#deh x reader

Also idk if this prompt works as a SMAU/texts thing but if so please make it one because I ADORE your SMAUs so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so much!!!!

HIIII ily ily ily i’m gonna try to do both for you!! HOPE U LIKE IT😘😘😘😘

———

the first time you see him, he’s slouched against the lockers like the building itself is holding him up. hair falling into his face, nails bitten down, hoodie sleeves frayed enough to look chewed. you’re new, but not new enough to miss the way people’s gazes slide right over him, like he’s part of the wallpaper.

when you catch him looking back at you—really looking, like your presence poked some corner of his mind awake, you grin. not because you’re trying to be polite, or because you want something. just because it’s how your body fills the silence: with too-big energy that sometimes comes off as awkward or uncomfortable. it’s what you’ve trained yourself to do.

he doesn’t smile back. not even close. if anything, his scowl deepens, as though your brightness aimed itself at him on purpose.

later, at lunch, you end up at the same table by accident. the unclaimed one, tucked near the vending machines where the fluorescent light flickers like a dying star. you haven’t really made any friends yet. you peel open your can of iced coffee and say, “this school feels like a hospital waiting room.”

his head tilts, slow, suspicious. “what?”

“sterile,” you explain. “like any second they’ll call my name and tell me i’ve got six months left to live. i mean, i know that’s dramatic, but—”

he interrupts with a huff, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “jesus. you’re fucking weird.”

“so are you,” you say, and sip your coffee.

his brow pulls together. “i didn’t—” he stops, mutters something into the collar of his hoodie, and stabs his fork into the mystery meat on his tray.

you lean an elbow on the table, chin in your hand. “so you don’t have friends?”

he doesn’t look up. “do you?”

you shrug. “not here. not yet. but… i mean, generally? i can make them.”

his mouth quirks, not quite a smile, more like disbelief tugging at one corner. “you make friends. like, on purpose?”

a chuckle and comfortable silence follows.

you glance across the cafeteria, where a cluster of girls in cheer uniforms are gathered, ponytails swishing like they all practiced being magnetic since birth. they’re laughing about something, heads tipped together, bracelets jangling. you don’t mean to stare, but you do.

connor notices. of course he does.

“you want to sit with them or something?” he asks, and it sounds more like a challenge than a question.

“nah,” you say quickly, turning back to him. “they already have each other. and i don’t… fit. i never do.”

for a second he doesn’t say anything, just rolls his fork between his fingers like it’s the only thing tethering him here. but something flickers in his expression—too quick to pin down, like a shadow moving under water.

“yeah,” he mutters finally. “i get that.”

you tilt your head. “you do?”

his laugh is dry, bitter around the edges. “please. you think i’m sitting over here by choice?” he gestures vaguely at the empty seats around him. “if i could do the whole… normal friend thing, don’t you think i would?”

the words hang there. they’re harsher than he means them to be, maybe, but they vibrate with something raw, the kind of truth that leaves your throat sore.

you smile, soft and crooked. “guess we’re both failing at being normal.”

connor huffs, almost amused. he hesitates, then adds, voice low, “but… it’d be nice to feel normal. sometimes.”

the silence stretches long enough that you start to feel guilty, like you peeled something raw open and then left him sitting in it.

so you clear your throat. “okay, uh… pivot. what do you even do? like, outside of school. hobbies, whatever.”

he frowns like you just asked him to recite the periodic table. “hobbies?”

“yeah. you know, the things that keep you alive.” you smile like you’re joking, but you mean it.

he picks at the sleeve of his hoodie, mutters, “i don’t know. music, i guess. bands.”

“what kind?”

“grunge. alternative. like, nirvana, smashing pumpkins. some newer stuff too.”

you perk up. “oh my god, yes. okay, taste. but i also love the classics. like… bowie. the cure. talking heads. i geek out, just a little.”

his eyes flick up, searching. “you… actually listen to that stuff?”

“yeah,” you say, grinning. “what, do i look like a top-40s person?”

he shrugs, defensive. “everyone does.”

“well, not me,” you declare, leaning back. “i’ve seen Star Wars: A New Hope like twelve times. i can quote most of it. do you know how many kids at my old school thought that was social suicide?”

for a split second, you swear his lips twitch. “star wars? seriously?”

“yes, seriously. don’t tell me you’ve never swung a broom around pretending it’s a lightsaber.”

he almost chokes on his drink, trying not to laugh. “shut up.”

