#dear Evan hansen fanfic

[antpelts]

When they were little Evan and Jared wanted to travel the world. So their moms both set aside savings accounts for them as gifts for college graduation to go on a tour of Europe because they were going to be friends forever. Right? They're 22 now and Jared's graduated and Evan's getting there. They've got the option to skip the trip and save the money or go ahead and take it, under the assumption that the other would skip they both take a chance.

[ticklishraspberries]

Giggly Glam (Connor, Zoe)

Summary: Connor buys himself makeup, then realizes he has no idea how to do makeup. Zoe tries to help. (Take this Connor lives and gets to heal his relationship with his sister thing I wrote. No one asked me to, I just have an obsession with this stupid fandom. Enjoy it or else /lh.)

He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to buy it. He’d only gone into the beauty aisle to buy a new bottle of black nail polish, and had somehow ended up picking out a few cheap makeup products. It was a completely impulsive, stupid decision, and if Connor had an ounce of sense, he’d turn back around and return it all.

But he didn’t. Instead, he decided to use it as an olive branch, or whatever the saying was. You see, almost dying had sort of knocked some sense into his head. Well, that plus some therapy, and seeing the looks that Zoe kept shooting him across the table at dinner.

So, maybe when he got back from the hospital, he’d made a whole big scene about how sorry he was for the way he’d acted towards her, towards them all, and maybe he’d cried harder than he had in years, and clung to his mom like a scared child on the first day of school.

Yeah, looking back, that had been pretty embarrassing. But it had shattered the layer of ice between him and his family, which he supposed was a good thing. He just hadn’t worked up the courage to dip into that murky water again, afraid he’d do something stupid like cry again, or make it worse by clamming up and telling his sister to fuck off like he would have a few months prior.

But a gift? It was an olive branch, he supposed. Not an apology, not an explanation, but it was something. So when he got home, he went right up to Zoe’s door and knocked.

“Come in,” she replied, and she looked surprised when it was Connor who entered, not her mother. “What do you want?”

Her tone wasn’t overly harsh, just a tad annoyed, mostly confused. Connor cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, I got you something. At the store. I don’t know if you even really wear makeup, but I just…Yeah. Here you go.”

He placed the bag on her dresser, and turned to leave, but paused when she spoke.

“Makeup?” Zoe asked, standing up off of her bed and walking over, snatching up the bag and looking inside. “Thanks, I guess. I don’t wear it that much, but it’s good to have.”

Connor nodded. “Cool.”

“Why though?”

“Why what?”

Zoe raised an eyebrow. “I can’t remember the last time you got me a gift. At least, one that wasn’t clearly bought by mom, who put your name on the label. So why?”

Connor shrugged. “I mean, honestly, I bought it on impulse and realized I was never gonna use it, so I gave it to you. Not very thought out, I guess. Do I get points for trying?” he asked, his tone light although there was a pit of anxiety in his stomach. He still wasn’t used to talking to Zoe like this; normal, casual conversation wasn’t really his forte.

“You got it for yourself?” Zoe asked. “Why wouldn’t you wear it?”

“Cause I get called gay at school for wearing nail polish, I think eyeliner would be pushing my luck,” he replied. When she didn’t seem amused, he continued, “Plus, I have no idea how to use any of it.”

“Where do you think I learned it? It’s not some inherent skill that comes with being a woman. Look up a tutorial online or something,” she said. “Fuck what kids at school think.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” he shot back. God, could he not get through one conversation without being an asshole? He opened his mouth to apologize, but it got stuck somewhere in his throat and wouldn’t come out. It was like every time he tried to swallow his pride, he fucking choked on it.

Zoe just rolled her eyes. “I was gonna offer to just show you myself, but if you’re gonna be a dick, I’ll just keep my secrets to myself.”

“What do you mean show me? I’m not just gonna sit here and watch you do your own makeup,” he said.

“I could do it for you. I mean, I’m not great at it, but at least you’d get an idea of what it’s supposed to look like. And if you don’t like how it looks, I’ll keep the makeup and we can pretend this never happened.”

Connor thought about it for a moment, nibbling at his bottom lip. “I guess. Uh, thanks. And sorry for, um, snapping at you.”

“Whatever,” Zoe replied, but she had a small smile on her face. Almost fond. “Sit on my bed. Wait, but take your shoes off first.”

He obeyed wordlessly, feeling incredibly strange. Zoe’s room had changed a lot since they were kids. The walls that had once been covered in stickers of flowers and photos of boy band members were now decorated much more tastefully, although Harry Styles was still making an appearance. Her twin bed had been upgraded to a full-sized one, and it was in the middle of the room rather than pushed against the wall like it had once been. Her sheets were no longer Disney princess themed, but rather soft blue ones with stars on them.

As he sat down, Zoe began peeling plastic off of each makeup product: A stick of black eyeliner, and a palette of four eyeshadows, in varying shades of purple, and a tube of mascara.

“Just your eye makeup, or do you want a full glam?”

Connor furrowed his brows at her, chuckling. “Full glam? Nah, I’ll pass.”

“Okay, okay, fine.”

She placed the products on the bed, then went back over to her dresser to grab a cup of brushes. “Your first mistake was thinking that the little wand this eyeshadow comes with would be enough,” she said. “You’re lucky that mom keeps buying me sets of brushes for every holiday.”

“Every holiday?”

“Every. Holiday. Three Hanukkahs in a row, two birthdays. So many brushes.”

Connor snorted. “I guess she thinks you wear ‘full glam’ every day,” he said, putting air quotes around the phrase she’d used, which made her chuckle.

She sat down on the bed beside him, her tongue poking between her teeth as she thought. “Okay, I think I’ll do your eyeshadow first…Just close your eyes and try to sit still,” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” he muttered, shutting his eyes as he was told, and he heard her shuffling around with the products.

After a moment, he could feel her hand hovering in front of him, and braced for impact, ever so dramatic. A somewhat flat, stiff brush touched his eyelid, and his face twitched despite his best efforts. He got it under control quickly, the sensation surprisingly easy to get used to.

“So, I’m putting the lighter color on your lid right now,” Zoe explained. “And after, I’m gonna use the darker one sort of, like, around it.”

“Sounds fancy,” he replied.

Zoe snorted, using her other hand to hold the side of his face, keeping him in place. Connor couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so close to his sister, or shared this much physical contact with her. It was weird, but it somehow felt natural, still so familiar. Her fingertips were rough from guitar string scars, and her hands were steady.

He heard her switching the brush, presumably also switching the color. The heel of her hand pressed against his jaw as she continued.

The brush was much fluffier than the last, and she was doing it so lightly, it felt like an annoying itch, and he scrunched his face up on instinct.

“Stay still,” she reminded him.

He huffed, but attempted to comply. He managed to keep his composure for a bit, but as the brush stroked against his face, turning the outer corner of his left eye the striking color of artificial grape candy, the feeling turned from an annoying itch to a feather-light sensation.

Connor couldn’t help it; he giggled, turning his face away from her.

“Stop moving!” Zoe said, retracting her hand.

“I can’t help it!” he replied. “It…feels weird.”

She ignored him and attempted to continue, but when the brush touched his skin again, he giggled again.

“Does it tickle?” Zoe asked, sounding almost incredulous. “There’s no way your face is ticklish.”

He felt his cheeks turn hot, and scowled. “Shut up,” he said, knowing he had no argument that would convince her that she was wrong.

Zoe’s lips twitched.

“Shut up. It’s not funny.”

She lost it, starting to giggle herself. “I’m sorry, but it is funny.”

Normally embarrassment felt white-hot, a rage-inducing humiliation that sent him running for the hills or taking out his anger on whoever was closest, a pit in his stomach. He was expecting that feeling to surface at that moment, but all he could feel was the color in his face and Zoe’s gaze on him.

Maybe it was because there were very few things his sister hadn’t witnessed: She knew him when he was still a gap-toothed child that was afraid of bugs, or when he grew into a pre-teen with braces and a constantly cracking voice.

So, instead of freaking out, he just glared at her half-heartedly. “Whatever.”

“Are you gonna survive if I continue?” she asked, grinning.

He rolled his eyes but nodded, bracing himself for the brush to return. He managed to sit still for the rest of the process, perhaps by sheer willpower or because Zoe was using a firmer touch to spare him some dignity.

“I’m kind of terrified of poking your eye out if I do your mascara,” she said to fill the silence. “Or eyeliner. I’ve never done it on anyone else.”

“Very reassuring,” he muttered.

All the brushes were away from his face, but he kept his eyes shut in case she went back, which was apparently a mistake, as Zoe had taken his sass as a chance to poke him in the ribs, making him flinch and huff out a laugh.

“I can’t believe I forgot you were ticklish,” she said.

“Please forget again,” he replied. “And, if I remember correctly, you are too. I’m not above revenge.”

Zoe laughed. “Okay, truce. But it’s nice to see you smile again.”

The sincerity of her statement made Connor freeze up, just for a moment. He was wading into foreign territory enough, but genuine conversation was almost too much. “Uh, thanks. I think?”

