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.
You parked in the same driveway you always had, the house just as you remembered — white trim, sea-worn wood, and tons of summers past hanging in the air. But Conrad didn’t let you go inside.
“Come with me,” he said, his fingers lacing with yours.
You looked at him curiously. “Is this the part where you tell me you found a hermit crab and named it after me again?”
He smiled — that crooked, nervous Conrad Fisher smile — and shook his head. “No. Something better.”
You passed the firepit. The volleyball net. The log where you and he sat for hours talking about constellations and fears and forever. And then… you saw it.
The old dock.
Except now it looked like a dream.
String lights were hung around the posts. A blanket was spread out at the end, weighted down by candles in glass jars and hydrangeas that looked like they’d been picked with care.
You stopped walking.
“Wait,” you breathed. “What is this?”
He turned to face you, eyes soft and nervous and so full of love it almost hurt.
Before you could say anything else, he let go of your hand, dropped to one knee — and for a moment, the world just stopped.
Your breath caught.
Conrad Fisher — your Conrad — was looking up at you like you were the only thing he saw, kneeling in front of you with a velvet box in his hand.
“I’ve been trying to figure out what to say for weeks,” he began, voice low and trembling. “I’ve rewritten this in my head a thousand times — when you’re asleep next to me, in the car when a song reminds me of you, during random moments when I look over at you and realize all over again that I’m in love with you.”
You were already crying.
“I don’t think I ever believed in soulmates — not really. Not until you. You changed everything for me. You were never just the girl I liked. You were the girl who stayed. When I pushed you away, when I pulled you in, when I shut you down — you were still there. You’ve seen me at my worst. And you never gave up on me. You reminded me that I was worth loving, even when I didn’t believe it.”
“I’m not perfect. I overthink everything. But you — you make me want to be better. You make everything feel possible. You make love feel like coming home.”
“I want every version of life with you,” he said, his voice thick now. “The messy parts. The mornings when nothing goes right. The nights when we’re just laughing on the couch, half-asleep with takeout. I want to fight with you and make up with you. I want to grow old with you, even if we still argue about who’s better at Mario Kart.”
You laughed through the tears, shaking your head.
He smiled.
“I asked your parents last week,” he added softly. “Your mom cried. Your dad tried to act tough, but he hugged me before I even finished asking.”
Your hand flew to your mouth.
“And now I’m asking you,” he said, finally opening the box.
The ring was a gold-and-silver stone. Beautiful. Classic. Him.
“So I’m not just asking if you’ll marry me,” he said. “I’m asking if you’ll choose me. Over and over. The way I’ve always chosen you. My forever?”
You didn’t speak.
You dropped to your knees right there in front of him, face wet with joy, hands trembling.
“Yes,” you whispered. “Yes. Yes. Always.”
He let out the softest breath — part laugh, part relief, part sob — and slid the ring onto your finger.
And when he pulled you into his arms, both of you kneeling on that dock lit up with soft lights and candle flame, the waves crashing behind you like applause, you knew:
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maybe conrad kept his relationship with reader a bit of a secret? i mean not on purpose but they just didn’t felt the need to tell anyone, so he just brings her randomly for christmas or some dinner and everyone is in shock, especially belly hehe
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.”
summary: rafe relapses after rehab and calls you in the middle of the night because he’s scared to be alone and you come over and stay with him and finally comes to you for help.
It’s 3:46 am. Your sleeping when your phone lights up your room.
Rafe
Your heart knows exactly what he’s about say.
You answer immediately.
“Hey—”
“I need you,” he says cutting you off.
“Rafe, what’s wrong?”
He lets out a shaky breath.
“I messed up,” he whispers. “Can you come over? I don’t wanna be alone right now.”
Your stomach drops.
“I’m on my way,” you say, already moving. “Stay where you are.”
“I will,” he promises. “I’m in my room.”
You were stressing on the drive there. Your hands shake on the steering wheel. You keep replaying his voice and how scared he sounded.
When you get to the house, all the lights are off except one.
His.
You don’t knock. You just go up.
The door is unlocked.
His room smells wrong the second you step inside, a familiar smell. Your chest tightens.
Rafe is sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, and breathing heavy.
He looks up when he hears you.
And your heart breaks.
