got some proof there, Connie?”

He nodded, and internally thanked the fact that you had a habit of taking selfies of the two of you - and was even more glad to find that he hadn’t deleted the few you took with his phone after he sent them to you. He never could have brought himself to do it - but he brandished his evidence, which was a picture with you pressed into his side, beaming with joy that you’d managed to steal his phone long enough for the picture. The phantom touch of your hand at his waist returned as he remembered just how close you’d actually been to him. “Her name is [y/n],” he said, watching Jared take in every aspect of the photo, just trying to scan the smallest hint that he was lying.

Apparently, he found none. “Okay, then,” he said, “how long have you two been dating?”

“Almost four months,” he lied, “we, uh, met in a gen ed class.”

“Y’know, you could be lying, Connor. You two should Skype with me sometime,” Jared draped one arm over the back of his chair, “or, better idea: maybe you could bring her here for spring break. I’m sure your family would love to meet her, huh Connor?”

He was gonna fucking kill him for being so fucking smug. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll talk to her about it.” Which translated to he’d have to convince you somehow because he can’t just let Jared know he lied.

He waved Jared off, ignoring the cold drips of ice cream running over his fingers as he escaped to the safety of his - well, Zoe’s - car. The moment he turned on the engine, the gravity of everything he just said crashed down onto him. There was no way you’d actually agree to fake-date him, right? At least whenever Jared called or whenever you were here with him. And then the two of you could part ways and pretend the entire thing never happened and he’d come up with some elaborate reason why the two of you broke up. Connor let out a heavy sigh, picking up his phone and opening it to your contact info.

This was going to come crashing down around him, wasn’t it?

#dear evan hansen #deh #dear evan hansen x reader #deh x reader #dear evan hansen imagine #deh imagine #dear evan hansen reader insert #deh reader insert #connor murphy #connor murphy x reader #connor murphy imagine

94 notes · View notes

not-fuckmegentlywithaslurpee · 6 years

Text

Best Friends (Connor Murphy x Reader)

Hey homies! This is the first fic I’ve written for this fandom (I actually wrote the first half of it three months ago, but got struck with inspiration today to try and finish it up). I just love DEH so much, so I thought I’d stop lurking and contribute something! Hopefully, this will be first of many fics to come, but you never know with me.

Please let me know what you think! All feedback is appreciated <3

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption

Your feelings for Connor were turning from platonic to something a lot more daunting. You two were close, and it terrified you that you might ruin everything if you were to let your feelings consume you.

I can’t be falling in love with him.

Your mind had been circling these thoughts over and over for the past week, and as much as you were trying to stay functional at school you could feel the fear of it blanketing all your actions. You walked up to your locker and started unloading your books, letting your fingers linger on the spines, using the everyday texture to stay grounded.

“Hey, Y/N,” You turned your head to meet Connor’s eyes, curious how you hadn’t noticed him approach considering he wasn’t exactly a subtle person—his darkly dressed figure always stood out among the flood of students. He felt like the only interesting thing for miles, so of course, you had always been drawn towards him. “Y/N?”

You realized you’d been staring at him instead of responding. You blinked rapidly before smiling and shaking your head at yourself. “Sorry. Tired. How are you?” He shrugged, which sort of summed up how you were feeling as well. You shut your locker and the two of you started to walk to class together.

“Are you going to the party tonight?”

That caught your attention. You didn’t really get invited to parties. Neither did Connor. “What party?”

“My parents are out of town, so Zoe is throwing a party tonight which will probably consist of a bunch of lightweight band kids and cheap beer. It’s probably going to be stupid, but… I don’t know. You should come.” He specifically didn’t make eye contact with you, and you could’ve sworn you could see a slight blush overtaking his complexion. You are not falling in love with Connor Murphy, you are not falling in love with Connor Murphy, you are not—

“Yeah I’ll have to check with my parents, but I’m sure it’ll be fine.” You played with your hair a little bit, tucking it behind your ear, only to have it fall back into your face.

“Okay. Okay cool,” Connor nodded, feigning indifference. God, what were you getting yourself into? You could feel the invisible thread connecting you to Connor desperately trying to tug you towards him.

You kept walking.

You showed up at the Murphy household wearing an outfit that was slightly more flattering than you’d usually wear. An outfit that didn’t scream “look at me”, but rather allowed people to look on their own, and decide they were glad they did.

You walked through the front door, late enough that everyone was already drunk and murmuring hysterically. Zoe latched onto you immediately, putting her lips really close to your ear so you could hear her. “Y/N! You came! I’m so glad you’re here, we’re going to have so much fun,” She bit her lip playfully, pulling you towards the kitchen. “We have beer, cider, wine, whatever.” You looked around the room, but still no sign of Connor.

“Zoe it looks like people are trashing your place,” you looked around at the huge mess. Normally you saw this place in perfect order. It was Cynthia’s wish that her house didn’t reflect the inner workings of their family—messy relationships, spotless living room. “Aren’t your parents going to be mad?”

She wobbled a little as she walked over to her fridge, pulling out a can of Mike’s Hard Lemonade. You had barely read the label before she’d pressed it into your hand. “Fuck my parents, they don’t—” hiccup, “know anything. And they aren’t here, which means we can have fun.”

“Zoe, I don’t think—”

“Y/N, please just have some fun. You are so good. So so good. You say the right things, do the right things, you’re just—good. But let yourself have fun. You don’t have to be good right now.” You looked between Zoe, and your drink, and realized maybe she was right. Maybe you could let go, just for a little bit.

“Alright, fuck it,” you popped the can open and started drinking.

About an hour in you concluded that you couldn’t handle your alcohol.