“Sorry, I just—You know, it’s just been a while since…” she trailed off.

“I know.”

She nodded, twirling the eyeliner pencil between her fingers. “So, do you trust me to not blind you?”

“...Not really, but fuck it.”

It turned out that Connor really rocked the color purple, and he loved the way that black eyeliner looked on him, and Zoe offered to show him how to do it himself next time.

He left his sister’s room and walked down the hallway with a giddy feeling in his stomach, something he hadn’t felt for a long time. It occurred to him that he had really missed his sister, no matter how hard he’d ignored it in the past. They still had a lot to work on, but Connor felt like something healed in them both that day, and it was all thanks to an impulsive purchase.

[dearevan-nortonao3]

Hello. It’s Ev again. This is my shameless ao3 advertisement blog. Because I want people to read my fics. I need the attention.

Anyway here have my fics so far:

[morg-among-the-stars]

Grow

Word Count: 7,384

This is the best one-shot I’ve ever written as well as the longest. Just look at that word count! This started out as a cute and fluffy (community) college fic, but it turned into a lot more than that, so I hope all you Kliensen enjoyers like it!

————————————————————————

Jared has never been all too nice to Evan.

For a long time, he found ways to excuse it. He'd excuse his rudeness as jokes and dark humor; always telling a speechless or borderline-offended Evan, "I'm just messing with you, it's a joke!"

It wasn't until he started a term at the local community college that he allowed himself to get hit with the truth. (Not to face it, for he'd faced it a long time ago. Getting hit with it is something all it's own.)

From what Jared remembers, Evan kept his head low for the remainder of senior year, got his diploma, and had plans of starting community college.

Evan was the most paranoid anyone had ever seen him, genuinely fearful of not getting into a two-year school with a one-hundred percent acceptance rate.

He was also paranoid for a separate reason entirely; still trying to shake off what senior year had done to him.

Jared went away for one final year of summer camp and Evan spent his summer working at the local Pottery Barn, trying to save up money for his classes in the Fall.

Unlike Evan, Jared procrastinated heavily on starting community college.

When the Fall semester came around, Evan kept to himself for the most part.

By high school graduation, he had upgraded from being a family friend to a good friend, which Jared would refer to Evan as to his extended family, who vaguely remembered the anxious boy's name.

Jared didn't talk about Evan much, but when he did, he kept his words positive.

Knowing that Jared talked positively of him even after senior year and all those damn emails he paid him to write made Evan feel genuine happiness in his soul. He was Jared's good friend.

Though, not having Jared around during the start of community college did something to him.

It sounds desperate and he is painfully aware, but he was lonely and for the first time in his life, too busy to reach out.

Always worried about one thing or the other; a paper to work on, or a continuing afternoon shift at Pottery Barn.

It felt good to be busy, for Evan has never been busy with work or school. (His anxious habits led him to be a diligent student and employee; he didn't mess up many things and when he did, he tried hard to fix them. The people skills aspect of customer service was still a work in progress.)

But now, a semester is under his belt and the following Winter semester is fast-approaching.

Evan was smart enough to register ahead; one less thing to check off his to-do list.

On the first day of the Winter semester, Evan rides the shuttle bus to the campus. It's an hour long commute that isn't the best thing in the world, but he makes do.

He is grateful for his schedule, he only has a general English course today and then he has time to kill before the commute to work. Mondays for the next handful of weeks won't be terrible, unlike every other Monday in existence.

Though, other days of the week aren't so nice, which he takes note of when planning his first week.

Take life day by day, a motivational phrase that's written in the margin of his planner.

A mantra of sorts that Dr. Sherman told him during a recent session.

Habitually, he gets to class early and picks a seat near the back of the classroom by the window; not in the way back. A sweet-spot to listen well to a lecture, but not make any eye contact with the professor and risk being called out if he mumbles an answer to himself.

Students file in, some one-by-one and others, in small pairs or trios.

As the classroom gets full, Evan sits alone in the sort-of-back near the window.

People don't pay him much mind, except for the occasional friendly, "Good morning."

There's a face he sees walking in the door, wearing those same dorky circle glasses and having the same affinity for graphic t-shirts that Evan has always been familiar with.

But Jared looks different, the months of summer and the midst of Fall have treated him well.

Maybe a little too well, because Evan is struck by something strong that he's felt one other time in his life.

Jared sees him and without a second thought, goes to sit next to him; at ease that he has a friendly face to talk to.

His good friend, Evan.

Evan looks at him, specifically at Jared's biceps.

There's muscle on them that wasn't there when they were in high school.

Jared isn't shredded by any means at all, but he looks strong, looks good.

He swears he doesn't have a thing for muscular people, but he wants to ask a million questions about what happened during summer camp and why Jared didn't warn him of his new build.

But Evan has learned better than to ask blunt and odd questions as a means of conversation, so he starts off simply and prays that the small crack in his voice goes unheard.

"Jared- Hi, how've you been?"

He wants to also ask how Jared's time at summer was and what he's been up to in the last few months.

He also wants to apologize for never asking any of these questions before now, when he hasn't asked anything yet.

His mind is trying to slow itself down and organize his thoughts in a coherent way. Being scatter-brained does him no good.

"I've been good, ready to get back to work." Jared tells him, it comes out lighthearted and a bit sarcastic, "I need this class for my major, so I'm getting it out of the way."

It's the same kind of sarcasm that Evan has grown accustomed to, though it's not used at his expense for once.

That feels good, the comfortability that'd sprouted around graduation a few months back is still there.

Before there's anymore time to continue on, the class starts and Evan readies himself with a notebook and pen, and flips through his other notes for a clean page.

Jared, getting himself straight (awful choice of words) at the same time, glances over at Evan's page-flipping and he sees vibrant highlighter marks and neatly written words printed line-after-line down the page.

As the introductory lecture progresses and assignments are laid out, Jared finds himself looking at Evan, at his organized, colorful notes.

Evan became the type of person that Jared mocked in high school. For one reason or another, he hated those people who's notes were written in neat handwriting with little doodles in the margins and color-coded to stay on-top of things.

But now, that he's older but also because it's Evan, the pretentious note-taking isn't pretentious at all.

It's almost cute is the coherent thought that Jared comes up with.

He gets back to his own notebook and before either of them know it, they have an essay due next Monday and class is dismissed.

"Where are you going after this?" Evan asks while packing up his belongings.

There are a few hand-sewn stitches to rips and tears in Evan's backpack that Jared notices, along with two minimalistic patches sewn onto the small front pocket.

One patch is a yellow smiley face and the other is a rainbow that's out of order with the words, "Choose Kindness" printed underneath it.

Both patches are most likely from Heidi, a little too bright for what Evan prefers. (Or maybe not, maybe Evan doesn't mind that vibrance and showiness anymore. Jared wouldn't know.)

"I was gonna go home for a while, I have a late shift tonight."

"Where are you working?"

"The Best Buy down the road."

It makes perfect sense in Evan's mind when the answer comes from Jared's mouth, he wouldn't expect anything different.

Jared must be able to sense this, because he's smiling as soon as he says it, smiling faintly as it clicks into place that he's still the same geek who thought he was too cool to proudly be friends with Evan Hansen.

But now he sees it, Evan is still the same introverted guy he knew, but he's found his footing now that they've gotten away from the hell that was high school.

Evan is put together. Well, more put together than what he used to be.

He looks good, standing a little straighter, and his dark, sunken under-eyes aren't as dark nor sunken.

Granted, they aren't at the place of a person who gets a square eight hours of sleep a night, but Evan looks like he has been improving at least somewhat in the taking-care-of-himself department.

"What about you? Do you have work right after, or...?"

"No, I don't have work until later. I mostly sit in the library and get homework done until work."

Jared looks at him a little oddly and follows him out into the hallway,

"Are there any study-buddies you have in the library?"

Evan laughs a little to himself, something he wouldn't have be able to do a while ago.

"No, but I don't mind the alone time." (He didn't mind the alone time when his best friend wasn't a viable option, that is different now.)

"I was going to go home, but I don't have to," Jared states, in a way he thinks is cooly, pushing his hands into his jeans pockets. "And, I have no idea what to write my essay about and you're a genius writer, so I thought you could... help me out some?" (Smooth, Jared. Smooth.)

There's light that flickers in Evan's eyes, he can sense it that Jared doesn't want to simply mooch off his work like he did back in public school.

If that was his intention, he would've been more direct, like every time he was stumped or blatantly uninterested in high school. Saying something along the lines of, "Evan, there's no way I can get this done on my own. Give me your notebook, I'll be done with it in a minute..."

Evan separately takes, "genius writer" that isn't laced with sarcasm for once in their damn lives, sets it into his heart, and makes his way to the library with Jared walking right beside him.

Amidst the whispered catching up that they do, Evan learns that Jared is genuinely scratching his head about this first essay, trying to figure out how to answer the prompt that was written across the whiteboard during lecture: What is one thing a person can do to maintain happiness?

