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spicyyy-muffin · 8 months

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You v’s Me || conrad fisher x fem!reader

!!MINORS DNI!!

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masterlist

summary: you’ve always been in a competition with conrad which grew both of you to hate each other…or maybe it’s love?

pairing: conrad fisher x fem!reader

warnings: angst, fluff, SMUT towards the end but it’s not much, fem receiving, conrad being cocky and hot duh CHARACTERS ARE 18

wc: 1.8k

susannah is not sick in this fic! hope y’all enjoy :)

Ever since you were kids, you and conrad have had competitions every summer. It’s something that was never forgotten and the person who won got bragging rights the whole year until it was summer again. The tradition started when you were 10 and conrad was 11. It started sweet when your families visited the boardwalk but soon enough conrad was the competitive side to you, and he knew he needed to beat you in any game or challenge.

You both were now 18 and 19. You were starting your first year of college and conrad was going into his second year. He bragged in your face for getting into your dream college Brown last year and now this year, you get to brag and tell him you got into pre-med early for Brown during early admissions back in november but couldn’t tell him so you had to wait to see his reaction at dinner.

Everyone saw it but you and conrad. The whole family could see the tension between the two of you guys and your competition. It was declared that conrad had a crush on you the second year you visited cousins, laurel was the first to point it out to susannah, and then the whole family knew by the end of the summer but you and conrad didn’t believe any of it. But you wouldn’t lie, you had a crush on him and were just hoping to hate him to get rid of the schoolgirl crush.

“so y/n,” susannah began “what was the big news you wanted to share with everyone?”

“oh yes.” and put your fork down “i got into Brown pre-med.” you smiled and conrad’s fork froze with his mouth open and all you did was smirk at him “actually susannah, i got in early admissions in november. i’ve just been saving the news up for this very moment.” you gave conrad a tight-lipped smile

“that’s amazing news!” she cheered “we should celebrate with a late movie tonight!”

“a-actually we were gonna head to the country club, they are playing all the avengers movies in order,” jeremiah spoke up stopping his mom from getting too excited

“of course! we can do something tomorrow night.” she gasped “oh gosh connie, that means y/n will be going to school with you!”

“yep.” he moved some food around on his plate not looking up

“don’t sound too excited connie.” you mocked and he rolled his eyes without looking up at you

“yippee, what do you want? a golden star?” he huffed and pushed out his chair before leaving the table

“y/n it’s the first night, lay low.” laurel said from her spot at the table

“you know whoever gets the first point basically wins the summer, it’s guaranteed.”

“you and you’re little competition,” she muttered

After dinner, it was time to head to the country club for the movie. It was only a few people who got invited to the place so you all fit into the movie room. You brought a blanket with you because you know it gets cold there. You all filed into the room once cam arrived and sat down. You went for the top to have some space for yourself. But before you could do that conrad plopped his body in the chair next to you.

“no, absolutely not.” you groaned

“there’s nowhere else for me to sit.” you glanced down and there was a seat next to taylor and steven

“literally right there!” you gestured to the spot

“and watch them make out all night, no thanks.” he reclined the chair back and put the middle console up so there was more room for y’all

“why would you put that up?”

“because it’s a waste of space and my elbow runs into it.” you huffed and fell back into your seat “so, Brown huh?” why was he being nice?

“yeah, so what?” you looked at him but he was looking at cam who was trying to use the remote to get the movie started

“nothing, just congrats. i know you have been wanting to get in your whole life.”

“thanks,” you whispered not used to getting compliments from him

“i’ll still beat your ass at everything there though.” and he was back

“yeah right dumbass.” he flicked your forehead “ow!”

“you’re the dumbass when i get a higher gpa than you.”

“like that’s even possible! you know i’m already ahead of you.”

“you can’t process any information in that pretty little head of yours!”

“you can’t because you’re too busy drinking all the damn time!” you yelled back

“at least i can relax-“

“guys!” jeremiah yelled throughout the whole room “shut the fuck up for once! y’all have to come help with snacks.” you both sighed and got out of your seats. you passed by steven and he winked which you flipped him off

“that was your fault,” you muttered walking past him as he held the door for you—so kind—

“oh yeah, sure drama queen.”

You both followed jere to the kitchen and he opened one of the doors for all of the snacks in a closet before waving at you both and closing the door.

