Nobody Knew About Her

conrad x reader

WARNINGS: nothing

stop I love this request it was so fun to write!!

The car ride was quiet with music in playing. The kind of silence that felt comforting. You were going to Cousins for Christmas dinner with Conrad’s family for the first time and they didn’t even know you. Conrad would glance over at you every few minutes just to make sure you were still okay.

“You nervous?” he asked suddenly, eyes still on the road.

You looked over at him. “A little.”

He smiled, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “They’re gonna love you.”

“Yeah, but… they don’t even know I exist.”

He winced, giving a small, guilty chuckle. “Not like I was hiding you.”

You raised an eyebrow, and he quickly added, “Okay. Not intentionally. I just… liked it being ours, you know?”

You leaned back against the seat, lips twitching. “I know.”

By the time he pulled into the driveway, your heart was thudding a little faster. The house was glowing from the inside — warm lights, wreaths on the windows, and soft music leaking out through the front door when someone opened it and stepped outside.

Jeremiah.

He grinned when he saw the car. “Hey dude! Finally—”

Then his eyes landed on you as you stepped out the car and his smile slipped into surprise.

“Hey,” Conrad said, casual. “This is y/n.”

Jeremiah blinked. “Oh… wow. Uh, hi!”

You smiled politely. “Hi.”

He turned back toward the house and yelled, “Conrad brought a guest!”

That’s when the domino effect started. Everyone came out to the front foyer. Laurel. Steven. Belly.

Belly, in her soft red sweater, her wedding ring barely visible, her face freezing in an unreadable expression the second she saw you.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just looked from you to Conrad, and then back again. “Hey,” she said eventually. Her voice was flat. “Didn’t know you were bringing someone.”

Conrad gave a small shrug. “Didn’t think it needed to be a whole thing.”

Dinner was… weird after that.

Laurel was sweet, asking you questions, trying to make up for the awkwardness with warmth. Jeremiah was his usual charming self, though he kept glancing at Belly like he was trying to silently figure her out. Belly mostly picked at her food, said little things here and there — polite but pointed. Casual but cold.

Like when you mentioned your job, and she blinked and said, “Oh, so you’re not in school anymore? Huh.”

Or when Conrad handed you a glass of wine and she said, “Wow, I’ve never seen him like this with anyone.”

The room would go quiet every time.

Later that night, after everyone had said their goodnights and headed off to their rooms, you and Conrad were curled up in the guest room — the one he used to sleep in every summer. You were still in his hoodie, your makeup wiped off, his legs tangled with yours under the blanket.

His thumb was rubbing slow circles into your arm.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You hesitated. “I think she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“She didn’t even talk to me.”

“She didn’t talk because she was shocked,” he said gently. “That’s not your fault. That’s on me. I should’ve… given everyone a heads-up.”

You were quiet.

He leaned in, forehead pressing against yours. “But I don’t regret bringing you. Not for a second.”

You looked up at him. “Even though your ex was downstairs silently glaring at me over ham and mashed potatoes?”

He laughed under his breath. “Even then.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Is it going to be like this every holiday?” you asked quietly.

“No,” he said firmly. “This is the only surprise one. After this, you’re just… part of it. Like everyone else.”

You smiled, finally letting your shoulders relax. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoed, and kissed your forehead. “We’ll be fine.”

THE SUMMER HE PROPOSED

conrad x reader

WARNINGS: none

just Conrad proposing to you WAYY better than Jeremiah ever could trust me and I didn’t really look over this story so there might be some mistakes

It started like any other late summer afternoon at Cousins — or at least, that’s what you thought.

The sky was that perfect, hazy blue that only exists at golden hour, streaked with soft clouds and the warmth of July. You hadn’t been to Cousins in weeks — not since school got so busy.

But Conrad had called you the night before, asking, “Come to Cousins with me tomorrow. Just for the day.”

You didn’t question it. When it came to Conrad, you never really could.

Now you were driving with the windows down, his hand resting on your thigh, the scent of salt and sunscreen already filling your lungs. Music played low on the radio, but he wasn’t singing along like he normally would. He was quiet. Not distant, just… quiet. Like he was trying to keep something inside.

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.”

STILL MAD, STILL MINE

conrad x reader

WARNINGS: smut… unprotected but wrap it before you tap it!

this is just a continuation from my other story EVEN WHEN YOUR MAD, YOU’RE STILL MINE I will take tips it is my first time writing it (is this the time where I remove the “I don’t write smut” from my rules)

The last thing you heard before he sat you on the bathroom sink was the door lock clicking into place — and the sound of his voice, low and wrecked:

“Let me make it worse before I make it better.”