Evan already has a vague outline drawn up, he is going to talk about the importance of going outside and getting away from screens and the internet, and how too much of it can be damaging to one's mental health. (Writing about hard-hitting things can sometimes be healing; this wouldn't be the first time Evan wrote something that would make his heart ache. When consistently reassured by his eleventh-grade English teacher that only she would see it, he wrote a paper about his dad and all the feelings he had towards him. Allegedly, the teacher had gotten teary-eyed when grading it.)

Jared is sitting with a few ideas in his head now, but he would rather listen to Evan ramble about the importance of going outside.

Though it's understandably dampened, his love for cool, dewy grass under his feet and warm, golden sunlight on his face is still there.

Evan more-so talks about sitting on a front porch for a moment or going for a walk around the neighborhood as opposed to hiking or forest-bathing.

He is without a doubt passionate about this subject, maybe he's been itching for someone to ask him why too much time online isn't good for a person's mental health and why soaking in the sun can be greatly beneficial.

Every few seconds, he looks at Jared to gauge whether he's bored or not, he definitely falls into the latter category.

Jared listens to Evan talk and damnit, the truth hits him. He's still fluttery in the chest around Evan Hansen, still in love with him.

In love with him and all those articulate words in his head that he never lets out. (Until his fluttery-hearted best friend shows up on campus and wants to listen to him talk for hours. Jared was always too cool to admit it, but he thought Evan was quite smart and liked listening to him talk about this, that, and the other subject he was interested in at the time. He thinks that now, still.)

They are only in the library for thirty minutes before Jared shuts his laptop and flips backwards through his notebook, checking the watch that's in front of a few colorful paracord bracelets: one lime green and another, blue and forrest green braided together.

"You know, we have time before work." He starts, Evan looks at him past his own laptop, a little curious. "We can go back to my place for a bit if you want. I've got some camp stories," He leans a little forward, grinning, "that I can't say here."

That intrigues Evan, who looks down at the corner of his laptop to check the time. He has roughly three and a half hours before he has to get to work, plenty of time indeed.

He wants to hear these camp stories, but he also wants to gain answers to the millions of thoughts and questions that are racing around in his head like bumper cars.

So, he begins to pack up once again, telling Jared (maybe a little too eagerly) that he would love to catch up, and Jared drives them to his house.

Jared's bedroom has not changed one bit.

Evan spent many an afternoon practically breathing down Jared's neck to make sure that the emails for the Murphy's were perfect down to the last detail. (Which failed him in the end, but Jared has forgiven him for it all. Memories that are fading little by little.)

Before that, he visited on occasion, when Mrs. Klienman wanted Jared  to hang out with him. They were each other's one-and-only true friend.

Unbeknownst to both of the boys, Ms. Hansen and Mrs. Klienman shared the same sentiment of lonely sons who needed someone their own age to spend time with.

When Jared and Evan were little, time spent in Jared's room was always one adventure or another. They would take turns trying to beat Crash Bandicoot levels on Jared's well-loved Xbox 360. Other times, they would wreck his bedroom for the sake of a grand pillow fort.

Though, during the warm months of Spring and Summer, the boys would be told to, "Get off that game and go play outside!"

In the backyard of the Klienman household was Evan's favorite thing in the entire world: a big climbing tree with a long rope attached to a tire swing.

As much as Jared liked to crack a cruel joke, the irony of a tiny seven-year-old Evan Hansen falling out of that tree, only to fall out of a tree three times its size roughly a decade later has never been brought to light.

As a child, Evan was a brave little boy, climbing higher and higher to focus on the burning sun on his skin as opposed to his tired and stressed mother. His tired and stressed mother who would not explain why his dad hadn't brought that really big truck back for him to pretend to drive.

Jared liked to swing in the tire swing and have Evan push him higher and higher until his stomach flipped and he felt like a superhero flying through the sky.

Though his life wasn't the best during those times and forward, Evan's play-dates with Jared gave him something to look forward to.

He doesn't remember when they stopped happening, though Jared does and he has apologized for it immensely in recent years; facing the truth and stitching up slowly-healing scars.

At the abandonment done by his father, Evan fell into depression and anxiety, which labelled him a "spaz" by the kids in middle and high school. (Elementary school kids didn't see that anything was different about Evan. All they knew was that he took many trips to the nurse for nervous stomach aches and that he was called to the counselor's office weekly for reasons their teachers wouldn't say.)

Jared never knew how to console and comfort Evan during the troubling time of elementary school, which made him feel quite sad.

In an attempt to make up for it, he learned to always be ready with one dumb joke or another to get a laugh, then another, then another, out of Evan.

Though, come middle school, Evan's nervous tics and ever-present anxiety became worse with budding adolescence.

He never got viciously bullied, but the teasing and being called a "worry wart" and a "crybaby" weren't much help to his already damaged self-esteem. (Was I a bad son? Why did Dad leave?)

Jared was picked on by association, besides the typical "four eyes" and "weirdo" comments he'd always known.

His jokes turned into teasing Evan, not to the extent of the other kids at school (he was never that much of an asshole), but to an extent that hurt his feelings.

Jared would always cover it up, "I'm just messing with you, it's a joke!"

Freshman year of high school came and Evan's straight and short hair had started to  grow out over the summer, curling up at the ends and sticking out in one odd place or the other.

Maybe Heidi didn't have the time or money to take Evan to get a back-to-school trim, or maybe Evan didn't want to burden her with it in the first place.

Nevertheless, he was sporting brand new, unruly curls and Jared couldn't even think of a witty comment to make about them when he saw Evan in the hallway on the first day of school.

Evan was self-conscious, of course he was.

"Does it look bad?" He asked Jared while walking towards their shared homeroom.

Jared, dumb and unable to say something for the first time ever, just shook his head and tried to be as cool as a cucumber. (If cucumbers were suddenly warm all over and colored pink.)

"What- No! It doesn't, doesn't look..." He was sputtering and stammering, and Evan was looking more and more panicked, thinking that Jared was trying to cover up the true disaster of the curly coffee-colored mop on top of his head.

Jared was trying to cover something up. He was trying to cover up the stupid, queer thought that struck him.

The first thought of it's kind, a quick arrow stabbing his heart.

He would deny it was Cupid or any God of love for many, many months.

"It doesn't look bad. You look... good, Evan."

Good, that was what he'd said, but not even close to what he'd thought at thirteen years old.

But now, Jared is nineteen years old and so is Evan, both in Jared's bedroom.

The former is sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard and the latter is sinking down into a bean bag chair near the TV stand across the room.

"So," Evan starts, shifting to get himself comfortable in the lumpy chair, "What are these... raunchy camp stories that you couldn't tell me in the library?"

He sounds a tad snarky, but still genuinely intrigued.

Jared didn't think he could love Evan more if he tried; Evan has always more relaxed in private, especially in an empty house where Jared double-checked to make sure the door was locked for him.

Snark is a thing he's heard from him one or two rare times, one or two rare times that left him surprised and some sort of proud, with heart-shaped pupils in his eyes.

He looks across the room at Evan and leans a little forward, as if he's going to tell a grand tale.

The tale is not grand, but Evan leans in with him.

"So, there was this guy in my bunk, right? A little scrawny, but really smart. Like, really smart, he was a poetic genius." Jared stresses.

Evan asks him bluntly,

"I didn't know you were into poets. What about that, that Brazilian guy from last year? Wasn't he trying to join the military after graduating?"

"Eh, I didn't see him this year." He shrugs, moving on, "And, yeah. I'm into poets, writers, wannabe folk artists."

The last archetype throws Evan off, but he's brought back in when Jared scoots to the edge of his bed and thumps his chest with his hand, enunciating his words like the dramatic son-of-a-bitch Evan is so grateful to have in his life once again.

"I like the sensitive guys! I wanna feel, Evan!"

Evan is laughing at the dramatics, but he can't help but think: a scrawny writer. Well, a scrawny poet. Evan is not a poet, but he is an apparent, "genius writer."

The complete opposite of the strong man Jared bunked with the summer before senior year.

Evan re-focuses and instantly goes for the obvious joke, smiling because he knows how dumb it is,

"Let me guess, you felt him?"

Jared laughs, a loud, "Ha!" from his chest,

"You bet I did!"

He goes on for bit, leaving out the nitty-gritty of everything, but the point is made that second base was reached again.

There are a million stories from camp and one involves an array of rock climbing walls, where Mr. Scrawny-Sensitive-Poet said he'd give Jared fifty bucks if he could get to the top of the tallest one.

It explains Jared's strong biceps, he earned his fifty bucks through many failed attempts and trips to the camp nurse.

He flexes those biceps (being dramatic again, posing like a buff, male model in a magazine or a wrestler) and Evan looks at him. He can hear a buffering dial-up tone ringing in his ears.

Evan tells the eventful stories of being a Pottery Barn employee and by eventful, he means mundane to a hilarious level.

The most eventful thing that's happened in the last few months is one family who argued greatly over the couch they should buy for their living room.

What feels like seconds is truly hours, Jared takes a glance at his watch and looks at Evan, telling him.

