Hi 🥰 I can't get over all the small and big things Conrad has been doing for Belly in season 3. Could I ask for a Conrad x reader fic based on that where Conrad just helps reader a lot without reader having to ask for it (preferably involving moving into a new apartment and maybe not having a van to move all the big furniture, can be something else though, I know it's pretty specific 😅)
Thank you in advance ❤️
THE FIRST KEY
conrad x reader
WARNINGS: none 😛
You and Conrad move into your first apartment together, but when you overwork yourself trying to help, he steps in to take care of you.
The apartment key was cold in your palm when you turned it in the lock for the first time.
The door swung open, and you stepped inside to golden lights and bare walls. It smelled faintly like paint and the faint, dusty scent of wood floors that hadn’t been lived on in a while.
Our apartment, you thought, still so crazy to you.
Behind you, Conrad’s voice came in from the hallway. “You’re not carrying anything without me.”
You turned, grinning at him. “I’m perfectly capable.”
“Not the point,” he said, brushing past you with the box marked Fragile. His hoodie sleeves were already pushed up, hair messy from the wind, like he’d been preparing for this all week.
You trailed after him. “You’ve done enough already. You literally paid for half this place—”
“Correction,” he interrupted, setting the box down with a soft thud, “I paid for the deposit and some furniture. You pay for other things. That’s how relationships work.”
You rolled your eyes. “Still doesn’t mean you have to do all the heavy lifting.”
“I’m not doing all of it. Just anything over twenty pounds.” He smirked. “Which, in case you haven’t noticed, is most of your stuff.”
Hours passed in a haze of boxes, stairs, and the occasional playful argument about where something should go.
By mid-afternoon, Conrad wiped his hands on his shirt and said, “We should take a break.”
“I’m fine,” you insisted, bending down to grab another box.
He reached over, taking it from you with ease. “Break,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “I’ll go grab food. What do you want?”
You hesitated. “Anything’s fine.”
He gave you a look like he didn’t believe you but nodded anyway. “Stay put. I’ll be back in like an hour.”
The second the door clicked shut behind him, you set your jaw.
You had a plan — get as much done as possible so he wouldn’t have to when he got back.
Box after box made its way up those three flights. The couch cushions, your clothes, all the kitchenware you could carry. Your arms ached, sweat prickled at your temples, and your stomach rumbled, but you ignored it.
When the last box from the car was finally inside, you leaned against the wall, chest heaving, and glanced at the clock. He’d be back any second.
The door opened, and there he was, a paper bag in one hand, keys in the other. He froze mid-step, scanning the room — and then you.
His jaw tightened. “You didn’t.”
You straightened, trying for innocence. “I just… wanted to make things easier for you.”
He set the bag down on the counter with a soft thud. “You carried all of this? Alone?”
You lifted one shoulder. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Wasn’t that—” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair. “Have you eaten since breakfast?”
You hesitated. “…No.”
That was it — his expression shifted from annoyed to something softer but far more dangerous. “Babe.”
You tried for a laugh. “I wasn’t hungry—”
“Not the point.” He crossed the room in, gently but firmly guiding you toward the couch. “Sit. Now.”
“Con—”
“Sit,” he repeated, and there was no room for argument.
You sank down, watching as he unpacked the food. He handed you a water bottle first. “Drink.” Then your sandwich, still warm from the shop. “Eat all of it.”
“You’re being dramatic,” you said around your first bite.
He sat beside you, one arm draped across the back of the couch, eyes still scanning you like he was checking for injuries. “I’m being reasonable. You don’t run yourself into the ground just because I paid for some stuff. We’re in this together. That means I take care of you too.”
Your chest ached in that warm, stupid way he always managed to pull out of you. “You really hate letting me do things for you, huh?”
“That’s not true,” he said, smirking just a little now. “I love it when you do things for me. I just love you more.”
And before you could answer, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your temple — warm, sure, and entirely Conrad.
I’m so sorry this took forever to answer I’ve just been very busy with school and building my new vanity
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summary: Conrad reaches his breaking point after a call with his dad about his mom’s estate, the weight having to be the strong one and do everything falls apart. You remind him he doesn’t always have to be the strong one.
Conrad had been distant all day, a little quieter than usual, but you didn’t press him. You knew by now that Conrad’s silences were layered — sometimes they meant nothing, sometimes they meant everything. Still, when you heard his voice down the hall, low and sharp, something in your chest told you to listen.