“that’s not a denial.”

“jesus,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it.

the conversation falters for a second—he isn’t used to talking this long, and you can feel him retreating a little, shrinking back into himself. but then you nudge the table with your foot, just enough to make the cans rattle, and say, “well, congratulations. you’re my first friend here.”

he stares at you like you’ve just handed him something dangerous, breakable.

“you’re serious?”

he says it like he’s testing the words for cracks, like maybe you’ll take them back, laugh, admit it was just a joke.

but you nod, steady. “yeah. i don’t… i don’t really do half-serious.”

he blinks at you, and it’s almost alarming, the way his expression shifts. connor murphy, who’s perfected the art of glowering, suddenly looks—unmoored. like you’ve handed him something no one else thought he needed.

“i’ve never…” he starts, then cuts himself off. he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated, eyes darting to the side. “forget it.”

you lean in a little, softer now. “never what?”

he swallows, shoulders tense, and it takes a second before he forces the words out. “never had someone just… say that. like, out loud. that they wanna be my friend.” his laugh is brittle, jagged. “most people don’t even wanna sit near me.”

your chest aches. not pity, exactly, but a kind of recognition—the shared ache of being on the wrong side of belonging.

“well,” you say quietly, “they’re missing out.”

he looks at you, trying to figure out if you’re lying. but you don’t flinch or glance away and neither does he.

———

it feels strange, being invited somewhere. not detention, not family dinner, not the kind of forced social interaction teachers try to orchestrate—an actual invitation. your invitation. you’d asked him offhand earlier in the week if he wanted to come over, like it wasn’t a big deal, like you weren’t sure if he’d say yes. connor had shrugged, tried to sound indifferent, but the truth is he’d thought about it every day since.

when connor tells his mom where he’s going, she almost drops the dish towel.

“you’re—going to a friend’s house?” cynthia repeats, too brightly, like she’s afraid she misheard.

connor grimaces. “jesus, don’t say it like that.”

“like what?”

“like it’s a miracle.”

but larry, passing through with a beer in hand, claps him on the shoulder hard enough to make him flinch. “that’s great, son. really great. a girl, huh?”

connor mutters something indistinct, ears going pink.

zoe, curled up on the couch with her phone, doesn’t even look up. “wow. one whole friend. historic.”

“shut up,” connor snaps, grabbing his backpack.

“i mean it,” zoe says flatly. “you’re both total losers.”

cynthia shoots her a sharp look. “zoe—”

“what? i’m not wrong.” she flicks her eyes up at connor finally, a smirk tugging at her mouth. “whatever. have fun with your girlfriend.”

connor groans, storms out before he has to hear any more.

your neighborhood isn’t as polished as his. the lawns are uneven, the paint on some porches peeling; cars sit with dents unrepaired, bikes left rusting in driveways. it’s not bad, just lived-in—messy in a way his parents would cluck their tongues at. and somehow, that makes him like it more.

then you appear, grinning like the sight of him is some kind of win. “you made it.”

“yeah,” he mutters, shifting his weight. “told you i would.”

inside, your room isn’t what he expected. sure, there’s the mess—clothes in piles, notebooks stacked precariously—but it’s alive. posters on the wall (some bands he knows, some he doesn’t), a lightsaber propped in the corner like it’s part of the décor. the space radiates the same offbeat energy you do.

“you can, uh—sit wherever.” you kick a heap of hoodies off the chair.

connor hovers, then sits, stiff like the furniture might bite him.

there’s an awkward beat, the kind that still slips between you sometimes, even now. you clear your throat. “so, do you wanna—like, music? movies? i have Empire Strikes Back on dvd.”

his mouth twitches, reluctant. “you weren’t kidding about the star wars thing, huh?”

“never,” you grin, already reaching for the case.

and he sits there, awkward, unsure, but with the faintest edge of something warming in his chest: maybe this is what it feels like, having a friend.

he takes it all in. the mismatched throw pillows, the half-empty mug of tea on your desk, the way your posters lean just slightly crooked against the wall. the faint smell of incense and old paper. the quiet chatter of traffic outside. it’s not much, but it’s something different—something warm.

he sits there, still awkward, still guarded, but the edges of his scowl soften. he watches you set up the movie, fumbling with the dvd player like it’s an ancient relic, and can’t help but notice how easily you move in your space.

“you don’t have to make it weird,” you say before the credits even roll.