"I don't want to say it, but I think you gotta get going for work, so do I."

Evan retrieves his phone from his pocket and as disappointing as it is, Jared is right.

"Oh, yeah. You're right." Evan says, pushing himself out of the bean bag chair. "I had a great time, I missed this."

It's a little too honest, coming right out of his heart. He missed hanging out with Jared and he wants to find time to do it more. Though, he can't even try to apologize before Jared nods,

"I did, too."

He has one more thing from camp to show Evan. "Before you go, I wanted to give you this. I know it's kind of lame; I tried to mail it with a letter to you, but the mail got blocked up."

Getting up off the bed, Jared pulls off the blue and forrest green paracord bracelet and hands it to Evan.

They've never been into sentimental gifts, let alone homemade ones. Let alone ones where Evan would've logically been out of sight, out of mind to Jared.

But Evan wasn't, Jared thought of him all summer long and got to second base with a guy who vaguely resembled him, but would never measure up to the real freckle-dusted Evan Hansen.

Evan is a caught off guard, but he's smiling like an idiot, thanking Jared over and over again.

"It's nothing, really, Evan." Jared tells him, smiling himself. He pushes forward, "Do you have classes tomorrow? I could drive you."

Now, Evan smiles for a different reason, but calms it down.

He thinks about Jared climbing a tall rock wall, muscles flexing, and he thinks about wanting to have a million more afternoons like this one.

He quickly pulls up the class that's marked on his phone’s calendar and shows it to Jared.

He then wishes him a good night, and walks out the bedroom door, fiddling with the bracelet as he goes down the street towards his house.

He's a well-organized young man, he walks briskly, but a giddy feeling fills his lonesome heart up.

Jared stands in front of his bed and the words on Evan's digital schedule are all he can think about.

ENG - Introduction to Poetry

He should've kissed Evan right then and there. It would've been abrupt and out of the blue, but Evan has wit.

Either wit or well-timed college scheduling, whatever makes the difference.

Evan makes it home in time to change and catches the bus to work.

After his shift, his mom is home and fast asleep after a tiresome shift of her own.

He nestles himself in bed after pulling off his uniform and checks his messages one last time before turning on his alarm.

Usually, there are no messages, save for a mobile game notification or a calendar reminder, but there is a text from Jared:

good night. see you tomorrow at 9 :)

He sleeps soundly that night, excited for the sun to come up.

Evan tells his mom about seeing Jared yesterday during and after class; he is happy with every word he says, euphorically happy when he shows her the bracelet Jared made him.

Heidi will give him that, he's making friends in college.

More like reuniting with old ones, but a friend is a friend nonetheless.

Jared is right on time at nine o' clock and Evan rides off with him a little while after his mom is out the door.

The semester goes on and they are frequent study-buddies in the library as well as Jared or Evan's houses.

It is a no-brainer as to what Jared writes that first English essay about.

He writes about the importance of good friends, how having good friends and people in a person's live can help them maintain happiness.

He gets an A and Evan is insanely proud of him, reading the final submission and smiling at the anecdotes about himself.

They continue on to other the other papers that need writing as well as their other separate class work.

It hit him at first, but the thought creeps into Evan's mind over time. Over the period of weeks that he spends up in his room or Jared's, getting sidetracked from studying to talk until his tongue is dry and to laugh until his stomach is hurting.

He wears the blue and forrest green bracelet every day without fail and he sometimes cannot help but think about the scrawny poet that Jared had something with.

Evan is a sensitive person, Jared always teased him for it.

But if Jared is into the soft-spoken, sensitive type, then what does that mean for Evan?

Could he- could Jared? No, that's not it!

Is it? (Evan's better sleep schedule is still maintained, but he finds himself staring at the little smiley-face emoticon that is tacked on the end of Jared's good night messages every night, trying to find some meaning in it.)

That's what good writers do, find meaning in small things.

But there are no lines to be read between, a smiley-face is just that, a smiley-face.

It's everything else that Jared does that allows Evan to find meaning.

He listens extremely well to Evan talk about anything, he is more attentive now than ever.

He's nicer all-around, continuing on from graduation.

And that feels good- great. Evan feels giddy as hell the more he is around Jared.

The Winter semester goes past them and the Spring one starts up in early January.

They don't have any classes together, but they'll be damned if they don't make time for each other.

A revelation hits Evan like a sharp arrow to the chest.

He's sitting up in his room with Jared, halfway trying to convince him to get some work done and then they can goof-off, and halfway saying, "Screw it!" so he can hear laughter rumble in Jared's chest.

He realizes that he may have a bit of a staring problem, an issue he never thought to discuss with Dr. Sherman.

Or maybe he just doesn't know how to bring it up.

How is he supposed to bring up the fact that he found Zoe Murphy to be incredibly beautiful, so he stared at her from across the hallway like a creep, hoping but never able to walk over to her and say something?

Or how he thinks that Jared Klienman is incredibly handsome and attentive and funny- fucking hilarious, and he is mildly (extremely) freaking out that he feels something fluttery in his heart for a man.

How does he bring that up?

The answer is that he doesn't.

He keeps his feelings to himself for the most part, until he gets blindsided with sickeningly sweet ideas of Jared that swim around in his subconscious day and night.

He has to tell him, he can't stare at him like a creep forever. (Or stare at those damn biceps or his lips forever, either.)

It has snowed recently and the roads are covered in ice, road-salt is trying to melt it but with a little difficulty.

Though, the sidewalks are good and ice-free.

Evan, with incessant thoughts racing and swimming in his head, makes a stupid decision one frosty Friday night.

A partially illogical one, one that could wait.

But he can't wait anymore.

So, he bundles up, makes use of the "As Needed" label on the Ativan bottle, leaves a quick note on the refrigerator (I went to visit Jared, I'll be back soon! Love, Evan), and goes out for the twenty-five minute walk to Jared's house. (Evan is stupid, he should've reached out during Fall. Working his ass off in school is a good thing, but he should've brought Jared back into his life before now. Maybe this whole falling in love thing could've happened when it wasn't so cold outside.)

Mrs. Klienman's car isn't in the driveway. If Evan remembers correctly, she goes out most Fridays and leaves Jared to his own devices.

He knocks on the front door and it takes a minute before he can hear Jared coming down the stairs.

The door opens and the warm air from inside the house hits him in the face.

"What- Evan, hey. What the hell are you doing here?"

Jared looks confused (completely understandable when your best friend/the adorable-dork-you've-been-trying-to-get-with-for-years-but-to-no-avail shows up at eight-thirty at night) but there is joy present underneath the confusion.

It's like he's in one of those stupid rom-coms his mom likes to watch. Maybe Evan has some Love Actually note cards hidden away in his puffy coat.

Evan looks at Jared for a solid few seconds. It's dorky as hell, but Jared standing in the doorway in his pajamas like he is right now, is an image that Evan likes quite a lot.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." Jared quips, then gets a tad serious. "It's freezing outside, get in here." He somewhat pulls Evan into the house and shuts the door behind him to keep the frigid air out.

"I didn't- I don't mean to show up like this."

"It's fine. You know I don't mind you coming over." Jared says, walking Evan up the stairs toward his bedroom, "I was just playing a game, nothing serious."

Evan shrugs off his coat and beanie, which leaves his hair a little frizzy.

He sets his coat and hat down by the bean bag chair and takes a seat, though he is jittery beyond belief, gently tugging at the paracord bracelet.

Jared sits on the edge of his bed, looking over at Evan in all of his fidgety, frizzy-haired, rosy-cheeked glory.

Good lord, he is extremely gay; that is an accepted fact. Never too cool to proudly be in love with Evan Hansen.

"So," Jared says, "Why have you come to pay me a visit tonight?"

Evan shifts is his seat, the weight of what he's going to say is coming to him now all of a sudden.

He mumbled everything to himself on the walk here, rehearsing and revising the scrambled thoughts in his mind in an attempt to make them coherent.

Jared is looking at him, itching to know what he is going to say, but knowing not to push him. The last thing either of them need is for Evan to be thrown into a panic attack or go running for the bathroom to vomit out his worries.

But, the Ativan helps to calm his nerves. He's already gone through the worst-case scenario: Jared rejects him and never wants to see him again. While that does scare him, Evan thinks of the sensitive poet and how Jared wants to feel.

If Evan can do one thing, it's feel.

"I wanted to- okay... I- come on," He mutters, "come on" under his breath and Jared wholeheartedly has all the time in the world to let him get his thoughts in order.

Evan looks down at his lap for a second, mumbling to himself, then looks back at him.

"So- no. You know how I really, really liked Zoe when we were in high school?" He asks, trying and wanting to get to the point so he can rip this band-aid off.

Jared nods, somewhat begrudgingly, letting the opportunity for a snide comment roll on past him. That is what maturity is, that is what getting out of high school did to him.

It helped him out for the better.

Evan ceases his fiddling with the bracelet and goes for a hangnail on his finger, picking at it and continuing on. "Well," (Rip the band-aid off in one fell swoop) "I feel that way- like that about you."