Your hands were already pulling at the hem of his shirt with shaky fingers, barely hiding your anger. You were still mad. But the second his lips were on yours again, none of that seemed to matter — not when he kissed you like this.

Conrad’s hands were at your hips, his eyes dragging over you like he was trying to memorize every inch of what he’d nearly lost.

You tugged at his shirt as a sign to take it off. His shirt hit the floor. Yours landed on the sink. He popped the button on your jean shorts with one hand, the other already sliding up your back to unhook your bra like muscle memory.

“I hate that you think you can just disappear,” you said between kisses, breathless, “and still get to touch me like this.”

“I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you,” he shot back, voice low, lips brushing your jaw. “Even when you’re pissed. Even when you’re walking away from me. I still fucking want you.”

You barely registered your jeans hitting the floor before he lifted you back onto the bathroom counter, standing between your legs. His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging into your skin just hard enough to not quite hurt.

He kissed down your neck, over your collarbone, teeth grazing where your pulse beat fastest. You threw your head back, giving him more access.

“You think that guy back there could’ve touched you like this?” he muttered into your skin. “Looked at you the way I do?”

You reached between you, undid his belt fast, and pushed his jeans down just enough. He hissed when your hand wrapped around him — firm, slow, teasing — just to punish him.

His voice came out rough. “Don’t fucking play with me right now.”

“Then stop standing there and do something about it.”

He hooked his fingers in your panties, pulled them down, and let them fall to the floor.

“Wait—you’re on the pill, right?” he asked, voice low but breathless.

“Yes, I am,” you replied, impatient, already aching for more.

His hand slid through your folds — slow at first, then purposeful once he felt how wet you already were for him. He didn’t break eye contact, not even for a second

“For someone who’s mad,” he said, “you sure are ready for me.”

“Shut up and fuck me, Fisher.”

You barely got the last word out before he lined himself up and pushed into you — slow at first, giving you the stretch you’d been aching for all damn week. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

His pace turned fast and deep. Each thrust was a punishment. His hands gripped your hips like he was scared you’d disappear again — even now.

The sounds echoing in the bathroom were obscene — your gasps, his groans, skin on skin, the slap of his hips hitting yours.

“You drive me insane,” he muttered against your neck, biting down just hard enough to make your thighs tighten around his waist. “Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he groaned.

You pulled his face back up to yours and kissed him hard — teeth knocking, lips swollen — but neither of you cared. This wasn’t sweet. It was needy. Raw. Full of everything neither of you had the words for.

His hand slid between you, thumb circling your clit as he whispered, “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you lose it on me.”

Your head fell back as you clenched around him, crying out his name, vision going white around the edges. He cursed under his breath — once, twice — before spilling into you with a guttural moan, hips stuttering against yours.

Your fingers slipped into his hair, tugging just enough to keep him grounded. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, still inside you, still pulsing with every twitch of your body.

Neither of you said a word.

Because nothing was fixed.

You were still mad.

Still broken in places.

But for now, the silence said everything.

I hate it. Sorry if I let you down if you were super excited to read this smut. No but on a real note I will take any tips if you have some!

taglist: @lindsaynathi0n, @wearemadeofstardust0 , @v4mqvs , @aariahnaa, @congratsloserr

Even When I’m Mad, You’re Still Mine

conrad x reader

WARNINGS: fighting (not reader and conrad), slightest bit of smut (should I finish it..??)

just conrad getting protective over you after a week of not seeing you and seeing a guy making you uncomfortable

edit!: I did finish it so here’s the smut: STILL MAD, STILL MINE

You hadn’t spoken to Conrad in a week.

It wasn’t a breakup — not technically. No one had said the words. But after that fight, the silence had felt thick enough to swallow you both whole. He’d walked out, jaw clenched and eyes unreadable, and you hadn’t followed. Maybe that was the worst part.

Now, here you were, at some party you hadn’t wanted to go to, drinking something too sweet and too sour from a plastic cup and pretending to laugh at jokes that didn’t land. Anything to feel normal. Anything to not look at your phone again.

Then came the guy who’d been hovering all night. At first, it was harmless small talk. But he didn’t take the hint. Every time you tried to step away, he mirrored it. His smile got more confident. His hand brushed yours a little too long.

