promise [connor m. x reader] pt.2
because i think this is a fitting end to this story. actual notes at the very end of this post, after the fic.
warnings: general swearing. this is a part 2 to a fic on @pacman-tattoo though.
12:23 AM connie: you still awake?
12:26 AM connie: babe.
12:35 AM connie: i’ll be home soon, ok?
12:36 AM connie: traffic is weirdly fucking awful rn and i wish you were here
12:37 AM [y/n]: sorry, i’m here. i was almost asleep.
12:38 AM connie: sorry
12:39 AM [y/n]: make it up to me <3
12:39 AM connie: i will
With a quiet hum, you left your phone back on the nightstand where it had been charging up until the vibrations against wood had pulled you out of your state of near-slumber. Connor rarely worked late, but sometimes he was roped into cleaning more than just the bar itself. It was temporary, he told you over and over. Eventually, he’d get his stupid book of stupid poetry (his words, never yours) and maybe he could go from there. Write more books, make things work, and one day he’d be staying at home and writing poetry while you continued to be the breadwinner once you were out of school for good (your words, occasionally his). Sure, working in an office when you weren’t swamped with classes and making pretty okay money in the meantime hadn’t been your plan originally, but... things happen. Life changed. Connor was a constant for you, though. True to the promise he made to you almost six years ago at eighteen, he never disappeared again. Not the way that he had used to. Sure, there were fights, and he would leave you alone in the living room while he shut himself up in the bedroom and dealt with the flow of emotions that rammed through him, but things worked out. On the worst nights, he’d come back out to find you asleep on the couch, and he’d end up waking you up and the two of you would fix things. He opened up to you, slowly and surely, and things worked. It was hard, certainly, but... the two of you made it work.
And now you were lying in bed in the little apartment that you shared, waiting for him to come home from bartending (Connor Murphy, working in customer service? You never could fully believe it, but he managed) and to climb into bed next to you, and maybe the two of you would talk until you fell asleep.
The sound of jingling keys from the living room caught your attention almost half an hour later, followed by the slamming of a door, and then heavy footsteps. Before you could call out to him, Connor came in through the door, fighting his way out of his shoes, his jacket, his jeans, and soon enough he threw himself directly into the space next to you. For a moment, he was hardened by whatever bullshit he’d faced during the day, but one look at you was enough to soften his gaze.
You sat up, reaching out to brush his hair from his face. “Long day?”
“The fucking worst.”
Despite the aggravation in his voice, you chuckled. “You wanna talk about it?”
He shook his head, hopping back up. “It’s stupid shit,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.” But he paused before he could move away, dipping forward to press a kiss against your lips. “It’s fine,” he said again. “I promise.”
As he walked away, you merely watched as he began to strip out of his clothing before changing into a faded band t-shirt that often was used by one of you as a sleeping shirt. You admired him for a moment. Six years ago, he was... thinner. Bonier. Ever since things had shifted between the two of you, he’d put on a bit of weight (enough to become less of a bean-pole and more... okay) and he generally seemed brighter, if you were honest. Maybe that was what getting out the Murphy house did for him. He’d cut his hair, although it still stayed long enough to hang in his face if he wasn’t careful. As much as you missed the long locks, you were happy. He’d begun taking care of himself. He had his off days, and you knew that, but he seemed to genuinely be trying for you, and he was trying for himself, too.
“You like the show?”
You couldn’t help but snort. “Maybe I do,” you reached toward him, doing grabby hands. “C’mere,” you whined quietly. “I wanna cuddle.”
He scoffed at the notion, but climbed into bed next to you a moment later nonetheless. Instead of folded into your arms, he pulled you closer, wrapping himself securely around you, cocooning you in his warmth. The faint smell of his cologne still stuck to him, and you happily buried your face in his neck before pressing a soft kiss against his skin.
“Sometimes,” his voice vibrated in his chest, and although you went to move, he kept his hold on you. So you relaxed into him, and he continued, “I think about when we got together.”
“Mmhm?”
“I was dealing with a lot,” he said, lowering his voice. “Fuck, you know how many problems I had, and...” He paused for a moment, nuzzling his face into your hair just for a second. “And I’m glad I got help.” He corrected himself barely a second later, “I’m getting help.” When you didn’t respond, he continued on, “I’m glad it’s working.”
“I am, too,” you admitted against his skin, and he hummed in acknowledgement. “I’m glad you’re here.”