“five minutes to work out whatever is happening and then i’m coming back so we can start the movie!” he yelled locking the door

“fuck you jere!” conrad let out but his brother was long gone “this is all your fault.” he walked around the room. the only light was the upper one that was slowly running out of juice

“oh yeah sure it's all my fault!” you sassed back

“if you would just shut up about always being the better one then we would never be here.”

“oh and you’re so great conrad?” stopped about 10 feet away from you on the other side of the closet

“i mean i won our little contest 5 years in a row so i should get a nice pat on the back.” he shrugged

“you’re so full of yourself.” you laughed

“thank you. i appreciate that.”

“it wasn’t a compliment asshole.” you went and tried opening the door but it was in fact locked

“do you not want to be trapped in a room with me y/n?”

“no, you should have an illness that could spread to me through the air.” you turned to look at him “why can you just let me win, for one time in my life i want to have something to be proud of conrad!” he was taken back by your statement “i never get anything! i have to watch it all get ripped from me and compared to something better! i can never win anything! and you and your rude comebacks don’t help!” you ran your fingers through your hair “belly gets volleyball captain and a new fancy boyfriend, steven get taylor, jeremiah gets into a frat and has a girlfriend! i got pre-med, which is amazing but it’s nothing compared to yo-“ you mouth was shut. no, you didn’t just stop talking. there were hands on either side of your face and lips pressed against yours that were definitely not your lips but conrad’s he kissed you hard and you let your eyes close and fall into the kiss as you kissed him back softly and when he pulled back he looked into your eyes

“shut up.” he breathed out “you are amazing, okay? i’m sorry for the fucking competitions. it was the only way i got to spend time with you.” you were starstruck maybe this was a dream “you’re too good for me, you’re too smart, too beautiful, overall i feel like i should never be seen with you because you’re too good for me.”

“kiss me.” he blinked at you “kiss me again conrad.” he smiled before kissing you again backing you up into a shelf and holding your face tight. you brought one hand to run through his hair and the second one slowly lifted his shirt so you could slip your hand under and feel his skin and he shuttered under you “sorry, are my hands cold?” you didn’t stop feeling around his stomach and chest area which made him breathe out a long breath

“no it feels nice, different.” he moved back down to your lips and your hand slowly went around his body but you two were cut off my knocking on the door

“times up shitheads!” you moved away from each other and conrad fixed his shirt and hair before stepping out of the room and you followed. you made it back into your seats and cam started the movie switching the lights off. conrad’s cheeks were flushed in the darkness as he took some of your blanket from you to cover him and you

The movie went on and everyone was in their own place. Conrad slowly moved his hand to rust on your thigh and you froze as his hand moved towards the waistband of your pants. You looked at him but he was just looking at the screen. His fingers messed with the waistband before going past your shorts and underwear. You slowly moved closer to him and his hand was extremely close to your clit. Before you could say anything he took one of his fingers to rub it softly and you gasped, but no one looked back thinking you were doing it at the movie.

“you have to be quiet,” he muttered into your ear before continuing his movements over your clit faster this time making you open your legs for him

“con,” you laid your head on his shoulder not trusting your head to stay up and he moved slowly to your entrance sliding a finger up feeling the effect he has on you

“i’ve always wanted to do this.” he then slid one finger into you and his thumb rested on your clit adding pressure to the pleasure

“fuck.” he moved his finger in and out feeling the breathing from you on his neck and he was slowly getting hard under the blanket hoping no one could see “another.” you sighed digging your fingernails into his arm and he slid a second finger in moving faster in and out rubbing your clit and he also used another finger to pinch it causing you to jump

“careful.” he moved his hand faster now wanting you to finish, just from him and him alone. “come on baby.” he kissed your head “give it to me” he rubbed your clit harder and his fingers moved faster you could definitely hear the wet sounds if the movie was not at an intense moment

“cumming.” you bit down on his neck cumming on his fingers as he slid them in and out to let you go through your high before pulling them out and slowly bringing his fingers to suck on them “my gosh.” you looked up at him

“if it isn’t clear now, i’m done playing games with you.” he leaned toward you almost enough to kiss

“me too, no more games.”