“Seriously,” you said with a laugh, trying to stay polite, “I’m not really interested ”

But he smirked. “You’ve been flirting all night. Don’t get shy now.”

You didn’t even get a chance to respond.

“I think she said no.”

The voice sliced through the music. And even before you turned, your heart dropped — and rose — all at once.

Conrad.

He stepped forward, hands clenched at his sides, eyes locked on the guy in front of you like he was daring him to say another word.

The guy snorted. “What are you, her boyfriend?”

Conrad’s jaw ticked. “Yeah. I am.”

It was the first time he’d said that out loud in over a week.

“Didn’t see you around. Thought she was free game,” the guy shrugged. “You don’t show up, someone else will.”

That’s when Conrad shoved him.

Not a push to start a fight — not at first. Just enough to put space between you and the guy, to say back the fuck off without words.

But the guy shoved back, and that was it.

Fists flew.

You tried to step in, but Conrad was already grabbing the guy by the collar, slamming him against one of the beach fence posts. The other guy swung once — missed — before people rushed in to break them apart.

“Conrad, stop!” you said, grabbing his arm, your voice sharp and panicked.

But his eyes were still locked on the guy like he wasn’t in his body anymore.

“He touched you,” Conrad spat. “He put his fucking hands on you.”

“I’m fine,” you said, softer this time, hand sliding down to grip his. “I’m fine now.“

His breathing was heavy. His knuckles red. But he looked at you and then looked away.

You crossed your arms, partly from the breeze, partly from instinct. “You ignore me for a week, and now you get to play hero?”

That got his attention.

“I didn’t ignore you,” he said, voice tight. “I just… I didn’t know what to say after that fight.”

“Then say anything now.”

His eyes flickered down, like he was bracing himself. Then back to yours.

“I’ve been scared I messed everything up,” he said. “That I said too little, and you’d finally be done waiting for me to figure it out.”

“You don’t get to act like you still care,” you said, eyes blazing, “if you’re just gonna disappear when things get hard.”

His voice was raw. “I never stopped caring. I just didn’t know how to stop fucking up.”

You exhaled. A full week of tension cracked open in your chest.

You stared at each other, hearts hammering in your throats.

Then he stepped forward.

Not cautiously. Not gently.

His hand slid to the side of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw as he leaned in. His mouth ghosted over yours, not kissing yet — just close enough to feel.

“I haven’t touched you in a week,” he whispered against your lips . “And it’s driving me insane.”

Your lips parted — to speak, maybe. Or to let him in.

He didn’t wait.

His mouth crashed into yours with all the tension he hadn’t let out during the fight. Hot, desperate, angry with himself. His hands gripped your waist like he needed to be sure you were real. Your finger grabbed his belt loop, pulling him closer.

When he pulled back, just an inch, your foreheads touched. His voice dropped, rough and low.

“Still mad at me?”

You nodded. “So mad.”

His lips brushed your neck. “Good.”

And then he kissed you again — harder this time — like he’d waited all week to say every apology with his mouth instead of words.

Your lips were swollen from his, and his hands were still clutching your waist like he hadn’t realized he’d let go of you in the first place.

You should’ve walked away. Told him it wasn’t enough. That a fight and a kiss and a broken stare weren’t going to fix anything.

But when he leaned in again — mouth brushing your jaw, breath hot against your ear — your body reacted before your mind caught up.

“We’re not done fighting,” you whispered.

He nodded against your skin. “I know.”

And then he grabbed your hand.

You didn’t ask where you were going. You already knew.

The house closest to the bonfire still had people inside — music, chatter, drinks. No one noticed when he pulled you through the back door, no one cared when the bathroom door slammed shut behind you.

His lips were on you again instantly — no hesitation, no sweet apology. Just teeth, breath, heat. You pushed him back against the door, and he let you — but only for a second before reversing it, pinning you with his hips and kissing you like he needed to remind himself he hadn’t lost you.

Clothes came off in angry, hungry movements — his hoodie over his head, your shirt dragged off, fingers fumbling at buttons, belt buckles, whatever fabric stood in the way. His hands were rough from the fight, and they shook when he touched your skin.

He kissed down your neck like he was trying to erase the last week with his mouth. Your fingers curled in his hair, tugging, and he groaned into your throat.

You pulled back just enough to breathe. Just enough to glare at him with half-lidded eyes and say:

“I’m still pissed at you.”

His thumb dragged along the waistband of your underwear.

“Good,” he murmured. “So am I.”

