Title: Handy Dandy. Pairing: Implied! - Connor Murphy x Reader. Words: 1,593. Fandom/Musical: Dear Evan Hansen. Rating: T. (Language).
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Connor whispered aggressively, more to himself than to you. Though the words came out roughly you knew that they didn’t actually hold any hostility. Tucking back a piece of his hair behind his ear which simultaneously curled around his fingers as he did so, Connor found himself slightly bent over to analyze the extensive amount of nail polishes you actually owned. Funny enough though, he had only seen to wear maybe two of the colors and if he took his time, he could find the bottles because they’d had a lot less polish inside. Picking up a shade of yellow, that was honestly more leaning towards an ugly construction yellow and burned his eyes, he looked back at you.
You held your hands up in defense and walked towards him with a gentle, “Sometimes I need the happy colors.”
Connor sat the bottle back where he picked it up from and laughed bitterly, “Happy color? Piss is not a happy color. A happy color is like… Like…” He scanned the polishes before picking up what he’d describe as a ‘cotton candy’ pink. “This.”
Snapping the bottle out of his hand, you chuckled and said, “I don’t think I’ve never worn this color before.” You raised your eyebrows, “Wanna try?” Waving the bottle in front of his face, he pushed your hand back with a small scowl before it slowly turned into a smile.
“Fuck off.” He bent forward a bit, looking for a specific color. You couldn’t stop yourself from looking at him and the way that he moved. It was interesting, to say the least. Connor pushed people away, both figuratively and literally in instances where he feels that physically pushing someone is the best for his own safety. Even his own movements, as slightly graceful as they appeared, also pushed people away. He moved roughly but with a sense of hesitance behind every move of his muscles. A warning that getting too close would end terribly for both parties.
Taking a deep breath in, Connor straightened up and picked up a small bottle of nail polish off of your dresser, the sound drawing you back to reality. “Why are there like twenty shades of black?” He asked you, tilting the bottle to the side so he could read what funky name the polish had, “I thought black was black, you know? What the fuck is…” He squinted at the small letters, “Envious Fury?”
Laughing, you plucked the bottle out of his hand and informed him gently, “Obviously, it’s the color of jealousy and anger, can’t you read?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that those emotions included goddamn glitter.” He took the bottle back out of your hands, letting his fingers linger upon yours for a moment too long before quickly drawing them back in. A technique he had learned to keep people away, to make them assume that he was really unobtainable emotionally.
It wasn’t as if the two of you were friends and it sure as hell wasn’t as if Connor could actually spill his secrets to you, things that people assumed about him, but weren’t really true. You were just a convenience to him, or so he tried to convince himself constantly. A convenience friend, he would say. Not really friends all the time but friends when he got into fights with his parents and had nowhere else to go, or a friend when you were lost and couldn’t find your way out.
Visits were becoming much more frequent, or so you noticed. Connor was sneaking over to your house more often, later in the evening. He’d even found a way into your bedroom without going through the front door and alerting your parents that you had someone over, and when first executed, it was painful to say that he ended up with a few rose thorns on his fingertips, palms and thighs from the rose bushes in the front of your parents yard.
He’d come over, sneak in, and the two of you would sit there. Nothing had to be said, and if you asked him what was wrong, more often than not, Connor would find himself building up the security wall around his personality and mind so you couldn’t pry your way inside. It wasn’t a matter of wanting to talk about anything with Connor, it was just a sense of some sort of stability. Someone who wouldn’t yell at him for doing bad, someone who wouldn’t get mad at him for not wanting to talk, and someone who could actually maybe, in one way or another, understand what he was going through even if it wasn’t spoken out-loud.
Catching yourself staring at him once again, you plucked the bottle of black nail polish off your dresser, the one that Connor usually went after and sat down on your bed in an eager attempt to push back any sort of thoughts of an actual friendship. This happened every couple of weeks, or whenever the nail polish would fade from his nails. He quite liked the way it looked, and with his long fingers, you had to admit that he pulled off polish a lot better than most of the people you knew. “I want this one.” He said, holding up the glittering black nail polish.