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spicyyy-muffin · 8 months

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wow

heaven is a bedroom || c.f. x reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: smut (fingering, oral (f receiving), penetration), kinda angst, little bit of fluff, fwb relationship, alcohol, mentions of cancer/death, conrad fisher has abs of steel, some religious references?? figurative language

Request: being jere's best friend but also fwb! with conrad and him having to sneak you in at night? + some prompts

a/n: canon compliance is a state of mind, and it's not one i have today. did i watch the show? no. did i read the first book? yes. that's what is carrying this fic, and it is my first conrad fic so be gentle. pls lmk if i missed any warnings!!

—————

Not for the first time in his life, Conrad thought the world must be against him. Because — like just about everything else — this was not the plan.

“You’re staring again,” Jeremiah whispered. “Murder Eyes.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled, but his eyes didn’t leave their target, watching the hand that was curled around your waist, five fingers digging into the supple skin there. They slipped under the loose fabric of your top, and the Solo cup in his hands felt the aftermath, crushing with ease. Not the plan at all.

But Jeremiah was decidedly not done yet, the alcohol in his system giving him too much confidence for Conrad’s taste. “She looks like she’s having fun.”

“Shut up,” he repeated, averting his gaze when you caught his eyes. For fuck’s sake, it was like you’d never heard of a room. The bonfire crackled in his peripheral, shooting sparks across the darkened sand under his feet. You were wrapped up in the arms of someone he didn’t know, didn’t care to know. Lips grazed your throat, and his cup suffered.

“She’s a pretty girl,” his brother continued, “you’re not the only one looking.”

Conrad turned, seeking solace in the bottom of a drink and finding none. After all, his beer had disappeared quickly when he saw you, saw him. “That’s your best friend.”

“Doesn’t matter who she is. But if you’re going to spend all night eye-fucking—”

“Nobody is eye-fucking—”

“I might as well enlighten you.” Jeremiah stood proud, as if this was him being charitable. But the grin on his face — the exact one Conrad would punch off if it were anyone else — was as clear as ever. He thought it was funny.

“Enlighten me how?” Conrad, on the other hand, was unamused.

His brother began backing away, but not without a few parting words. “It could be you.”

Conrad scoffed. He dropped the crushed plastic to the ground unceremoniously, searching for a new distraction. This was not the plan.

This was not the plan because you were supposed to be friends (hell, he’d call you acquaintances for how little he acknowledged you in public), and friends didn’t act the way the two of you did.

No, all Conrad does is fuck his brother’s best friend until she’s stupid, speechless, and shaking, and then he packs up his things and pretends it never happened. And he sure as hell doesn’t treat the rest of his friends like that.

And perhaps he could reconcile with the fact that what you shared was not friendship. Perhaps he could cope with the fact that your relationship was a pure canvas coated in shades of debauchery, where you drink and smoke and fuck because what are summers for? That he could permit.

But what he didn’t like, didn’t plan for, was the burn of jealousy that accompanied finding you doing those same things with another. You were not exclusive by any means, and he had not kept himself bound to you in any sense. The blonde making her way onto his lap could attest to that.

Still, when he looked at you, when he found you biting your lip and smiling at someone else — the same way you did to him — that smarting sensation returned full force. His chest constricted at the sight, and when eye contact was established once more, he forgot all about the touch now trailing down his chest.

He swallowed (albeit with some difficulty) as you watched, eyes flicking between him and the stranger whispering words he did not care to discern, then returning to his. He kept himself passive, face devoid of emotion, and when some feeling flickered in your features (one close to disappointment), he did not react.

You returned your attention to the man actively working to earn it. Conrad pretended nothing transpired at all.

But, even an hour later, in a bed that wasn’t his and fucking a girl he barely knew, he was still thinking about you.

—

It was late when you received the text, and you read it with bleary eyes.

Come over.

You turned your head to watch…John? Jim? James? Regardless, the boy you followed home (despite your low expectations for the evening) was washing his face in the bathroom sink. You were tired, and you were certain Conrad was as well, judging by his own company.

(You knew he took her home. Would he be Conrad if he didn’t?)

You typed back, Not tonight, just finished.

Pretending?

You snorted to yourself. He wasn’t exactly wrong. Not tonight, you repeated. You couldn’t handle him tonight.

Why not?

Aren’t you already…occupied?

She’s gone. Curt, simple.

You smiled. Poor thing.