“who said it was weird?” he mutters, not looking at you.

but you smile anyway. it’s small, gentle, the kind of smile that doesn’t need a punchline.

and when Empire Strikes Back begins—opening crawl rolling across the screen—there’s something in him that loosens. not a lot, just a thread, but enough.

you’re sprawled on the floor with a blanket around your shoulders, popcorn bowl balanced in your lap. he’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, leaning against the headboard, hoodie sleeves pulled down to his knuckles.

you point at the screen when the music swells. “this part’s iconic.”

he smirks, but it’s quiet, thoughtful. “it’s… not bad.”

you grin wider. “not bad? that’s the least enthusiastic endorsement of the greatest movie ever.”

he shrugs, eyes fixed on the screen. “i don’t know. maybe i just never thought about it like this before.”

and that’s the thing—he’s not just watching a movie. he’s watching it with you. laughing at your commentary, catching your little excited gasps when something happens, letting himself be pulled into the story in a way he hasn’t allowed in years.

somewhere in the quiet of your room, with the credits rolling and the lights low, he realizes he’s making memories he never knew he needed. shared memories with a friend. someone who wants to share space with him, who enjoys his company.

the movie ends. the lights are still low, the credits rolling across the screen. you stretch, blanket falling to the floor, and he shifts his weight like he’s not sure whether to stand or stay.

“you can crash here if you want,” you offer, half-joking, half-serious.

he shakes his head, brushing at his hoodie. “nah. i should go.”

there’s an awkward pause. neither of you are sure how to fill it.

he stands slowly, grabbing his bag. for a moment he just looks at you—not with the guarded scowl he wears at school, but something softer, unreadable.

“thanks,” he says finally. low, quiet. “for… inviting me. for the movie. for not making it weird.”

you grin. “that’s literally my specialty.”

he smirks faintly. then, without another word, he heads toward the door.

when he walks home, the air feels different. heavier, but not in a bad way. it’s like there’s a thread tied somewhere inside him now—something that wasn’t there before tonight.

connor catches himself thinking of you in moments he doesn’t expect—while walking home, when the cafeteria gets too loud, when the sky looks too pale. a thread in the background of his brain, pulling him toward something he can’t name.

he’s out one afternoon when he notices it: a cringey star wars cat poster in a store. it’s ridiculous—a cat wearing a stormtrooper helmet, captioned “meow the force be with you”—and he laughs quietly to himself. not because it’s good, but because it’s so you.

he thinks about it later that night, how you’d probably laugh the laugh so hard. he feels it in his chest. he wants to see it. he wants to see you laugh about it.

his family is noticing too. he’s unaware that he’s deeply infatuated by you.

“you’ve been talking about that y/n girl a lot,” larry laughs.

connor rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide the corner of his mouth twitching. “yeah. she’s… whatever. nice. weird.”

zoe snorts from across the table. “sounds like more than that.”

“shut up,” connor says, but it’s not sharp. it’s tired, distracted.

cynthia studies him quietly. “you light up. she’s a good friend, yeah?”

he shrugs, swallowing his food. “yeah. she is. shes, uh, funny. like the other day—she brought in a bunch of weird old notebooks, said she wanted to make a zine. so she did. stayed up all night cutting and gluing. then she brought it in at lunch and just handed it to me.” he smirks faintly. “said it was for me. it’s stupid. but… i liked it.”

larry nods. “so you like her a lot?”

“yeah,” connor says, quick. “she’s cool. she gets it.”

zoe scoffs. “you’ve been saying that every night this week.”

“i haven’t,” he mutters, but he’s smiling now, thinking of another thing she did last weekend. how she dragged him to the park even though it was raining, just so she could take pictures of the puddles. how she laughed when his hoodie got soaked and he complained.

“reminds me of the time—” he pauses. “uh, nevermind.”

but the words slip out anyway. “reminds me of the time she made me watch Empire Strikes Back on a loop because she said it was ‘essential cinematic history.’”

zoe snorts again, cynthia smiles softly, and larry just chuckles, not knowing what to make of it.

and connor, halfway through his mashed potatoes, just nods to himself. because it feels… normal. this thing. talking about you like that. thinking about you like that.

he just thinks it’s what friendship is supposed to be.

he doesn’t know that a similar pattern is forming in your life.

the thought of him creeps in more than it should. at lunch, in class, when you’re scrolling through your phone before bed. even when you try not to think about him, you do.

later, you’re sitting in your bedroom with your two closest friends, sprawled on the floor with clothes and notebooks scattered around—mess you don’t normally care to clean. they’re talking about everything except him—until one of them notices.