“I can’t—please, just stop,” he muttered into the phone, his tone fraying at the edges. Then silence.
When you walked into his room a minute later, his phone was facedown on the bed. Conrad sat on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, elbows braced on his knees. He didn’t look at you, just ran both hands over his face like he could scrub away whatever had just happened.
“Conrad?” your voice was careful, soft.
He let out a bitter laugh, the kind that wasn’t really a laugh at all. “It’s my dad,” he muttered. “He wants me to deal with lawyers, with paperwork—everything about Mom’s estate. Like I’m supposed to be the one keeping it all together. Like I’m—” His voice caught hard, breaking mid-sentence. He stopped, shook his head, and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I can’t do this anymore. I don’t know how to do this anymore.”
Your chest ached. Conrad had always been the strong one, the one everyone leaned on, but no one ever gave him anything back or asked how he felt.
You crossed the room, sitting beside him on the bed. “That’s not fair,” you whispered. “He shouldn’t put all of that on you.”
Conrad laughed again, short and sharp. “That’s nothing new.” His shoulders shook slightly as he dragged in a ragged breath. “If I don’t handle it, everything falls apart. And then it’s my fault.”
“Hey,” you murmured, sliding your hand over his wrist. “Look at me.”
For a moment, he wouldn’t. His jaw was tight, his throat working like he was fighting to keep it together. But when he finally lowered his hands, his eyes were red, lashes wet, and it nearly broke you.
You reached up and cupped his face. “You don’t have to do it all alone,” you whispered.
That was all it took. He broke down, and suddenly he was folding into you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, arms wrapping around you so tight it almost hurt. His breath was unsteady, trembling.
You held him without hesitation, one arm around his waist, the other threading gently through his hair. “Shh, I’ve got you,” you murmured. “You don’t have to be strong with me.”
For a long time, Conrad just clung to you, his shoulders shaking as silent tears fell. You kissed the side of his head, rocking him slightly like you could ease the weight off his chest.
When his breathing finally began to slow, you pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were glassy, cheeks damp, hair falling into his face. Vulnerable. Beautiful.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t you apologize,” you cut in gently. “You’re allowed to break down, Conrad. You’re human. You don’t have to carry everything all the time.”
His throat bobbed, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned into your touch when you brushed his hair back.
“Come on,” you said softly. “Let’s get you some water, okay?”
You went away just long enough to grab a glass from the kitchen. When you came back, he was still sitting there, shoulders slumped, eyes distant. You nudged the cup into his hands, and he took a few small sips before setting it down with a quiet thank you.
Then you tugged him gently until he lay back on the bed, his head in your lap. His sweatshirt was soft under your fingertips as you traced slow, absentminded patterns along his arm. With your free hand, you brushed his hair back from his forehead, letting your nails graze lightly against his scalp.
His eyes fluttered shut almost instantly, exhaustion pulling at him now that the floodgates had opened.
“You’re safe,” you whispered, your voice barely above the sound of the waves outside. “I’ve got you. Always.”
Conrad’s breathing evened out, slower, steadier. His hand, warm and heavy, found yours and laced your fingers together loosely, even in sleep.
You stayed like that all night, watching over him, making sure that for once, Conrad Fisher didn’t have to hold the weight of the world. You would hold him instead.
request: conrad finds out reader is far better than belly for conrad and conrad is genuinely happy and actually forgot about belly. (maybe add a part where the reader and conrad is having a moment idk) and maybe add conrad's pov?
You were standing in front of the mirror, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and Conrad couldn’t stop looking at you. Seriously, the way your lips curved into that little smile, it was like he was seeing you for the first time all over again, and somehow he would never get over it.
“Hey,” I said, leaning against the doorframe.
You turned, cheeks blushing when you realized I’d been staring. “You’re staring,” you said, trying to act annoyed but that little smile gave you away.
“Yeah, guilty,” I admitted, grinning. “But can you blame me? You look perfect.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” I shrugged, walking closer. “But I mean it. You’re everything I didn’t even know I needed.”
You opened your mouth like you wanted to say something, then just reached for my hand instead
“I just… I don’t want anyone to ruin tonight,” you said quietly. “Drama, you know?”
I shook my head, thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Not gonna happen. Tonight’s ours. You and me. Everyone else is just there.”
You smiled softly at me, and I felt that familiar pride tighten in my chest.
When we stepped into the living room, the party was going. Laughter, chatter, all that. I barely noticed it. All I saw was you, leaning into me while we got our drinks, scanning the room, and smiling when you caught me staring like you were the only person there.