And it was like he was right beside you when he responded, She wouldn’t agree. You could feel his attitude. When you didn’t respond, he said again, Come over.

Not a question. You peaked your head up to find Justin (that sounded right) on his way back. It was about time you left anyway. You stood quickly, and smiled at him kindly as you grabbed your bag.

He pushed one out, just for the sake of it, and tracked your movement toward the hallway. He opened his mouth to say something, but you were out the door before he could get a word out.

You were lucky you drove yourself. Once in the safety of your car, you checked your phone again.

Conrad waited for a response.

No, you said again.

His response was instantaneous, and you laughed to yourself. Why?

You sobered yourself. You were better than this, better than him. Aware of your hypocrisy, you answered, Because you never stay.

You didn’t get a text back.

—

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it started. Maybe somewhere amongst the late-night swims and whispers of comfort, you found him. It wasn’t pretty, but it definitely wasn’t ugly.

Not when Conrad Fisher was involved.

And staying away from him, for all intents and purposes, only made you miss him more.

Two weeks. You lasted two weeks.

Honestly, all it took was a couple more lame hookups with Jason (you eventually learned) for you to break. You craved something, an emotion or a rush or even just that look on his face when Conrad finally let go, and there was only one person that could give it to you.

So, yeah, you were parked outside the Fisher’s beach house at 2 AM, your blood thrumming in your veins at the prospect of what was soon to come. The only light on in the house was Conrad’s, and you turned your car off before the headlights accidentally woke up the rest of the household.

You liked to think that you learned how to read Conrad over the years. You had spent countless summers in Cousins, and more often than not found yourself at the Fisher’s. Jeremiah was your best friend, Conrad was his brother. It was all sorts of wrong, but perhaps that’s what made it so desirable.

When he met you at the door, the first thing you noticed was his eyes. They were quieter than usual — a shade of brown so dark they were nearly black. Nearly, but not quite.

It was fitting, you supposed. Because for a man who appeared so cold — so blank — to so many, if you looked hard enough, you could always find a discrepancy.

Today’s was his forehead. It was wrinkled with the thoughts that pooled there, the current of them that tangled itself up, one knot of heartbreak and loss and deep, unending hurt. You knew he was mourning someone who hadn’t left quite yet, and you thought that that was worse than having already lost them.

He said nothing, his lips pressed together, but you detected a slight tremor in his hand when it found the small of your back. He led you up the stairs, and you followed.

The impatience was building at the bottom of your stomach, and with each step on the staircase that felt longer than usual, the clashing of emotions rose to your ribs, climbed them like rungs. Your lungs felt useless, and desire, worry, lust pressed relentlessly against your sternum.

You needed him.

You needed him okay.

His bedroom was at the end of the hall, you knew it well. Conrad didn’t have to guide you, you made your way there quickly, glancing at him as you fell onto his bed. It felt just as you remembered: the pillows like clouds that could make up heaven, for the two of you would be canonized there.

“Making yourself at home?” He questioned, locking the door behind him.

Letting your head hang off the edge of the bed, you gave him a lazy grin. You wore an old crewneck and some sleep shorts, but the way he was looking at you made it feel like the most opulent lingerie. “Don’t be mean.”

He was upside-down in your eyes, and you knew you broke through some of his walls when he crouched to be level with you. “But I thought you liked it?”

You rolled your eyes. “Prick.”

His voice lowered, conscious of how close you were to the rest of the household. “That’s no way to address a friend,” he said, faux-hurt.

A laugh loosed itself from your chest. “We’re not just friends and you know it.”

He looked ready to argue, mouth parting in the way that only promised trouble, but you moved before he could get a speak, pushing up to lay properly against the pillows instead. Conrad stood, but whatever comment he was going to make remained unsaid.

Instead, he was positioning himself over you, your body caged by his own, forearms landing on either side of your head. He smiled.

Absently, you ran your thumb over a dimple. Something in you ached.

His eyes shuddered, and you eyed the tangle of thoughts that decorated his forehead. You held back the instinct to smooth it out. He was not yours to solve.

Finally, his mouth landed on yours. You sighed at the relief, at the familiarity of the act. There was an air of control to it, something sourced from jealousy and too much sober thinking. He was rough, bruising, his teeth meeting yours by accident, then catching on your bottom lip.