“Are you su-”
“If I want to be a sparkling fucker, why not?” He shrugged his slender shoulders, sitting down on the bed across from you. The meager fact that your bed was only a twin size meant that there wasn’t much space between the two of you. Crossing your legs and laughing at his previous statement, Connor shimmed out of his usual grey jacket to reveal a darker grey t-shirt under that clung slightly to his slim frame. He handed you the bottle and held out his right hand without a word. Managing to balance the bottle on a library book you forgot to return god knows how many years ago, you cupped his fingers and began brushing the dark polish on.
There was silence between the two of you as you brushed gentle onto his thumb and then pointer finger. Mid-way through his middle finger, he began speaking to you. The tone was the same, but the words were somewhat of a surprise and when you gazed up at his face, you found his eyes fixated on your expression rather than on the nail polish brush like they usually were, “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you.”
Connor swallowed softly, brushing back a few stray hairs on his forehead with his free hand, “I know, we’ve been doing this for like…” He thought, trying to vaguely guess, “I don’t know, three, four months now and you don’t have to do it but you do anyway.” He laughed to himself, “Not everyone would help a guy who threw a goddamn printer at a teacher when he was in the 2nd grade because he was having a fucking hissy fit.”
“Being line leader was really important back then.” You dipped the brush back into the bottle, “I’d have been pissed too, having been denied the pleasure.”
“I didn’t really want to be,” He explained, “It was just… “ Connor stopped talking for a moment and thought over his words. Why was he telling you this? “Everyone else had been line leader that year and I guess I felt… Left out. Like, how shitty sad is that? Such a sob fest.” He joked, but you could tell that it was running much deeper than that by how his voiced cracked near the end.
You couldn’t find any words inside of your mind that would be a good reply to Connor actually telling you something personal, and so, you rested the brush back inside of the bottle and let go of his right hand, gesturing that you were ready for his left. He stared down at his fingers for a moment, admiring the luminescence that the glitter gave the black. It was like the stars, coating the dark sky with what one could see as hope. Hope, that out there, there’s someone or something that understands.
“Whatever,” He clenched his jaw and lifted his left hand for you, “I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for… Not seeing me as a fuck up like everyone else does. For not saying, ‘there goes that psycho kid, Connor Murphy’ in the halls at school.”
“They don’t see what I see.” You said to him, furrowing your eyebrows as you began painting his left hand. “They don’t see…” You couldn’t think of what to say, though there were indeed a million ideas running wild inside of your head. With your mouth agape, you had hope that perhaps words would just start flowing out instead of you having to force yourself to speak. “They don’t see this.” You gestured between the two of you with your free hand. “They don’t see you like this, they don’t see you as a human who you know, maybe has feelings like the rest of us do… Maybe, it’s just beyond their reach, maybe they refuse to see because then that would make you just like the rest of them and maybe they can’t handle that sort of truth.”
Connor sat quietly in front of you for a few seconds, soaking up your words and the way that they spilled from your mouth. Almost as if you… You genuinely cared about what people thought about him.
“Fuck, that’s some deep shit, (Name).”
holy bullpoop i hope that was good and i really hope that you guys like it! Reblogs and likes are appreciated! Lemme know what you think! -Em
Because sometimes Ziio takes a weekend off and Haytham has to take care of Ratonhnhake:ton, so he brings his son to Morrigan, where no one on deck knows a first thing about taking care of a three year old baby.
you do an imagine where connor’s really good at painting and the reader says to
“draw them like one of your french girls” (if you wanna make it nsfw
Ah yes, the good
ol French girl. Also!!! I won’t be writing NSFW for a while, sorry!! o: Thank
you for the request! <3
Implied sexual situation at the end
Connor Murphy’s favorite muse was nature. No matter what
thoughts came to nip at him, he would be able to calm himself down with
painting. He would get every fine
detail, every grain of sand, every little leaf on the tree. Connor Murphy could
paint an entire series of scenic artworks, each inspired by a photo, and each
would look more beautiful than the actual place. However, he refused to draw
what he thought to be most beautiful.
Connor Murphy refused to draw you.
No matter how much you begged him too, he would never so much as sketch you out. He
decided he wasn’t going to draw you because he was afraid of not being able to
get every detail.
He wanted to get the way your eyes sparkle in the light, the
way that your hair shines, and the way your face curves.
Connor Murphy wanted to line every detail of your face,
something he believed to be impossible.