His eyes are red, glassy, rimmed with tears he clearly didn’t expect to still be there. His face is pale.
On the desk behind him—
A line. A clean line.
He follows your gaze, then squeezes his eyes shut like he can make it disappear if he doesn’t look at it.
“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. His voice shakes. “I didn’t plan it. I swear I didn’t. I was thinking I could handle it. Just once.”
You don’t move. You don’t yell.
You step closer.
“I was three months clean,” he continues, words spilling now. “Three. And it was fine, it was fine, and then tonight my head wouldn’t shut up and I kept hearing my dad’s voice and I just—”
His breath breaks.
“When I took the- the line, I didn’t even feel good” he says, tears finally falling. “It didn’t fix anything.”
You kneel in front of him.
He looks at you with tears ready to fall.
“I ruined it,” he whispers. “I ruined everything. You’re gonna hate me.”
Your throat tightens.
“I don’t hate you,” you say softly.
He lets out a broken sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob.
“You should,” he says. “Everyone should. I went to rehab and still did this. What kind of person does that?”
“One who’s struggling.” you answer gently.
He shakes his head hard.
“I looked at it and I thought if I do this, I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t lie and say I’m better.”
His voice drops to a whisper.
“I was scared you’d see me like this.”
You reach up and take his face in your hands. He flinches for half a second—then leans into your touch like he’s starving for it.
“I’m seeing you,” you say. “And I’m still here.”
His breath stutters.
“You’re not leaving?” he asks, terrified.
“No.”
“Even though I relapsed?”
You nod.
“Even then.”
That’s when he breaks.
He folds forward, pressing his forehead into your shoulder, gripping your hoodie like he might fall apart if he lets go.
“I tried so hard,” he sobs. “I swear I did. I don’t wanna be like this forever.”
You wrap your arms around him, holding him steady while his body shakes.
“I know,” you murmur. “I know you tried.”
After a moment, his breathing slows but still uneven, but quieter.
“I didn’t finish it,” he says weakly. “I stopped. I called you instead.”
You pull back just enough to look at him.
“That matters,” you say firmly. “That matters so much, Rafe.”
He swallows.
He sits there for a long moment after that, like he’s afraid if he moves too much you’ll go away.
“I don’t trust myself to sleep,” he says. “Every time I close my eyes I see it again. I keep thinking about how close I was.”
You reach for his hand, threading your fingers together.
“Then don’t sleep yet,” you say gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He looks at you like he doesn’t quite believe it.
“Are you really staying,” he says.
“Yes.”
His shoulders sag at that, like something heavy finally slips off them.
“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs.
You shake your head.
“You deserve the world Rafe and its not about deserving” you say. “It’s about loving someone through the parts they hate about themselves.”
His eyes fill again, but this time he doesn’t look ashamed of it.
“I’m scared,” he admits. “I don’t wanna wake up tomorrow and still be this person.”
You squeeze his hand.
“Tomorrow doesn’t ask you to be different,” you say softly. “It just asks you to try again.”
He leans into you, resting his head against your shoulder. His breathing is uneven, but it slowly starts to match yours.
“I don’t wanna lie anymore,” he whispers. “Not to you. Not to myself.”
“Then don’t,” you reply. “Let me see the bad parts too.”
He lets out a shaky laugh.
“You’re already seeing them.”
“And I’m still here.”
That does it.
He wraps his arms around you and buries his face against your neck.
“How do you always know what to say to me” he says
You let out a soft chuckle.
“What do I do now?”
You pull away from him and glance at the desk. Then back at him.
“First,” you say, “we get rid of it.”
He nods immediately. Doesn’t hesitate.
You stand together. You watch as he clears the desk, hands shaking, then turns back to you like he needs permission to breathe again.
“It’s gone,” he says quietly.
You guide him back to the bed and sit beside him.
“And tomorrow,” you add, “we call your counselor or we go back to rehab if that’s what it takes.”
He looks down.
“I don’t wanna lose you,” he whispers.
You lace your fingers with his.
“You won’t,” you say. “But we can’t do this alone.”
He nods, eyes filling again but this time with something softer.
“Thank you for coming,” he says. “I didn’t trust myself tonight.”
You lean your head against his.
“That’s why you called,” you reply. “And I’m proud of you for that.”
He exhales shaky.