“you talk about him a lot,” one says softly, flipping through your notebook.

you shrug, avoiding their eyes. “i guess.”

“like, a lot a lot,” the other adds, grinning.

you smirk, shaking your head. “it’s not like that.”

but even as you say it, you know it’s wrong. it is like that. you think about the way he looks when he laughs, even when it’s small and half-hidden. the way he doesn’t try to hide when he’s uncomfortable. the way he’ll pause mid-sentence to look at you.

you remember last weekend, when he stayed over. how he sat on your bed with his knees pulled up, hoodie sleeves covering his hands, watching you talk about something that made you laugh until you cried. how he just listened without interrupting. how he remembered the little things you said afterwards.

you tell your friends softly, almost to yourself, “he’s… different. he’s not like anyone else i’ve met. and it’s weird because i don’t even know when it happened, but i think about him all the time now.”

your friends exchange looks, smirking. “sounds like you’re in love.”

you roll your eyes, laughing, but there’s a pause in your chest you can’t shake. you don’t know what this is either. you just know you want more of him.

———

you’re lying on the couch in his room, your head in his lap, tangled in his hoodie sleeve. he’s sitting cross-legged, one hand absentmindedly stroking your hair, the other holding a controller, but he isn’t really paying attention to the game.

the quiet hum of the TV and the faint smell of his hoodie fill the air. it’s comfortable. easy. like nothing is expected except this moment.

“you know,” he says suddenly, voice low and soft, “i’m… really glad we’re friends.”

you lift your head just enough to look at him. “just friends?”

he glances at you, smiling in a way that’s warm and slow. “yeah. best friends. i’m so thankful for you.”

you laugh softly, shifting a little so you can look at him better. “you’re such a dork.”

“yeah, but i’m your dork,” he says without hesitation, fingers still threading through your hair. there’s something in his tone—something steady and sincere—that makes your chest tighten, but you shrug it off.

“best friends, huh?” you tease. “so you’re friend-zoning me hard right now?”

he chuckles, shakes his head. “nooo. best friends are different. better. you know that.”

you narrow your eyes at him, smirking. “you sure about that?”

“positive.” his smile widens, like he means it. “i’m thankful for you every day. you get me, and—i don’t know—it just feels right. friends like this don’t happen a lot. and i’m lucky i found you.”

you stare at him for a second, half-smiling, half-annoyed because you think he’s friend-zoned you so bad right now you could cry. but there’s something in the way he keeps stroking your hair, in the softness of his voice, that makes you wonder.

and he just keeps looking down at you, grinning like a fool who doesn’t realise he’s saying something he can’t take back.

you sigh, resting your head back in his lap, and say, softly, “yeah… best friends.”

you lie there for a while, his fingers still tangled softly in your hair. the TV hums on in the background, but your brain isn’t listening.

you keep replaying the conversation. best friends. best friends. best friends. is that all this is?

does he love me?

you bite your lip. no. he wouldn’t say it like that if he did. would he?

he sounded so sure. so… content. like this was everything he wanted. but then—what if that’s just him being oblivious? what if he doesn’t even know what he’s saying?

this is it, isn’t it? this is where it stops. where i’m just his best friend.

you shift slightly, suddenly aware of the warmth of his lap beneath your head. the way his hoodie smells. the gentle pressure of his hand in your hair. the faint smell of weed that always wafts through his room.

it makes your chest tighten. makes your stomach turn in a way you don’t quite recognise.

but you push the thought away. you’ve known him long enough to know better than to make things complicated.

except now it’s complicated.

and you feel… weird. tense. like the air between you has changed.

he hasn’t looked at you in a while, just keeps brushing your hair without saying anything. and you wonder if he even realises what he’s doing.

or maybe—he does. you stay quiet. because whatever this is, you’re not ready to say it out loud.

without warning, as usual, connor says bold things. “my parents think we’re dating.”

you blink up at him. “what?”

“my mom—cynthia. she said it. twice. dad too. zoe, most of all. they’ve been saying it all week.” his voice is casual, but there’s something in the way he says it that makes your chest tighten.

you sit up enough to look at him. “mine too.”

his head jerks up. “what?”

“my parents, my other friends,” you say quickly, cheeks warming. “they tease me about you all the time. they’ve been saying we’re dating for weeks.”

he freezes, the tips of his ears going pink. “what. that’s… they’re wrong.”