Jared doesn't know what to do. He feels like that kid during freshman year all over again, looking at Evan with mushy-gushy feelings swelling in his heart.

"Wow." is all he can say at first, then a second time. "Wow. Holy shit. Really?"

Evan nods and his voice is soft, relieved that he said it, but trying to figure out what is going through Jared's mind.

"Yeah. Really."

Jared has always been a hard person to read, that remains true right now.

Evan doesn't know if he should feel guilty or not for saying it; Jared's "Really?" wasn't out of disgust or mockery, it was out of hope.

The hope is unmistakable now, not up for Evan's anxious interpretation.

Jared smiles to himself and a quiet laugh whistles in his nose.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Yes."

"I really, really like you, too."

It is almost instant, Jared sees those words click into Evan's brain and he watches all of his nerves fall away.

Well, there's one tiny nerve left,

"Are you sure?"

That earns Evan a hearty chuckle and Jared tells him to sit with him on the bed.

"Yes! Yes, I am sure. I've really, really liked you for years!"

Jared has wanted to say that for years, Evan feels a little dumb when he asks the obvious question.

"Why, why didn't you tell me before now?"

Jared grins, in love with the most oblivious person on the planet.

"You were steadily making goo-goo eyes at Zoe Murphy since ninth grade, I didn't stand a chance. And, I didn't want to deal with that rejection. I was never going to tell you, truly."

He sighs and rests his hand on Evan's shoulder, a friendly juxtaposition to what he has just revealed. "But, there was no rejection, you confessed first."

Evan, like when he first saw Jared at the top of the Winter semester, has a million questions. He starts with one, the most important one next to the obvious question.

"When did you... I guess... first start feeling all this?"

"Freshman year, when this started to get curly." Jared emphasizes "this" with a gentle flick of a curl by Evan's ear, "I said you looked good, but you didn't just look good."

"What did I look like then?"

"You looked hot, still do."

Jared will say it straight, Evan has always appreciated that, even if his bluntness has been used for worse than for better.  Evan thinks to himself for a moment, looking straight ahead.

He was infatuated, then in love with Zoe, meanwhile Jared was infatuated, then in love with him.

And he couldn't see any of it.

Evan laughs at himself, smiling softly.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry-"

"Don't apologize, you were into someone else at the time. You couldn't have known."

Evan thinks of all the guys Jared has known and gotten to second base with and bragged about whilst calling Evan a virgin (while he, himself still is one).

Above all of them, Jared likes him the most. Has liked him the most for a long, long time.

"What do we do now?" Evan asks, a little unsure. Jared's arm goes over his shoulder and Evan relaxes a little bit.

"What do you want to do? I wouldn't mind a date, maybe first base... or second-"

"What?"

"I'm kidding!" Jared tells him quickly, "Well, only a little bit."

Evan sighs, a relieved "phew!" Jared's arm around his shoulder is making his heart excited enough as it is.

Start out slow, start out simple.

"A date would be nice."

"Are you busy tomorrow?"

Evan doesn't check his phone's calendar. He can sort anything out if he needs to.

"No, no. I'm not busy."

An idea comes to Jared instantaneously, something in him subconsciously pulls Evan a little closer to him. (He has wanted to hug Evan like this forever, but cool guys don't hug, and they definitely don't hug each other as guys who really, really like each other. Screw them, they aren't living!)

Jared's gaming laptop on the desk has gone idle, the clock displayed on it reads 9:04pm.

"Does your mom know your here?"

"Yeah, I left a note." Jared snickers, he has to ask,

"What'd it say? 'Mom, I went to go tell Jared that I'm really gay for him. B-R-B!'."

"No, I just told her that I'm over here to visit you." Evan states directly, but he does know that he'll have to explain this to his mom at some point or another.

Right now, he sets his mind to "another".

It's getting late and he has to head home.

Jared understands and lets Evan go, but not before sending him on his way giddily.

Evan pulls on his coat and beanie and steps halfway out the bedroom door, and Jared leaves him with,

"See you tomorrow, handsome."

A hot, handsome, genius writer.

Evan says goodbye to Jared and makes his way out the door and down the road. (His heart may burst at any second. He blames the cold winds, but he is flushed rosy pink when he arrives home to his still-empty house.)

At around eleven-forty-five, when Jared finally goes to bed, yet Evan is in the bathroom in the middle of the night, a by-now routine good night message is received on Evan's phone:

good night! see you tomorrow!! <3

The date Jared thought of instantly was nothing special, but he took Evan's passionate explanation about spending time outside and put it to use.

While it is still cold, the daytime is much more forgiving than the night.

It's sunny out, which makes the cold less brutal.

Jared takes Evan out for a walk through the park.

Extremely simple, but Evan is grateful for it and more than happy to walk along a frozen pond with him side-by-side.

Eventually, when they manage to walk through the entirety of the park, they go back to Jared's house.

They're adults now and they spent some time outside, Mrs. Klienman can't yell at them to play outside.

So, they sit close together in front of the TV, taking turns at impossible-to-beat boss levels.

Boss levels and fights have always intimidated Evan, but he's full of love which manifests itself in determination to win.

It manifests in Jared's enthusiastic cheering and encouragement.

It takes a little more than ten minutes, but though encouragement and love-struck adrenaline, he beats a hard fight.

Jared can’t help himself, he cheers, “Yes!” And kisses Evan’s cheek when he’s still looking at the pixelated, “Save” marker.

Evan can physically feel his heart float around in his chest, on top of the fucking world.

As the days go on, Evan and Jared are at the happiest anyone has ever seen them.

Heidi sees it, all of her son’s euphoria, and asks Evan about it after he comes home from work.

He’d asked Jared if and when he could tell his mom and he was told to, “Tell her whenever you want to.”

So, he did just that, found time to sit her down and tell her that he’s going out with Jared.

While she wasn’t expecting it in the slightest, Heidi is accepting of it. All that matters to her is that Evan is safe and happy, which he is.

He very much is.

Evan’s anxiety sometimes shows itself as organization and perfectionism, still not wanting to draw much attention to himself or mess anything up.

Which is why he tries to find a way to give himself and Jared a perfect first kiss; waiting for a sunset or picture-perfect day that he learns doesn’t exist.

He learns that what he may view as perfect does not exist.

He learns that because it happens when Jared picks him up for school one day in mid-February.

A few days before Valentine’s Day, where everyone and their mother is going out and depleting the store shelves in a hurry.

There’s a grocery store bag behind the driver’s seat and Evan looks right at it.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.” Jared tells him.

“It doesn’t look like nothing.” Evan tells him, the bag looks full and Jared should’ve put it in the truck. (No, he shouldn’t have. Everything falls into place.)

Jared sighs and looks right at Evan,

“Alright, you caught me. Just wait for a couple days, can you do that?”

Evan is aware that Valentine’s Day is in a couple days and the mere thought that Jared got him something makes his simple heart oh-so happy.

Jared’s heart is oh-so happy as well, because Evan is leaned-in close and kissing him without a second, hesitant thought.

Grinning like the biggest dummy on the planet, Jared just tells him to, “Oh, come on. You know I’ve been waiting for that! How about another one, for good measure?”

On top of the fucking world.

Both dealing with class work and mundane part-time jobs, but on top of the world nonetheless.

Jared is still sarcastic and quick with a joke, but they aren’t cruelly at Evan’s expense.

He doesn’t need to do that anymore, he doesn’t need to be mean to avoid his love for Evan or the scrutiny of middle and high school kids.

Evan was on a path of self-improvement since graduating, a path that continues and intertwines with self-love. (If Jared loves him amongst everyone else he’s ever been with, there must be something really there.)

They’ve grown a lot, improved a lot over time.

Matured and found ways to persevere though the worst of days.

Collectively, they could not be any prouder of each other.

[jesuistrestriste]

♡ You're Such A Loser pt. 2; Art Donaldson x Reader ♡

nsfw (18+) cw: switch(dom)!art donaldson, switch(sub)!reader, reader guiding art through domming, begging, brief choking, slight hate fucking themes, orgasm denial, slight bit of tears/crying (he’s okay), oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, praise, degradation, creampie.

all that frustration from losing his matches has built up in him, and now Art is ready to let it all out. only because you’re letting him, of course.

word count - 2.9k

note : part twoo (part one) !! i hope that those who liked pt. one will like this part just as much :) it’s a lil bit of a switch in dynamic (pun not intended)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆.

He’s diving back into your cunt without hesitation, lapping at the remnants of your orgasm that have spilled and sprayed down your inner thighs. His arms are hooking under your legs so that he can bury his tongue deeper and deeper into you.

You groan deeply, running your fingers through his hair before pulling the locks taut in your fist.

“Yes, baby, just like that.. your mouth always feels so damn good,” you breathe out, moaning at his expert tongue skills.