That night you realized, he didn’t choose the drug.
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
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!
and @finnickodairslut for encouraging me to write it I’ll never forget them, their stories encouraged me to start writing in general when I first got on tumblr and they was my first follower which was even crazier to me! 💙💙
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
summary: Conrad buys the perfect ring for you and you both finally tell his family at Christmas that you’re engaged (Susannah is in this 😔😼)
Conrad had never been inside a jewelry store before. The glass counters gleamed too brightly, the air almost sterile, and he felt wildly out of place in his worn hoodie.
But he knew what he was there for.
The saleswoman greeted him with a smile, but when she asked what he was looking for, his voice nearly caught.
“An… engagement ring,” he said, the words tasting both terrifying and perfect.
She led him to a case, full of rings that all seemed to sparkle at him at once. Conrad shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. He’d spent nights researching, his search history a mess of diamond cuts and metal bands. But now that he was here, it was different. Now, it felt real.
The saleswoman pulled out a few options, setting them on a velvet pad. Conrad’s eyes darted over them, his chest tight. Too flashy. Too small. Too not-you.
Then he saw it.
Simple, timeless, delicate. A band that wasn’t trying to be loud but somehow outshone the rest. Something you would look at every day and still love. Something that felt like you.
“That one,” he said immediately, his voice more certain than it had been all day. “She’d love that one.”
The saleswoman smiled knowingly. “How long have you two been together?”
Conrad hesitated, then let out the smallest laugh, shaking his head. “Long enough to know… there’s no one else. It’s always been her.”
He walked out of the store an hour later, the tiny velvet box tucked securely in his jacket pocket. And for the first time in a long time, Conrad Fisher felt steady. Certain. Because he knew exactly what he wanted — and he’d just bought the proof.
The Fisher house glowed with twinkle lights, the fireplace crackling, stockings lined up perfectly along the mantle. It smelled like pine and cinnamon, and you could hear Jeremiah in the kitchen arguing with Steven about who was better at decorating cookies.
Conrad’s hand never left yours. He’d been strangely quiet all night, and you knew why — tonight wasn’t just Christmas. Tonight was the night he finally told his family.
You looked at him, giving his fingers a reassuring squeeze. “Connie,” you whispered, “we don’t have to—”
“We do,” he cut in softly, eyes steady on yours. “I want them to know.”
Dinner ended with laughter and too much hot chocolate. Everyone was gathered in the living room, Susannah curled up in her chair, her eyes dancing as she watched her boys bicker. It was Conrad who cleared his throat, and immediately the whole room stilled — because Conrad never voluntarily drew attention to himself.
“I, um…” He glanced at you, the smallest smile tugging his lips. “We have something to tell you.”
Steven raised an eyebrow. Jeremiah grinned like he already knew some secret. Susannah leaned forward, her hand under her chin, patient and warm.
Conrad took a breath, then lifted your joined hands, the sparkle of the ring catching the firelight.
“We’re engaged.”
The room erupted. Jeremiah actually choked on his cocoa. Steven sputtered, “Engaged?! Like—marriage engaged?!” Susannah gasped, covering her mouth as tears spilled instantly, her smile radiant.
You felt your cheeks burn, but Conrad’s arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer against him. He was calmer than you’d ever seen him, even with everyone staring.
Jeremiah recovered first, launching himself across the couch. “Engaged? ENGAGED? You didn’t even tell me you were dating for months!” He turned to you, pointing accusingly but smiling. “You’re a saint for putting up with him.”
Steven shook his head like he was still processing. “Man, I thought you’d maybe… move in together or something. But married? Damn, Fish. Didn’t think you had it in you.”
And Susannah — she was already reaching for you both, pulling you into her arms. “I’m so happy for you,” she whispered, kissing Conrad’s cheek, then yours. “You deserve this kind of love.”
For once, Conrad didn’t shrink away from the attention. He held you tighter, his thumb brushing over the ring on your finger as if to ground himself. And when everyone else was still laughing, still buzzing, still making jokes about weddings and speeches and “who gets to be best man,” he leaned close enough so only you could hear:
“I don’t care what anyone thinks. You’re it for me. Always.”
And for the first time, it felt like the whole world knew it too.
Bro I hate the way I wrote this but it was a request so I had to try my best.
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?
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.