Its currently two in the morning, and Connor sits on his
bed, painting a photo that you had taken the other day. You watch him as he
gently strokes the canvas with the small, fine brush. Each stroke was taken
While this wasn’t always an effective method of venting, it
was enough to get his hands steady. Enough to have him think one thought at a
time. It was enough to give him time to think.
Connor continues to paint, and you continue to watch. You
work on your homework (and a few parts of Connor’s homework so he would have
less to do), and quietly hum. This is the typical after school routine. Rarely
do the two of you not do this, and rarely is it ever at his house.
When you finish the homework, you set it to the side and
walk over to Connor.
“You need to take a break. You’re going to turn into a damn
tree. Do you want to become a tree, Connor? Get cut down and turned into a
“Y/N, that would be the best moment of my life.”
“You are unbelievable.”
Connor smirked slightly, and set down his brush. Turning
towards you, he grabs your hand, and pulls you over to your door.
“Connor, where are we going?” You say slowly, excited for
where you might be going.
“Hell, if I know.”
You have a good reason to be excited.
By the time you had arrived, it was already dusk. It seemed
that you were brought to a woodsy area, not one that you are familiar with.
Connor led you into the woods, walking like he has been here thousands of times
“Connor,” You started, “What is this place?”
Instead of responding, Connor gently squeezed your hand, and
After walking for a few more minutes, the two of your
entered a clearing. The clearing had a few different canvases placed against
trees, brushes scattered all over the ground, and lanterns that hung lazily
Connor led you over to a tree stump, and sat down.
“Care to not be so mysterious and spooky?”
Connor smiled slightly, and picked up a canvas. “Seeing you
confused is way more entertaining. It’s cute.”
You roll your eyes and sit next to him. “Where did you get
the lanterns from?”
“Zoe. She got pissed off when they disappeared, but she got
new ones so, I guess she didn’t really give that much of a shit.”
“And how did you find this area? It’s beautiful.”
“When you leave home every other fucking night, you start to
explore.” Connor grabbed a paint brush, and a few different colors.
You nodded, and watching him. “I’m… I’m glad you showed me
Connor applied paint to his brush, and flicked it at you.
Letting out a small, squeal you gently push him. “When I
asked you to paint me, I didn’t mean like that!”
He chuckled slightly and gently stroked the brush against
your nose. “Shit, dude, I guess we have two different definitions of that. Oh
“You are sucha dick
Connor just continued to smile – if you could call it that –
but you could still see the happiness in his eyes. Out of all of the ways to
show emotion, his eyes held the most.
You continued to watch Connor paint well past midnight. The
two of you said very little, mostly just enjoying each other’s company.
Every so often, you’d glance at Connor’s face, and notice
his features. His eyebrows would raise in concentration, or his eyebrows would
furrow in concentration. Occasionally, he would stick his tongue out slightly.
He pulled his hair back loosely, allowing a few strands to flow freely.
You didn’t even notice that you were staring until you had
paint flicked at you. Again.
You just rolled your eyes, and scooted in front of where
Connor was sitting. Placing your head on one of his knees, you poked his side.
Connor glanced down at you, and continued painting. “What,
you’re going to blow me in the middle of forest? Didn’t know you were into that
“Ew, what the hell, no! Maybe this is just a really
comfortable position, Murphy.” You stick your tongue out, and gently poke his
After waiting a few more minutes, you scoot backwards. “Hey,
“Draw me like one of your French girls!” You say, striking a
pose on the ground, and lifting your leg up slightly.
Connor looks at you for a moment, his face heating up. “You what?”
You huff, and strike another pose, this time while one your
back. “Draw me like one of your French girls, Murphy!”
Leaning back, Connor rested his foot on his knee. “That’s…
Kinda hot, y’know.”
You laugh and lie on the ground. “Is it? Is it really?”
Smirking, Connor places the materials to the side, and moves
to crawl on top of you, holding himself up with his elbows. “Yes, yes it is.”
You gently cup his cheek with one hand, and gently pushing a
stray strand of hair behind his ear with the other. “Can we do something crazy?”
“Crazy? I’d say this is the usual.”
You laugh and kiss Connor, wrapping your arms around his
neck. Connor deepens the kiss slightly, smirking.
You might be getting something even better than a painting.