He ran a hand up and down your back, and the motion soothed you slightly. “I was scared I was depending on you entirely,” he shut his eyes. “I thought that if you weren’t here, I couldn’t be happy. But... I got better,” he said. “I’m better. I have... friends,” he said after a moment of hesitation. “I’m writing. I’m not fucking paranoid all the time. But...” He drew away from you, hands reaching up to cup your face, smushing your face slightly. “I do have you. I’m glad you stayed.”
“Someone’s sappy tonight,” you pulled a hand away. “I’m glad you stayed, too.”
“Sometimes I think I don’t deserve you,” he said, and the air grew tense for a moment. He... wasn’t being sappy, he was being honest. “But, I think... I think now I’ve learned that even with my bullshit, I... I think I deserve good things, sometimes.”
“You do,” you reached up to trail a thumb along the apple of his cheek. “Just because you fucked up and got angry at people and dealt with a lot doesn’t mean you’re not worth loving.”
He chuckled, and he said your name gently. “No wonder you’re trying to become a therapist.”
You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his own for a moment. “I wanna help people,” you said. “I wanna help teenagers like you who needed it. I didn’t give up on you then, and I don’t want to give up on my future patients.”
“Even if you’re not what they need?”
“Especially if I’m not what they need,” you said. “I’ll find them someone else. Just because I can’t help them wouldn’t mean that I can’t help them find someone who can.”
There was softness in his eyes as he kissed you gently. No more scent of cigarettes and the taste of smoke (he’d given that up long ago, just so he could have longer with you), but he still held the same warmth he did the first time you kissed. “I love you.”
So you settled into his arms after giving him one last kiss. “I love you, too, Connor.”
-
So... I’d like to take a moment to talk, since, uh, it feels right to.
I started writing musical reader inserts back in 2017, shortly after my 17th birthday, and the first one I wrote was a Connor Murphy fic titled “Promise.” Which... is why I feel that this is a fitting ending for my writing. I don’t remember the last fic I wrote for this blog, but I never felt completely satisfied in saying “I’m done writing reader fics for musicals” since... nothing felt like an ending.
Of course, I’ll still sorta be lingering around this blog if anyone wants to DM me or send in an ask, but I’m not gonna write anymore. I sorta stopped once I got to college since I didn’t exactly have the time to do it as often anymore (and I sorta lost interest in writing for musicals, actually, since I do write elsewhere sometimes), but... that’s beside the point.
A... lot has happened since I posted that first fic. I dated someone for the first time, ended things with them, and then I fucked up majorly with some things that happened afterward. I’m still atoning for it, and maybe I never will fully do so, but it’s one of my deepest regrets. Of course, I’ve... learned I’m not the only person at fault in the situation (more like I was manipulated, but I’m not going to deny my own part there), but I think coming to the realization that I wasn’t alone there... helped. I lost a few friends, and I kept everyone else for the most part. For a really, really long time, I always wondered why. I had fucked up so majorly, I couldn’t comprehend why my friends stayed with me.
And... It’s because we love each other. I fucked up, sure, but... they knew who I was as a person. These people didn’t abandon me because they saw me for who I am. I explained what happened, I showed anger and frustration and melancholy for everything that I (and the other person at fault) had done, and... they weren’t going to cast me out in my hour of need. I had made the group chat we all met in, and I tried to take an interest in everyone as best as I could. I became a different person when I was with my ex, and... and I never want to be that person ever again. I was petty, and spiteful, and when I look at who I became, I realize that I’d been changed for the worst. I like to think I’ve gotten better, and maybe that’s because of the stupid fucking trauma making me realize my place.
But... I love my friends. I love them so, so much. I don’t think I’d still be here if it weren’t for them. It’s been a pretty wild ride, and I’ve written so much for these fandoms (although admittedly not in recent years) but... I’m proud of what I have done. I love writing so, so much, and it’s always going to be a part of who I am, no matter what route I end up taking. While I can look back on some of my writing and laugh because it’s cringe-y and clumsy and I’ve definitely improved, it’s still something I did.
Even if this post doesn’t get a single note, I’m... still proud of what I’ve done and how far I’ve come, and I thank anyone reading this for coming with me on this journey. Please, take care of yourselves. Be kind. It’s okay to have bad days: even flowers need a little rain to grow.
But most importantly: love yourself and love the people that want you to be better.
Thanks, gamers. Feel free to hit me up anytime.
~ Minerva “Minni” @mango-juiiice