It hadn’t hit you quickly, so you’d had another lemonade. And then another. And half of another. I mean it tasted like lemonade, it couldn’t be doing that much harm. Or so you had thought, but suddenly you were leaning against the hallway wall, laughing to yourself. You realized you didn't remember why’d you’d started laughing, which made you laugh harder, and suddenly it felt like you were falling backward even though you were sure you weren’t moving. Were you?

Your hands came up to touch your face... You felt soft. But you didn’t know if your hands felt soft, or if your face felt soft, or if they were both soft. Another hand came to touch your arm, and you smiled down at it before casting your smile up to the person it belonged to. Connor.

“I was looking for you!” You tried to stand on your tiptoes so you could be a little bit closer to his height, but that only lasted a moment before your feet got tired.

“You were leaning against a wall.”

“You got me there. Feel my face, it’s soft,” you pulled at his hands and brought them up to your face. Maybe if you weren’t drunk you would’ve been flustered by how close he was to you. His palms were cold against your skin. He felt soft too.

“Y/N, are you… drunk?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh my god,” he stared at you with his hands still lingering on your face and started to smile, and then that smile turned into a laugh until you were both laughing. Although you weren’t sure what was funny. But he was pretty when he was happy, so you didn’t care. “I’ve never seen you like this before...” he trailed off, running his fingers over your face, tracing your smile.

You nodded because it seemed like the only thing to do. You decided to move again, this time towards Connor’s bedroom where you’d initially been headed, your fingers now interlocked with his. He put up no resistance, not really wanting to socialize with any of the other people at this party anyway.

He watched as you sprawled onto his bed, somewhat resembling a starfish. You looked at him, scrutinizing his face. “You’re cute,” you said very seriously, watching him with a fiery focus that strongly contrasted the ridiculous position you were laying in. Connor nearly choked.

“What?”

You pulled yourself into a sitting position. “You. Are. Cute.” you emphasized each word.

He shook his head at your words, “and you’re drunk.” He said it as if it changed anything.

“And you’re cute.” You crossed your arms stubbornly.

“And you’re really drunk.”

“Cute.”

“Drunk.”

You sighed dramatically, falling back onto his pillow. It smelled like him, which did not help.

“Just because I’m drunk doesn’t make you any less cute. Just like you being my best friend doesn’t make me want to ki—“ you cut yourself off, realizing with horror what you had almost just said. You turned your gaze to Connor, hoping he had been distracted and not noticed, but the intensity in his eyes told another story.

“That you want to what?” His expression was unreadable, and you wanted to sidestep out of your drunkness, step back into who you usually were. But you knew that wasn’t possible. You pulled his comforter around your body, obscuring everything but your eyes. It smelled more like him than his pillow had. Fuck.

“Y/N?” His expression was starting to look desperate, and the tiny voice in your head, the one that usually boomed above all else, was barely above a whisper. This is a bad idea. You’re going to ruin everything. God, sober you was going to be super mad tomorrow morning.

You closed your eyes for a moment, bracing for whatever came next… you could feel his gaze on you. “Doesn't make me want to kiss you any less.”

The silence grew louder than it was before, and your breath had caught in your chest. You let your eyes fluttered open, and found Connor watching you. It felt like forever, his eyes burning holes into yours, and you wanted him to say something, anything.

Then, as if a flip has switched, he took two long strides across the room until his face was nearly inches from yours. He tentatively reached out and pulled the blanket off of you, revealing all of you. He looked like he was seeing you for the first time. “Then what are you waiting for?”

For a moment you almost thought you hadn’t heard him right, but the expression on his face… it was all you had thought about for so long. Him looking at you like that.

You pushed yourself up to sitting, eliminating the space between you two until you were closer to him than you’d ever been. You felt like someone had set you on fire, waking up every part of your body in one fell swoop. You would’ve happily burned to death here, with Connor’s lips only inches from yours.

You brought your hands to his face, thumb running across his cheekbone, taking him all in. Slowly, you leaned towards him, and his eyes fluttered shut in anticipation. You pressed your lips to his.

It felt like the whole world came into alignment in that moment. You two had destroyed the world as you knew it with this soft, sweet kiss. Connor's hands found their way to your lower back pulling you flush against his chest, and your fingers tangled in his hair as the kiss deepened. You wanted to live in this moment for the rest of your life.

Connor pulled away and pressed his forehead to yours, ever so slightly out of breath. “God, I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Connor said, smiling like the sun. The kind of smile he reserved only for you.

“Me too,” you pressed another quick kiss to his lips, before showering his whole face with kisses. Connor scrunched up his nose, laughing at the unfamiliar feeling.

“You’re cute,” you said matter-o-factly, repeating your sentiment from earlier.

“I’m not—“ he tried to protest, but you cut him off with one more kiss on the lips.

“I will fight you, Connor Murphy. You’re gorgeous. End of discussion.” You tucked his hair behind his ear, admiring just how beautiful he looked in the low light.

He watched you for a moment, before sighing and shaking his head. “Fine,” he laughed. “So are you.”

Your fingers sat entangled between you as you lay on his bed, talking the rest of the night away. You felt freer than you had in a long time, and you were still wrapping your head around how this one night had changed everything. You knew tomorrow would bring a wave of new experiences and feelings, but regret would not be among them.

thanks again for reading :)

~ Bardot

#connor murphy x reader #connor murphy #dear evan hansen #dear evan hansen x reader #connor murphy fanfiction #zoe murphy #broadway dear evan hansen #broadway musicals #musicals #broadway x reader #deh #evan hansen #connor murphy imagine #connor murphy imagines #connor x reader #musical theatre #musical theater #musical #self insert

155 notes · View notes