As you gaze down at him, you can see the way that his eyes are squeezing shut and his brows are turned up in arousal as he licks at your insides. He lets out a pathetic whimper at your words of praise, which shoots a mouthful of vibrations up through your form. Your knees tremble, clamping down on his flushed cheeks, and you use your grip on his hair to guide him gently up to your clit. He takes notice of your cue, and moves his mouth up to suck your sensitive bundle of nerves. You gasp brokenly and toss your head back, before looking down again to see his face.. and god, he is beautiful. His brows are still knitted up, but now his big aquamarine eyes are watery and looking up at you like a lost puppy. He was all yours. Just yours, and he knew it too -- in fact, he loved it.

“That’s it, sweetheart, doing so--mmf!--so well,” you moan out, using your hand to now stroke at the back of his head and give him a bit more physical stimulation. His eyes flutter closed at the feeling of your fingers brushing against his scalp, and out of habit he reaches up with one of his free hands and uses his middle and ring finger to brush against your dripping hole. Immediately, you wince at the contact, and he lets out a drawn out groan that you can tell is an incoherent plea for permission. You nod.

He wastes no time in turning his wrist so that his hand is palm-side up, and then his fingers are gliding into you without any resistance whatsoever. Your body is absolutely starved for him at this point, and you can’t do a thing to hide it. As he feels your insides wrap warmly around his digits, his eyes prick with tears while he continues to mouth at your clit.

He brings his head back, detaching his mouth from your body, and moves to look longingly at the way your fingers are sucking him in every time he pulls them back. Your slick is covering his chin and his lips, which are currently parted in arousal as he huffs and puffs from desperation. He continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, relishing in the way that he can feel you clench and twitch.

“You’re so hot,” he whispers, not breaking eye contact with the point of connection between your body and his. He then decides to bury his two fingers so deep inside of you that they actually completely disappear. Next thing you know, he’s curling his fingers repeatedly in the “come hither” motion while he’s still buried up to the hilt. About thirty seconds of this is all it takes for you to get there.

“SHIT-! Oh my god, Art, don’t fucking stop, don’t stop, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m g’na-”

You manage to moan out a quick warning before your hips are arching into his touch, going completely still for a few moments. Then, wave after wave of your orgasm washes over you, causing your pelvis to spasm rapidly as you babble incoherent phrases of praise to your partner.

Art’s mouth is now completely agape, his eyes lidded, as he takes in the show of your orgasm, not stopping the movements of his fingers. You couldn’t really tell over the sound of your own vocality, but he was letting out tiny whines and whimpers from the way that your body was making his cock leak pathetically in his already-soiled boxers. He could barely hold his second orgasm off.. it was so damn hard.

After you collapse fully on the bed in an attempt to recover in your afterglow, sticky with sweat and panting heavily, you are now able to fully hear Art’s pure and unfiltered anguish. He’s moaning lowly as he glances from your cunt down to his clothed cock, which is jumping over and over in his underwear -- begging for attention. He then moves to pull his wet fingers from inside of your pussy, which allows for a few drops of viscous wetness to spill from your hole. Without hesitation, he lurches forward with his pretty tongue sitting gently on top of his bottom lip so that he can gulp down the taste of your release. He sucks and licks greedily at your hole, letting his eyes flutter closed as he grips his own thighs. He doesn’t want to touch himself yet. After all, you never gave him permission.

“You’re such a good boy, baby.. so needy and hungry for me, aren’t you?”

He nods quickly but shakily, his nose brushing against your clit as his mouth continues to relentlessly engulf your heat.

“You want me to let you cum?” you ask, knowing from his track record that he’s probably already on the edge.

He pulls back, licking at his bottom lip to not waste any of your taste, before he removes his hands from gripping his legs and instead places them to your waist. He digs his fingers into your soft flesh as he looks up at you from his position on the floor.

“Please, please, I’m already there-- just tell me I can and I will! I promise,” he gasps out, drawing out the second half of ‘promise’ to emphasize his sheer closeness. His brows are still turned up as tears start to well in his eyes. He’d cry if you said no, you knew that. The real question was: did you want to keep punishing him tonight? Had he had enough?

“Tell me how bad you want it, love.”

You could stand to be cruel a little bit longer.

He whines, his fingers clenching around the skin of your hips, as his pelvis continues to buck involuntarily.

“I want it so badly- I wanna cum- I’m so close, please please please.. I don’t know if I can stop it,” he moans, the slight friction of his cock against his wet boxers pushing him closer and closer to the point of no return.

“What if I said no?”

“Nooo, god, please don’t.. I’ve already made you cum.. I could prob’ly cum just from you telling me that I can.. can I? Oh shit, please-”

“I’ll tell you what: I’ll let you cum if you can take control for once.” 

He looks at you, confused, before trying to stave off his orgasm by biting down on your thigh as he lets out a broken whimper. You yelp, before stroking his hair, knowing that he was deep in an animalistic state of mind -- he didn’t mean to hurt you, he just was trying so hard to be good.

“Use your words, Art.” 

He releases you from between his teeth, before tears are spilling down his cheeks.

“I,” he sobs, “I can try.. but you know that I’m not like that..”

“I know, baby, I know. I want to teach you. Would you like to try that?”

He nods. He’d do anything to cum at this point.

You use your hands to push yourself farther back onto the bed so that your head is now close to the headboard. Art watches your every move, but stays as still as he can. He still wanted to please you, and didn’t want to do anything without your say-so. This was going to have to change within the next ten minutes.

You pat the bed’s comforter, and he immediately crawls up onto the bed and hovers over your form. His breathing remains uneven as his cheeks continue to flush with the torment of his delayed release. The erection in his boxers is still as stiff as ever, and you eye the way that it visibly jumps with anticipation.

One of your hands reaches up to comfortingly caress his face, and he leans into your touch.

“Breathe, honey, breathe. You’ll get what you want soon.”

He sighs, which almost turns into a moan, but he cuts himself off as you start to give instruction.

“Okay, first I want you to take off my top and bra. Undress me, understand?”

“Yeah,” he responds breathlessly, moving to pull your shirt over your head and unclasp your bra in under a minute. You were now completely naked, and he allowed himself the pleasure of drinking in the sight of your uncovered body. You were so gorgeous, it made his dick twitch.

“Good. Now, take off your boxers and shirt. I wanna see you,” you couldn’t help staying in a dominant headspace for a few seconds more.. it was just so fun to boss him around. He was so quick to follow directions, too.

He unsurprisingly does as he’s told, swiftly removing his gray tee and pulling down his boxers. At the sight of his bare cock, you bite your lower lip and place a hand on the back of his neck to guide him down to meet your mouth. You kiss him deeply, letting your own tongue lick his as he reciprocates with equal ferocity. He’s mashing his lips with yours, moaning into your open mouth when you pull back to switch the angle of your head. You bite down on his bottom lip before sucking it, which causes him to groan deep in his chest. Your hands snake to his lower back and you pull him down in one swift motion so that his body is now pressed flushed to yours as you continue to make out. A few more moments of this go by before Art knows that he has to speak up.. 

“I th-think I’m gonna c-cum,” he stutters, rubbing his hard cock against your lower stomach, “I can’t hold it, I cannn’t-!”

You reach down quickly and grasp his dick, which makes his eyes roll back into his low lids, and then you’re sliding it inside of your tight hole without warning.

“Nnghh-! I’m--fuck!” he sobs out, immediately spilling a thick, warm load inside of you. You let him thrust shallowly into you as he pumps you full of cum.

“Ah hah hah haah-!” he cries as he overstimulates his cock by continuing to fuck himself through his long-awaited orgasm.

As you watch his face with a smile and feel his throbbing dick inside of you, Art suddenly pushes himself up onto his hands so that he’s looking down at you. He’s gasping for more air but his brows are sitting low on his face and he looks weirdly upset.

You reach a hand up to his face, but he grabs your wrist with one hand and shakes his head without breaking eye contact with you.

“Don’t,” he breathes out, before beginning to thrust his spent cock more forcefully inside of you. Was he pissed that you had initially denied him..?

“Wha-”

“Don’t say anything, please,” he cuts you off, “just let me fuck you some more..” 

You close your mouth, feeling a new kind of heat swirl in your gut. There was something about his tone that was new for him.. there was a bit of authority in it. Art hangs his head as he groans, pulling his cock all the way out to the tip before slamming it back into you. The wind feels like it just got knocked completely out of your lungs, and you squirm on the sheets.

“You feel so good.. f-fuck, I’m already hard again,” he moans, a growl beginning to creep up his throat.

A moan escapes your lungs as you let your head fall back into the plush pillow, and then before you can fully comprehend what he’s doing, his hand is over your mouth. His elbow is resting by your neck as his palm covers the lower half of your face and muffles your sounds.

“I said to be quiet,” he says gruffly, now speeding up the movements of his hips. They snap back and forth with a renewed sense of fervor, filling you up with his heavy cock with every thrust inside of you. You moan, although muffled, and you can tell that your stifled sounds were driving him crazy.

“You did a lot of talking tonight, babe, now let me say something--” 

You drool under his hand, your mouth open and panting, as you try to focus on his words,

“I don’t get why you called me a loser when you’re my coach.. my loss is your loss- shit!” 