“they are, aren’t they?” you say softly, smirking just a little.

he laughs awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “i mean… we hang out a lot. maybe they have a point.”

you stare at him, tilting your head. “so… what do you think?”

he swallows, glancing away. “i don’t know. i’ve never… dated anyone before. but maybe we’d be good at it? i mean… with you, it feels easy.”

you blink at him, suddenly aware of your own heartbeat. “easy, huh?”

“yeah,” he says softly, still brushing his fingers through your hair. “and safe. i don’t know. maybe that’s what matters.”

you shift, sitting up slightly so you can look him in the eyes. “so… you’re saying you’d be curious about it?”

he nods slowly, smiling faintly. “curious. i’ve never dated before. i don’t think you’ve never dated before. maybe it’s something worth finding out.”

your chest twists in a way you can’t hide, and your voice comes out quiet. “yeah… maybe.”

“i really wanna kiss you.” the words slip out quiet, sudden, but somehow heavier than either of you expected.

you freeze. your head still resting in his lap, your fingers clutching at his hoodie without thinking. you blink up at him, half-expecting him to be joking. but his expression is serious—eyes fixed on yours, jaw tense, fingers still brushing through your hair.

“what?” you manage, voice soft, unsure if you heard him right.

“i said,” he hesitates, “i really wanna kiss you.”

your stomach twists, a rush of heat crawling up your neck. “you mean… like… now?”

he shrugs, looking awkward in that way that somehow makes him look more human than anyone else you know. “maybe. i don’t know. i’ve never… done this before.”

you sit up a little more, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “neither have i.”

he swallows hard, eyes darting away for a second before meeting yours again. “but… i think i want to. kiss you, that is.”

your heart is beating faster now, and you can’t stop yourself from smiling a little, though there’s nervous tension in your shoulders. “are you sure?”

“no,” he admits, a small grin tugging at his lips. “but… i’m sure about you.”

you stare at him, breath catching, the air between you charged. he shifts a little closer, like he’s testing the space between you. your heart pounds louder in your ears, and something in you says yes.

and he’s looking at you like he’s about to, like he’s been holding back for a long time.

he swallows, still looking at you, his fingers in your hair loosening. his hoodie feels softer somehow under your touch, and the air between you feels thick.

you shift just slightly, closing the distance without meaning to. his breath catches. his eyes dart to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“are you sure?” he whispers.

you nod, your voice small. “yeah.”

he exhales like he’s been holding it in forever. his hand moves, hesitant, to cup your cheek. his thumb brushes along your skin, and you feel a spark.

he leans in slowly, almost testing you. your eyes flutter closed. his breath mixes with yours.

and then his lips are there—soft, uncertain. barely pressing. like he’s afraid to break something fragile.

you don’t pull away. you let him try again. this time there’s more pressure, more confidence, but still that shy uncertainty.

he pulls back a little, forehead resting against yours, breathing hard. “i—uh… i don’t even know if i did it right.”

you smile softly, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “you did fine.”

he laughs quietly, embarrassed, like it’s both a relief and a new kind of terror. “i guess i just… never kissed anyone before.”

“me neither,” you admit, smiling.

“can i… try again?” he asks quietly, almost shy, like he’s afraid of your answer.

you bite your lip, heart hammering. “yeah.”

his grin is small but nervous, like a kid sneaking into trouble for the first time. he leans in again, slower this time, giving you the chance to meet him halfway. your lips press against his with more certainty.

it’s different now—less hesitant, softer but more daring. his hand moves to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, pulling you closer. you let out a small sigh, curling your own fingers into his hoodie, holding him there.

his lips move against yours with more confidence now, still careful, but there’s something hungry in it—something like he’s making up for lost time.

you respond the same way, daring to deepen it, letting your own hand slide to rest against his chest. his breath hitches softly against yours.

when you pull away just slightly, foreheads resting together, he’s smiling shyly but there’s something triumphant in his eyes. “okay,” he says quietly, voice breathy, “that was… better.”