A sound — something he would call pathetic — reverberated in your throat, and you could taste the satisfaction in his smile.

And yet, despite the anger and the aggression and the aching, the hands that held you in place, thumbs parentheses on your cheekbones, were as gentle as ever. Your noses never bumped, his weight was never overbearing, and he tasted like he always did.

Sea salt, cinnamon, the last dregs of beer accompanied by the lime he kept in there. The flavors never clashed, they were just him.

If there was one thing you could rely on, it was this: his edges, sharp as they were, fit perfectly against your own.

His lips formed a path to your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses, sucking when they deigned. You closed your eyes and settled against his ministrations. Real or not, you were certain this bedroom beat heaven any day.

Your back arched, nipples scratching against fabric, and Conrad swallowed your moan at the first point of contact — his thigh right between your own. Your hips twitched up, desperate for more, but he held back, not yet done with you.

Your throat was his first focus. One hand kept him propped up, while the other held your jaw. He tilted it however he pleased, permitting himself access to expanses of skin, sensitive and tender. It was as if he was playing with you — you were art, created for and by him, his medium the lips that traveled and touched and tasted.

“Conrad,” you whispered as his tongue circled your pulse point. In other circumstances, you might have been embarrassed by how fast it was racing.

He paused, eyes flicking up to yours. His pupils were all you saw, irises a thin line of afterthought, and his lips were red, swollen, betraying just how alive he felt. “Hmm?”

You carded through his hair, then pressed your own kisses: the corner of his mouth, his jawline, tracing down to a spot — one you knew well — that elicited a soft groan. “Did you bring me over to tease me,” you whispered, “or to fuck me?”

He let out a breathless laugh, then slid his fingers under the hem of your sweater, pulling it up with no further preamble. His hands grazed your sides as he did so, slow and steady, while his lips paid overdue attention to the rest of your body; he traced the tops of your hips, your stomach, greeted each rib as they revealed themselves to him. He tsked, “Impatience isn’t a good look on you.”

“And jealousy isn’t a good look on you.”

His teeth glinted in the moonlight, and digits unclasped your bra with practiced ease. “What do I have to be jealous of, sweetheart? You can fuck whoever you like.”

You hummed thoughtfully, relishing the tongue that circled the peak of your breast. “You say that, and then you give me Murder Eyes all night.”

Conrad nipped lightly, then soothed the hurt with a kiss. He finally divested you of the fabric, unceremoniously throwing it to the corner of the room. “You can hardly blame me.” He pinched your other nipple, and you squirmed. “I didn’t like that guy.”

“You don’t like any guys, Con.”

He elected to ignore that observation.

After all, with your legs pressed together, seeking friction, and those sounds coming out of your mouth, he had other priorities. Priorities he quickly fulfilled, dragging down your cotton shorts and letting them join their predecessor in a place that felt miles away from this haven you’d found.

Your breathing picked up, courtesy of the lips that moved from one hip bone to the other, then down. Lower. Shudders were left in his wake, and you had just enough sense left to have your fingers stay tangled in his hair, the locks curled and soft from saltwater.

His thumb brushed over the scrap of lace you called panties, and you jumped at the sensation, still needing more. Conrad took his time though, learning your anatomy and the sounds it could create when given the right sort of attention.

His lips were next, taking their course, sloppy kisses in all the right places, but the damned fabric preventing him from much more. The thing was soaked, for fuck’s sake, not doing much for concealment, but you wanted it — like every other fathomable barrier — gone.

“If we get caught,” you whispered with no small amount of difficulty, “I’m killing you.”

He didn’t move from his perch, but his eyes met yours, and you almost came from the sight alone. “You ought to stay quiet then,” he murmured, and backed away just to get the panties (ones you picked out specifically for tonight, damn him) down your legs and thrown to the side, that easily forgotten.

With half a mind, you tugged on the sleeves of his own shirt, and he obliged you, losing the old t-shirt and giving you no time to take in the view, much to your chagrin. For he was already wrapping two biceps (large ones, you had to note) around your thighs and pinning your hips down.

He started carefully, gentle presses to the surrounding area, kitten licks that made your fingers tighten their hold. He moaned, and you could have laughed. Who knew Conrad Fisher liked his hair pulled?