The tip of his cock hits your cervix as you clench around him, causing him to briefly lose his train of thought. He finds it quicker than you thought he would, though.

“So that means that you’re a loser too, aren’t you?” he spits out with gritted teeth, leaning down close to your face and looking deep into your eyes. You compulsively whimper and buck your hips up to meet his.

“Use your words, baby,” he mocks you from earlier, anger laced potently in his command.

He knows that you can’t talk coherently right now, and it’s not his hand that’s stopping you. He knows damn well that if he removed his hand from your mouth, you’d still be a slurring mess of moans and pleas for more beneath him. His cock was fucking you so well, and it was hitting all of the right places at all of the right times. You weren’t sure you were going to last much longer, and neither was he to be honest..

Before, he was in the mindset of a defeated, washed-up tennis champ, but now he was taking on the same persona that he did when he was in his prime. When he won back-to-back matches. He was a fucking beast.

“Mmmph-! Mm-!” your moans rolled around in your chest and were muffled by Art’s large palm as he continued to fuck mercilessly into you. You felt the cord in your gut being pulled taut.. ready to snap at any moment..

Suddenly, he pulls his hand from your mouth and groans, bringing it up to his mouth as he licks depravedly at your drool left behind on his skin. You whimper at the sight, and he follows it up with a similar vocalization before speaking down to you.

“You taste so good, baby, fuck fuck...” he pants, the movements of his hips becoming sloppier by the second.

he places his wet palm down across the center of your collarbones, and you groan lowly at the feeling, before you take his wrist and manually move his hand up to the base of your throat.

“please,” you whimpered. 

and he readily obliged.

Art squeezes gently at the sides of your throat, stifling the blood flow to your brain and initiating the spread of a pleasant fuzziness throughout your body and head that made your impending orgasm feel that-much-more intense. 

“you like that? you like when i choke you, baby..?” he moans, clearly enjoying the switch in dynamic as much as you were.

you nod immediately, trying to take in more oxygen as his fingers pressed deliberately against your pulse. then, he released you from his grasp like a lion drops a gazelle from its mouth before feasting upon it.

you take a huge, broken breath into your lungs before everything begins to feel like it’s getting too much .. everything feels too good right now.. 

“Honeyimgonna-mffphh!-imgonnacumpleaseohmygod” you couldn’t stop the slurry of nonsensical pleas and whines as you felt your orgasm getting ready to wash over you.

“I’m gonna give it to you so good.. i wanna fill you up.. you’d be nowhere without me, let’s face it.. if i didn’t win any matches we’d have no income.. so i’m not a goddamn loser.. i’m not.. i’m.. i..”

Art was becoming more and more incomprehensible the closer he got, and then he felt everything crash down around him once your orgasm started to rip through you and pulse around him.

“OH GOD! HOLY SH- OH FFFUCK! I’M CUMMING I’M CUMMING!” he shouts, unable to hold anything back as he fills you up again.

You feel the warmth and tingly pressure of his release spread throughout your cunt as you cum on his throbbing cock, your eyes rolling as your head tips back against the bed. You whimper and groan as you take in the feeling of your second orgasm of the night, and relish in the heat and aftermath of your partner’s third one.

After you both come down slightly from your highs, Art collapses in a sticky, sweaty mess on top of you as his chest heaves against yours. You close your eyes, smiling, as your hands move to rub lovingly at his lower back. As his head rests heavily in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent, he slowly pulls his hips back and you whimper as the feeling of emptiness starts to rush through you in the absence of his length.

You could feel his cum oozing down your pussy, and you laughed softly at the sudden realization of the reality of your situation.

“You know,” you huffed, still trying to catch your breath, “i think you just came inside of me again.” 

he laughs.

“i don’t think i could have stopped that from happening..” he smirks, rubbing his soft but sensitive cockhead against the inner part of your right thigh.

“right, right.. all i’m saying is that you better not get me pregnant. you’re already a handful as it is.”

“You love it,” he whispers, picking up his head slightly to bite at your neck.

“Whatever you say, loser.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆.

guys, this took so long to finally finish up and that’s on me lmaoo

writer’s block had me in a firm chokehold n i didn’t like it

i feel like i ended this fic a bit quickly, but i think that can mostly be chalked up to sleep deprivation.

anyways, hope this quenched ur mike faist thirst for the moment, but i have more ideas that i want to write about asap.. so there’s definitely some more hot stuff coming soon hehe

[mymomhatesmyguts]

Budweiser (connor murphy x fem!reader)

Scenario: You're one of Connor's best friends- his only friend, in fact. You snuck through his window as you do every Friday, only to find him drunk and sobbing.

A/N: i wrote this in 2nd person but is 1st person preferred? idk, its my first time writing fanfics on tumblr :)

"Con..." You say, gently reaching out to touch his shoulder, to offer some sense of relief, even though you can tell he's far beyond hugging it out at this point.

"No, just-" He cuts himself off with a drunken hiccup as tears roll down his face. "Just leave me alone." He buries his head in his hands, his back shaking with sobs. You wish you could take him in your arms, kiss his pretty face until he stops crying, but you're just friends. Thats all. Thats all you'll ever be.

"Connor, please? Tell me what's wrong?" You coo, your voice soft enough to mirror the voice of a mother speaking to her child. He just shakes his head, flinching slightly as you rub his back gently. "Connor..." You coax, finally getting him to look up at you with his reddened, tear filled eyes.

"You don't love me." He says with a sniffle before bursting into sobs once more.

"I... what? Of course I love you." You say, almost incredulous. And it's true, of course it's true. You love him more than a dog loves his master, crave him more than a flower craves the sun, need him as much as a starving man needs a warm meal. But how can you tell your best friend that when he's drunk and sobbing on his creaky mattress at one in the morning?

"No!" He says, suddenly raising his voice as he stands up abruptly. "No, no, no, you don't love me the way I love you!" The tears roll of his cheeks like raindrops in a thunderstorm. He hiccups dryly, slurring his speech as he continues. "I... I want to kiss you and I want... I want you to be my girlfriend-"

"Connor, you're drunk." You cut him off, almost numb with shock.

"But that doesn't mean my feelings arent real!" He says, shouting now, without any regard for his sleeping sister and parents.

"Con..." Your voice is soft again, kind, the honey-sweet voice he's come to crave every night. "Believe me. If you were sober I would... I would kiss you right now, but you're drunk. I don't want this to be a drunken regret, and I don't want to take advantage of you." You say sternly, but not unkindly. Connor sinks to the bed, smiling goofily now.

"Yeah?" He says, grinning ear-to-ear like a fool. He giggles, then hiccups again, which makes you laugh and then you're both laughing and trying to shush each other at the same time, for fear of awaking Zoe, or worse- Cynthia and Larry.

"Yeah." You whisper, smiling at his dumb grin as you stand, dusting off your jeans. "Text me in the morning if you still feel the same when you're sober, yeah?"

"M'kay. G'night.." He slurs, falling backwards onto his bed.

"Sweet dreams," You whisper as you slide open the window, but as you turn back to check on him one last time, he's already snoring into his tear-stained pillow.

A/N: AAAHHHH i'm scared this is really bad but whatever ig?? i looooove connor sm i think we should actually get married. feedback in comments pls? 🥺🥺

[coolgrl111]

💇‍♂️i miss your crazy hair.

connor murphy x reader

"You should never cut your hair," you had whispered one lazy afternoon, fingers combing through the wild tangle of his long, unruly locks. The sun had filtered through the window, casting a golden glow over the two of you as you lay together, lost in a world that felt like it would last forever. "I love it too much. It's crazy and beautiful, just like you."

He had smiled that slow, easy smile of his, the one that made you feel like you were the only person in the world. "I’ll never cut it," he’d promised, voice soft, filled with a warmth that melted the edges of your heart. "Because I love you."

But promises, like relationships, fade. And now, standing in the hallway, you see him again after all these months, and it feels like the world is falling out from under you. His hair, once a wild, beautiful mess, is gone—cut short, disheveled, like a shadow of the man he used to be. Like a shadow of the love you thought you had.

It’s strange how something as simple as a haircut could feel like the final blow, the last shard of what you once shared being torn away. You’d always thought the breakup itself was the worst of it—the slow unraveling of something that had once seemed unbreakable. But this... this is different. This is seeing, in the starkest way possible, that the man you loved no longer exists in the same form. That he’s shed the last part of himself that still held traces of you.

You try to swallow the lump forming in your throat, but it stays there, heavy and unmoving, just like the hurt in your chest. You hadn’t expected to see him today. You hadn’t prepared yourself for the way his presence would still make your pulse quicken, or how the sight of him would stir up the grief you thought you’d buried long ago.

Your eyes follow him as he walks down the hall, oblivious to your gaze, to the silent devastation you’re cradling inside. His steps are hurried, distracted, and in that moment, it’s clear—he’s still hurting as well. But he’s trying desperately to move on.

And it hurts more than you ever thought it would. Because deep down, you’d held onto that promise—his hair, the little part of him that had once been tied to you. You’d imagined, in some naive part of your mind, that maybe, just maybe, he’d kept it because some part of him still cared, still remembered. But now, standing in this cold, empty hallway, you realize how foolish you’ve been.