“one more time?” he asks, voice quieter now but with a playful giggle that makes your chest flutter.

you grin, leaning closer. “yeah.”

he laughs softly, like he’s nervously daring himself, and then he’s leaning in again. this time it’s different—more urgent, more certain. his lips press against yours harder, deeper.

you respond immediately, matching him, letting your own hands slide up to rest against his neck, tangling in his hair. he sighs softly into the kiss, like it’s both new and inevitable.

and then—he’s pulling you closer. suddenly, his knees shift, and your whole body is draped against him as he slides you into his lap without breaking the kiss. his hoodie bunches under you, his arms wrapping around you tight.

you feel him shiver slightly against you, his body tense in a way that’s not quite nervousness—more like wonder. his hand moves to the small of your back, holding you steady while his other fingers braid themselves in your hair again.

there’s a trembling in him you didn’t expect. when he pulls back for air, his forehead rests against yours, breath warm and uneven.

“shit,” he murmurs softly, voice low, almost to himself. “i… i don’t know how to do this.”

you smile against him, your own breath shaky. “me neither.”

he smiles against you, though it’s nervous and small, and his thumb brushes along your cheek like he’s memorising every line of your face. “then… maybe we figure it out together?”

you nod against him, breath hitching, and he laughs quietly—half laugh, half sigh—before kissing you again.

this time it’s slower, deeper, more deliberate. his hands slide from your back to your hips, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

you shift against him instinctively, letting yourself press closer, the sound of your breathing and his mixing in the quiet of his room.

he leans down a little, whispering against your lips, “are you sure?”

you pull back just enough to look at him, your breath warm and shaky. “yeah.”

he swallows hard, lips brushing yours again, and you feel him shift beneath you—closer, more desperate. the tremble in his hands grows, the way he holds you changes, and you know it’s not just the kiss anymore.

it’s something more. something they’re both on the edge of, without saying it.

he leans down slowly, breath warm against your skin, his lips brushing softly over your neck. you shiver, a quiet gasp slipping out before you even realise it.

his hand moves gently, guiding, careful, as though he’s navigating something fragile. there’s a pause, a hesitation in the air that makes your chest tighten.

your breath catches again, louder this time, and you feel the weight of him—his warmth, his closeness—pressing against you.

the world narrows to just the two of you. his voice, low and shaky, murmurs something you can’t quite make out.

you can’t think, can’t breathe properly, caught between wanting more and being completely overwhelmed.

and then—

he hits the remote by accident, and the sudden blare of the star wars theme cuts through the quiet.

you both jump, hearts pounding, and he freezes, looking like he’s just realised how close you are. his hand lingers in the air for a second before he drops it awkwardly to his side.

you blink up at him, trying not to laugh, and instead let out a breathless giggle. “oh my god,” you whisper, covering your mouth, “you scared me.”

he lets out a nervous laugh, cheeks pink, eyes avoiding yours for just a moment before he looks back at you. “sorry,” he murmurs, still catching his breath. “i… didn’t mean to.”

you smile softly, brushing a hand over your own lips. “it’s fine.”

he shifts slightly, still holding you close, and mutters shyly, “guess the universe didn’t want us to go all the way just yet.”

you laugh quietly, resting your head back against his chest. “maybe not.”

the theme hums in the background, the soundtrack to a moment neither of you will ever forget. a new chapter in their lives.

I was lying in bed and then i got this idea and it sounded really cute so i made it a reality asjdfbasjh im having a brainrot

Reader is gender neutral and its romance

Pairing: Jared Kleinman x Gn!Reader

Fandom: Dear Evan Hansen

Warnings: none

A/n: I love him so much

When you’re on the phone he moans obnoxiously

Steals your food

Sets random alarms on your phone at like, 4am

Talks you into pranking Evan with him

Leaves out condoms around you (you know well that they are all expired and no more than a prop-)

Puts on movies like “Human Centipede” at sleepovers

Plays All-Star and Airplanes obnoxiously loud when he gives you a ride

Plays Happy Birthday on a kazoo for you

Drives with you to get food at 3am

Definitely showed you two girls one cup with no warning, especially if you’re more of an innocent person

Like I know this is not okay in the least, but Jared isn't perfect, he's not always the best person

Fake-spoils movies you want to watch

Plays with settings on your phone to make your life harder

If you’re a fanfiction writer - as soon as he gets ahold of your works he can and will pretend to read them out loud in public, just to give you a heart attack

Gives you those obnoxious Facebook t-shirts every chance he gets

And most importantly

Mean Girls

Janis Sarkisian:

The New Kid

This Time It Will Take

This Time It Will Take from Janis’s POV

Meeting the Parents

Now That’s a Party

Dating Janis headcanons

Cady Heron:

Not the Girl You Are Part 1  Part 2

Cady’s Halloween Party

Stupid With Love

Regina George:

I Don’t Care How You Feel

Fear Me, Love Me

But It’s All Show

Gretchen Wieners:

Gretchen x Regina’s sister reader headcanons (collab with @firedav2k18)

Though We Both Know One Day

Aaron Samuels:

Aaron x Regina’s sister reader headcanons

Pure Intentions

Aaron Samuels takes care of the reader after having wisdom teeth removed headcanons

Dear Evan Hansen

Zoe Murphy:

»christian c. murphy | hcs.

warnings: none

req? yes // no

notes: HELLO HI HI IM SO SORRY THAT IM JUST NOW SEEING THIS!!!! I haven’t wrote for Connor Murphy in such a long time, but I do have an old draft of headcanons that I meant to post for part two!! I finished it last night at like 12am so it’s probably not my best work, but this ask rekindled my love for mr hot topic. I have some other drafts that I’ll hopefully post in the future tho!!!!! :))) xx Ro. 🕊

- so you kinda knew who Connor was

- you sat near him in art class and he seemed harmless enough

- yeah, you'd heard rumors, but you didn't usually listen to them

- doesn't mean you weren't wary of him

- anyway you usually went to the 9:30 mass

- because you were in the choir

- (if you don't sing, you can be the pianoman or you could do one of the readings idk)

- (whatever floats your boat, my friend B).)

- but the head of the parish activities (go with it) wanted you to do a solo at the 8:00 mass

- and you agreed

- so anyway you show up

- and it's going great so far

- and it's time for your solo !! (or reading)

- if you sing/read, you go on the alter

- and you do your bit

- and that's when you noticed Connor Murphy near the back of the hall

- Connor ??? Murphy ???

- what in whoville is he doing here

- and afterwards you go up to him and ask where his family is

- it's clear he doesn't want to be there with you

- but man if you didn't get to the bottom of why he was there

- he tells you that his parents were out in the car and he had to leave

- and he does

- however, you didn't recall seeing his parents in the building

- so you immediately know he's lying

- you see him in school throughout the week but don't really mention it, or even talk to him for that matter

- and you're figuring that it was mainly a one time thing

- but you go to your regular mass the next weekend

- and you'll never guess who was there !!!

- it was Connor

- (spoilers: he was trying to avoid you, and he thought he was being slick by going to the next mass)

- (double spoilers: he wasn't being slick)

- he actually thought you were attractive (because you are), but thought that you thought he was creepy and weird n shit

- which you don't

- so anyway at the end of mass, you come up to him and try to start a conversation (again)

- you called him out on his lie about his parents being out in the car waiting for him

- and he was like "o shit she’s just becoming more attractive"

- by the time you're done chewing him out you're like "anyway want to smoke a blunt out back? I know a place lol"

- and he's like "oh just because I present myself as dark and brooding means I smoke weed?"

- "well don't you?"

- "... yes"

- you end up taking him to your smoke spot (if u don't smoke, then you just took him out back to talk about stuff idk I just wanted to write that interaction)

- and that was the start of a beautiful friendship

- or relationship (;

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

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

(I used gender neutral pronouns bc why not)

It had been a very long two months. 

Chris, the conniving asshole had been around all the time. He was your best friend, and went from coming over nearly every day after school, to having you call last minute to cancel plans because Chris was in a mood again. 

This time he knew Chris and his weird looks and judgements were out somewhere, so he decided to come visit.

He continued to your house, but stopped outside the door. He heard something that sounded painfully like crying coming from inside.

“(Y/N)?”

He called.

“Are you okay?”

When he didn’t get a response, he took the spare key from under the flower pot and unlocked the door. He felt the tiniest bit guilty for barging in uninvited, but he stuffed that away. You might need his help, and that took priority.

He walked quickly down the hall to your room, and opened the door. 

You were sitting on your bed, your wastepaper basket overflowing with tissues. Tears were pouring down your cheeks, and your eyes were puffy and red.

“Connor.”

You sniffled. He was next to you in seconds.

“What happened?”

You let out a fresh wail. He put a tentative arm around you.

“C-Chris w-w-was ch-cheating on m-me!”

You sobbed. Connor’s grip tightened around you. 

“Do we know that for sure?”

He asked, rage barely concealed in his tone. You tossed him your phone. Open on it was a text from (F/N), showing Chris kissing some girl at a party.

He got up.

“Do you want me to go to the party? I will beat the shit out of that asshole, that absolute bag of shit-”

You shook your head quickly. He slumped.