I watched you talk to my family. You were better than anyone I’d ever known. Patient when Belly had been sharp. Kind when she’d been distant. Real where everything before had been… messy.
I reached across the table, brushing my fingers against yours. You looked up at me, and in that instant, I didn’t care about anyone else.
And then you laughed at something Laurel said.
It hit me. Hard. You were everything. Everything I didn’t even know I wanted, everything I didn’t know I’d been waiting for.
And then it hit me even harder. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d thought about her. Belly. She just… didn’t matter. Not anymore.
I brushed my thumb over your hand again, and it hit me. You’re better than anyone I’ve ever known. Far better than her.
“You’re perfect,” I murmured under my breath. Not just how you looked, but your laugh, the way you moved, the way everything finally just… made sense.
I leaned closer, still holding your hand, and whispered, “I’m so happy. Really happy.”
You squeezed my hand back, eyes soft, and I knew you felt it too. This quiet certainty between us? This wasn’t just a moment. This was everything.
And in that instant, he understood that you're not just better than her.
You’re the one.
With you, there’s nothing to regret. Just everything to feel. Only happiness.
felt like writing cause its been a minute but I think I got worse at it and completely forgot how Conrads character was because im back in my rafe/drew phase
summary: Conrad comes down with a fever and tries to tough it out, but you refuse to let him suffer alone and take care of him
Conrad never admitted when he was sick.
Usually, he’d brush off a cough or a headache with a muttered “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” But when you found him bundled up in bed in the middle of the afternoon, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy, you knew there was no denying it.
“Conrad,” you whispered as you sat at the edge of the bed, brushing the hair from his damp forehead. “You’ve got a fever.”
“I’m fine,” he rasped, curling tighter into the blankets. His voice was hoarse, nose red, but he still tried for his usual stubborn front.
“Mmhm,” you hummed knowingly. “Fine people don’t look like they’ve just run a marathon in their sleep.”
He groaned. “Don’t make fun of me. I’m dying.”
You smiled softly. “You’ve just got the flu. But don’t worry—I’m gonna take care of you.”
His lashes lifted, and beneath the fever haze was something vulnerable, almost boyish. “You’ll stay?”
“Always,” you promised, kissing his temple.
Downstairs, you warmed up some chicken soup, with a tray with crackers, water, and cold medicine. When you brought it back up, Conrad wrinkled his nose like a little kid.
“Soup?” he groaned.
“Yes, soup.” You settled beside him and held the bowl steady. “Come on. Just a few bites.”
He sighed dramatically but let you feed him spoonfuls, leaning into your shoulder between each one. “I don’t even like soup,” he mumbled.
“You like me though, right?”
That earned you the faintest grin. “Yeah,” he whispered, lips brushing your shoulder. “Unfortunately.”
Later, when you coaxed him to take medicine, he groaned again. “It tastes terrible.”
“You can chase it with water.”
He narrowed his eyes at you, then swallowed the pill with exaggerated misery, gulping water like you’d just poisoned him. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” you teased, kissing his forehead.
It wasn’t long before Conrad grew restless under the blankets. “Need the bathroom,” he muttered, trying to push himself up.
You were at his side instantly, slipping your arm around his waist as he swayed. “Careful, baby. You’re dizzy.”
“M’fine,” he tried, but his knees wobbled as soon as he stood. He leaned into you more than he meant to, his head dropping to your shoulder as you guided him down the hall.
You rubbed his back. “See? That’s why you’ve got me. I’ll be your crutch.”
He gave a weak chuckle. “Some nurse you are.”
“The best one you’ll ever have, better than you” you said matter-of-factly, steadying him until he made it back to bed.
That night, after more tea and a fresh cool washcloth pressed to his forehead, Conrad grew clingier. Fever haze softened his usual reserve, and he tugged you close under the blankets.
“Don’t leave,” he mumbled, burying his face in your shirt.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, running your fingers through his soft hair.
His hand found yours beneath the covers, fingers lacing loosely. “You always take care of me,” he murmured, voice groggy and honest in a way it rarely was.
“And I always will.”
Within minutes, his breathing steadied, his fevered body finally relaxing in your arms. You stayed awake just a little longer, brushing his hair back, keeping watch over him until you were sure he was sleeping peacefully.
Conrad Fisher might be stubborn, but when he was sick, he let you hold the weight. And you would, every single time.
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