He turns a corner, disappearing from sight, and you’re left standing there, your heart breaking all over again, this time in a quieter, more painful way. There are no more promises to cling to, no more pieces of him to hold onto.

It’s all gone now.

You lean against the wall, exhaling shakily, trying to remind yourself that this is what you wanted—to move on, to let go. But the truth is, you’ve been holding on to ghosts. And now, even the ghosts are slipping away.

It’s time to face it: the person you loved is no longer there, and maybe, neither are you.

[biggestcringefailure]

yaoi so doomed they can’t exist in the same linear timescape without the universe crumbling and caving in on itself

[yvette-tal]

“I feel kinda…empty.”

Connor opens his eyes again, turning on his side to look at you in the darkness of his room, barely able to make out your figure among his covers but she can clearly see your eyes so that’s what he looks at.

“yeah? what’s that like?” He mumbled as he scoots closer to hear you, assuming you don’t want to raise your voice much more than the whisper you started with.

“well..it just feels like nothing I do matters..”

Connor nods quietly, not wanting to interrupt since it’s the first time you’re telling him what you’ve been so ‘gloomy’ about the past few weeks, but he relates to you so far.

“Like..no matter what I do different or what I could do different—the people I talk to, wherever I happen to go that day, whatever I do in my free time before work, what I do after work…I feel empty. Like absolutely nothing would change is I were to just…”

You trail off and look away with a frustrated sigh, blocking Connor’s view of your eyes. “I’m a boring person.” You mumble into his pillow, flinching slightly when Connor lays his head on your shoulder.

“I don’t think you are.” He mumbled “all of my best memories involve you…I’d be upset if you just disappeared.” He added, leaning against you more and smiling slightly when he catches a glimpse of you rolling your eyes. “What? You don’t believe me?”

“No, Connor. I don’t.” You mutter and smack his hand away when he reaches up to squish your face in his hand “What could I have possibly done to make such a great change in your life?” You ask sarcastically, rolling your eyes again as Connor lays his head on the same pillow as you, this time laying on his back and looking up at the ceiling.

“Well, I probably would have killed myself by now if we never became friends.” He says quietly, looking over at you when you elbow him “I’m serious…”

“Yeah whatever…”

“I wouldn’t be having a sleepover with anyone right now if we hadn’t met, I wouldn’t have anyone to talk to, or share a sketchbook with…” Connor continued, only going quiet at the small sound of annoyance you let out.

“You could do that with anyone though..” I mumble and look the other way.

“but that point is that I did it with you. you’re what matters, idiot.” Connor mumbles as he pulls you close, an arm tight around your neck as he nuzzled your faces together, laughing quietly as you squirm in his hold to try to push him away.

“stupid, get off of me!” You whisper shout

“fuck you!” Connor whisper shouts back as he tightens his hold.

(can you tell I adore Connor Murphy lmao)

[thegoodwitchevie]

I love fan fiction

[hashtagboykisser]

CONNOR MURPHY !!

“MAKE ME HAPPY !!”

prompt: y/n is over for dinner meeting the murphy’s, y/n happened to say something that made connor smile, why would his family be so shocked about that?

requested: imaginationlast

warnings: out of character connor/none(?)

connor murphy x gender neutral!reader

“so y/n, what exactly do you plan to do after you and connor graduate?” larry murphy asked from across the dinner table.

“well, sir, quite frankly i’m not sure yet.” you said, giving a small awkward laugh at the end, quite embarrassed.

“it’s okay, y/n, sweetie, connor doesn’t know what he wants to do yet either.” cynthia smiled, it’s like she knows my every move, you thought. lary gave a small shake of his head, showing slight disappointment, as it was obvious zoe knew what she wanted to do.

“well, connor will figure it out, he’s just cool like that. he can do almost anything just, on the fly like that.” you said, giving the two parents a small smile.

connor looks up from his food, for the first time since you and connor had left his bedroom, more specifically he looks up at you. “thank you, n/n.” he says, smiling at you, but going back to his food.

“what?” zoe gasped, with a confused look on her face.

“exactly what i’m thinking, connor are you high-?” lary began, but was interrupted by their guest.

“i’m sorry what, i’m a little confused, heh.” you said giving a small, bashful, smile.

“oh my god, i knew it! i knew it would come!” cynthia said, hugging you from across the table.

“what would come?” you asked, even more confused.

“the day connor would smile.” zoe said bluntly.

you have a confused look, unsure of what they meant.

“as you may know, connor struggles, a lot. we don’t even remember the last time connor ever smiled. he’s been so alone for so many years, we’re just…glad he has you.” cynthia smiled.

you were so confused, what do they mean connor doesn’t smile? he always smiles around you? i mean, you knew he struggled but you never knew this badly? and speaking of, when was the last time his family saw him smile? you began to wonder if-

“i don’t get why it’s a big deal.” connor said, rolling his eyes at his mother, who was just previously rambling and on the brink of tears.

“y/n makes me happy, they always have, and always will.” connor shrugged, getting up to put his plate away. his family - and you, more flabbergasted then before.

heyooo!! hope y’all enjoyed this one!! sorry it was so short lol, i couldn’t think of all that much for this.

if there’s anything offensive/inaccurate in my writings message me asap!

reblogs and likes are appreciated!!

-hermy <3

[kazoosandfannypacks]

Only Us (sabezra drabble)

requested by @supernova-skywalker

The words tumbled out of Ezra's lips faster than Sabine could get a word in edgewise. He'd finally gotten the courage to tell her how he felt about her— about them.

"...and I know I'm not the greatest guy ever, but..."

Sabine put a finger on his lips to shut him up.

"I don't need you to sell me on reasons to want you, Ezra," she smiled, "I already do."

"Really?" Ezra asked, "why?"

"I like you for you," Sabine took his hand, "and nothing else."

Ezra smiled, "that's all that I've wanted for longer than you could possibly know."

(a/n and tags under the cut)

a/n: ahahhhhhhh I hope you like this one as much as I do!!! I actually have a few different ideas with a sabezra dear evan hansen au floating around in my head, so this is a delight to write! also, you have no idea how hard it is to write ezra bridger and still get the 100 word count of a by-the-books drabble. this boy does not shut up; i had to abridge poor bridger so much 😂

taglist: @laughingphoenixleader  @accidental-spice  @kanerallels  @piraterefrigerator  @jedi-nurse  @dootchster  @lucasbridger  @redroverrider  @light-umbra @commander-tech @jedimandalorian {if you’d like to be added to or removed from my Sabezra taglist, let me know!}

📀 Spotify Wrapped Drabble Roulette

[hallucinateships]

"Sun-kissed"

"　connor　and　evan　are　walking　around　silently　within　a　forest,　trees　towering　over　the　two　of　them.　eventually　connor　has　the　idea　to　carve　their　initials　into　a　tree　that　he　spotted　previously,　which　leads　to　feelings　being　discovered.　"

uploaded　on　:　august　28th,　2024

tags　:　evan　hansen/connor　murphy,　evan　hansen　&　connor　murphy,　evan　hansen,　connor　murphy,　soft　angst,　romantic　fluff,　fluff,　forests,　warm　and　fuzzy　feelings,　hidden　feelings,　gay　panic,　gay　evan　hansen,　gay　connor　murphy,　connor　murphy　lives,　soft　connor　murphy,　evan　hansen　has　a　crush　on　connor　murphy

[dodgemaxson]

⛧Taking Request⛧

I'll be taking fanfic requests!

Here are the characters I do!

⛧Any Member from the band Ghost!

⛧Deadpool-Deadpool

⛧Wolverine- Wolverine

⛧Mike Faist-Actor

⛧Connor Murphy-Dear Evan Hansen

⛧Dodge Mason- Panic

⛧Riff Lortan- Westside Story

⛧Ben- I Can I Will And I Did

⛧Ryan Reynolds-Actor

⛧I will take requests of other characters as well as long as I know the character!

[pyechmushy]

What musical do you think Scott would like/be obsessed with?

[tatteredtoby]

you x Simon Highschool Theater au.

(DEAR EVAN HANSEN FANS RISE)

The director banned dating in the cast, because it could cause tension and the show would go to shit.

But just look at those eyes. Those beautiful Root Brew (321107) colored eyes that turn pitch black when he looks at you.

The blond hair the color of Saturns Rings.

He’s built like a fucking quarterback, yet he’s in theater. You’d think he’d be bullied for it, but he’s 6’4 and beefy. Everyone’s scared of that fucker.

But as soon as he’s in the auditorium, or backstage, or on stage with his cast members, he just melts into this giddy guy with so much damn husband potential.

That only continues when you are cast as Evan and he’s cast as Connor, where the choreographer most likely sees the chemistry, makes you both hold hands in the show, and him kiss your cheek during “Sincerely, Me.”

———————————————————————————This is based off my own experience omggggggmgmgmgm I’m projecting this is gonna be so fun to write