“You aren’t seriously staying with him.”

You shook your head again. 

“R-right now I’m trying to figure o-out what comes next.”

You hiccupped. 

“And the first p-p-part of that is going to be breaking up with his ass.”

You took your phone back from Connor, and went to Chris in your contacts. Connor sat back down next to you. He couldn’t lie: he was excited to see how this would turn out.

You put the phone to your ear.

“Put it on speaker.”

He whispered. You nodded. After an irritatingly long pause, he picked up.

“Hello?”

Chris said. You swallowed hard, and steadied your voice.

“Hey! It’s (Y/N).”

Connor looked at you. You grinned at him. 

“Oh. OH. Hey (Y/N)!”

Chris said, a little bit too perkily. You would have known something was going on, even if you hadn’t been confronted with proof.

“I just wanted to let you know that you can come around to my house later tonight, after whoever’s party you’re at right now, and pick up your stuff.”

Chris paused.

“What?”

“It’ll be boxed up outside, and if you don’t take it and leave right away, I will set it on fire. Clear?”

You continued, ignoring his question.

“(Y/N), what the fuck is going on?”

He demanded. Connor couldn’t help himself.

“They’re breaking up with you, dumbass!”

“Who the fuck is that? Are you cheating on me?”

Chris said, sounding far too outraged for your taste. Any composure you may have regained disappeared. 

“That’s Connor. And for the record, I think it’s pretty rich of you to assume that I’M the one cheating, you cocky son of a whore.”

You snapped. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Chris lied. You laughed mirthlessly. 

“Bullshit. I have a picture of you sucking some bitch’s face off at the party you’re at right now.”

Chris went silent for a moment. Connor imagined his smug face on the other end of the line, knowing he’d got caught. It took whatever self restraint he had left not to laugh.

“(Y/N),baby, listen. I’m really sorry. I had been seeing Mackenzie since before we started dating, and then I kind of just.....forgot to stop seeing her.”

You swallowed again, and Connor saw your eyes beginning to fill with tears.

“Well then go have fun with Mackenzie!”

You choked out, before hanging up.

Connor side hugged you.

“It’s gonna be okay. You deserved better anyways.”

You wiped your eyes.

“I know it’s gonna be okay for us, but that idiot seems to have forgotten that I still have all his shit.”

Connor liked the way you said ‘us’. It sounded like the times before Chris, when it was just the two of you, facing whatever else had to happen. When Larry pissed him off, or when someone made fun of you at school, you had each other’s backs. 

You stood up. 

“Connor, I think there are some boxes in the kitchen. Would you mind grabbing them for me?”

He nodded, and left the room. You exited the room too, and followed him to the kitchen. 

He found the boxes with minimal difficulty, and was about to return to your room, before he noticed you struggling to hold the stack of newspaper, glue, several bottles of nail polish, two cartons of eggs, enough glitter to fill a bathtub, whipped cream, silly string, and what looked like cheese whip.

“Need some help?”

He asked. 

“Yes.”

He took the eggs and cheese whip, and the two of you went back to your room.

The both of you put your newly found objects of exacting revenge down.

You collected Chris’s belongings from around the room, before dumping them unceremoniously in a pile, between you and Connor.

“What are we doing?”

Connor asked. You smiled.

“Boxing up his stuff, of course.”

You took his hoodie out of the pile, covered it in glue, then shoved it into the bottom of one of the boxes, before dumping a little a lot of glitter on it, then topping it off with a cracked egg, adding the shell. Connor grinned at you.

“Chaos. Finally something I’m good at.”

As he grabbed object after object from the pile, he snuck glances at you. Your tears were long gone, and were now replaced with a sort of glow. You seemed happy, which made his heart do happy emotes.

After all of the items were boxed up, and the eggs were all gone, you and Connor high fived. 

Connor was about to close his box up, but you waved his hands off. You took the remainder of the tools of disaster, and put half of them onto the top of it, putting the other halves onto your box.

Cheese was starting to ooze out of the top of the box, so the two of you did the only thing you could think of. You gift wrapped the boxes.

As the two of you carried your boxes to the parking lot, Connor couldn’t help laughing. You turned to him.

“What?”

He continued to laugh.

“Imagine his face when he opens the boxes!”

You smiled.

“Well, maybe he’ll learn a valuable lesson.”

You swung an arm around Connor.

“Don’t mess with the harbingers of doom.”

He grinned back at you.