The last thing you heard before he sat you on the bathroom sink was the door lock clicking into place — and the sound of his voice, low and wrecked:

“Let me make it worse before I make it better.”

stop I don’t why I’m so nervous posting this probably because I’ve been inactive for a year but should I actually try writing my first smut and finish this story?

YOUR ARMS, HIS SAFE PLACE

conrad x reader

WARNINGS: none

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.

Even Now, I Love You

conrad x reader

WARNINGS: none

you and conrad are exes and arguing. a storm hits, the power goes out, and everything you’ve both been holding in finally comes out.

The argument started before the storm.

Something stupid. Something small. One of those arguments that had been waiting to be talked about.

“You always shut me out,” you snapped, your voice louder than you meant it to be.

Conrad’s jaw clenched. “Because you never want to hear what I actually feel!”

“Well maybe if you said it instead of making me guess—”

“I did,” he fired back. “I always did. You just stopped listening.”

You glared at him across the kitchen, the flash of lightning outside painting his face in harsh, sharp contrast. You hated how good he still looked, even when you were mad. Even when you were broken. Even when everything felt like it was falling apart.

“I don’t even know why you came,” you said bitterly.

He didn’t answer.

Outside, thunder cracked.

And then — the lights went out.

The power outage stole the last of your anger.

In its place came silence, thick and tense. The only sounds were the storm outside and the shallow breaths you were both trying to control.

“I’ll find candles,” he muttered, already moving.

You didn’t stop him.

A few minutes later, the kitchen glowed in a warm light — a soft halo of light that made everything feel more intimate.

You stood near the sink. He stood at the counter. A few feet apart, but it felt like miles.

“I didn’t want to fight,” you said finally, voice quieter. “I just… I don’t know what we are anymore.”

Conrad looked at you like he was trying to memorize the moment.

“You think I don’t love you anymore?” he asked, and his voice cracked on the last word.

You looked down, unable to answer.

“I never stopped,” he said, stepping closer. “I tried. God, I tried. But you’re in everything.”

You blinked hard, tears threatening to fall.

He kept going.

“You’re in the songs I hear. The way I drive. The way I brush my teeth in the morning. I look for you out of habit, even when I know you’re not there.”

“Conrad—”

“I loved you when you slammed the door. I loved you when you didn’t text back. I loved you when I walked away, and I love you right now, even though I don’t think you’ll ever forgive me.”

You were crying now, full-on, hands shaking.

And then — softly, pleading:

“Stay,” he whispered. “Just stay.”

You looked up, and something in you broke. In the best way.

You crossed the space between you and kissed him like it was the first time all over again. Desperate. Deep. Real. Like you’d been waiting months just to breathe him back in.

He held you like he’d never let go again.

Outside, the storm kept raging.

But inside, in that candlelit kitchen, you found peace.

Together.

This is so rushed but I needed to write before I don’t write anything for a while since I’ve been so busy with cheer and school is starting soon 💔

HC of married life with Conrad Fisher

He won’t say “I love you” every day, but he shows it by restocking your snacks, warm coffee by the bed, and the way he checks on you without a word.

He wouldn’t throw those words around. So when he says it, whether it’s whispered against your collarbone or murmured in the middle of a fight, it always feels like a promise.

I feel like even after marriage, he has moments where he stares at you while you sleep, and thinking, Do I make her happy? Am I enough?

He would definitely work hard to be the kind of man you deserve, even when you’ve already told him he is.

He’s not flashy but he would remember every little detail like the book you mentioned once and never bought? He leaves it on your pillow. The random scent you liked years ago? He tracks it down for your anniversary.

Also I feel like Conrad might not talk a ton, but he listens like no one else. You vent about work? He brings it up days later to check in. You say your back hurts once? He won’t let you lift another grocery bag all week.

Car trouble? He’s there before you can even ask. Bad day? He sits next to you in silence, just letting you lean into him until you’re ready to talk.

He would hate fighting with you like the second he realizes he hurt your feelings he’ll shut down for a second, trying to find the exact words, he’s soft-spoken: “I didn’t mean that. I’m so sorry. I just don’t want to lose you.”

He would fold your laundry without asking, leave your towel warming on the rack, and restock your vitamins before you even notice they’re low.

Now freaky Conrad, when he’s horny and needs you he would give you this needy look, the kind that says lock the door, forget the laundry, and come here.

“You’re really gonna walk around the house like that and expect me to get anything done?”