The tone shifted. What once was delicate could no longer be called such; he licked a broad stripe, not caring for the subtleties when his objective was nothing so pure. But if nothing else, he had a sense of duty, and that was what dictated his next moves.

His tongue massaged your clit for a moment as he relearned (he was always relearning, looking for details he might have once missed) what made you tick. And when one palm left his hair in hopes of muffling your noises in lieu, you knew he was pleased.

He closed his lips around the bud and hollowed his checks, and your teeth dug into the back of your hand, hips bucking up. Your attempt to close your legs was pitiful at best — Conrad was keeping you open for him without issue.

“Fuck,” escaped your attempt at stifling yourself, and the vibrations that followed from his chuckle had a coil tightening in the bottom of your stomach.

He was vibrant like this, painting you in pleasure until you were the picture of euphoria. Those colors were bursting across your closed eyes, a reminder that Conrad could be quite the artist when he wanted to.

Two digits circled your entrance, then slid in to the third knuckle easily. His free forearm draped across your hips, and he broke just to whisper, “You taste divine.”

Before you could manage a retort (if you were even capable), he was working you with just as much fervor. Your hips rolled as he discovered nerves and their endings, setting them alight until your entire nervous system was compromised of him and his eyes and his tongue and his fingers when they curled and found the spot that made you see stars.

He would be the death of you. That was for certain.

It was somewhere between the teeth nipping at your clit and his fingers pumping and curling at a renewed pace that your orgasm hit you. It consumed you, set you on fire and made you believe in everything holy because God, there was nothing mundane about this.

It was hard and blinding and there was his tongue lapping up the fruit of his labors like it was so sweet. Your legs were shaking, and the tremors had crawled up to encase your whole body in such ecstasy. It was like release and shooting up at the same time.

You opened your eyes, and Conrad was looking at you like you belonged in a museum.

He straightened, but didn’t bother to school his face, giving you all his truth. Sweatpants hung low on his hips, his arousal evident, and you reached for him without a second thought.

He only paused to remove the rest of his clothes and find a condom in the drawer of his nightstand, and then he was propped over you once more.

“Could you be any louder?” he joked.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re one to talk — I recall quite a bit of noise from you a few weeks ago.”

Conrad loved a good blowjob and you knew it. And you were sure a few members of that house party knew it too. Thin walls and whatnot.

He grinned, and you swore your ribs reorganized themselves just to make room for that specific smile right beside your heart. His forehead was blissfully clear of misshapen thread.

Still, a part of you ached when he entered you. This place you were in, tangible or not, would not last much longer. By the time you were done, you’d be leaving on shaking legs and he would leave the porchlight on just long enough for you to reach your car. No goodbye’s, no I’ll see you tomorrow’s, nothing that said that the oxygen shared between the two of you at night would be the same one shared in the morning. All you could count on was that it wasn’t him. Not when others were involved.

“Get out of your head,” he murmured, voice low. “Feel me.”

And you did. Every inch and the slight curve that you fit you perfectly. You followed his instruction, letting the sensations engulf the sting of overstimulation until mind-numbing pleasure was all you were left with.

That, and the groans that accompanied your own. Quiet curses reminded you of where you were, who you were with, and you hooked your legs around his waist, bringing him deeper.

Your nails left scratches down his back, ones you knew he loved, and when his thumb circled your clit, you had to turn your head into the nearest pillow. It was too much.

Conrad paused, and your breath stuttered. You rolled your hips, desperate to reach the climax that was steadily building.

“Let me see your face,” he said, forceful enough that you listened. “I want to see you.”

“Please,” was all you could manage.

His tempo resumed, increasing, and you thanked every deity you could think of for quiet bed frames. You were feeling him, all of him — his hips stuttering, his breath quickening, the sinful slap of skin.

Your nails carved into his scapulae, the vertebra of his spine, the muscles formed through hours of dedication. He was massive, but you knew you had control. Even if only when shrouded in shadow and under the cover of darkness, he would bend to you.

“I’m going to cum,” you whispered, his thumb the final piece. Your thoughts disappeared as he took care of you, brought you to the edge and let you break over it.

You felt his eyes watching, taking you in, and he fucked you through your orgasm, incurring wave upon wave until you were numb, blissed out.

Your name was on his lips when he finished, a strong few thrusts followed by his own trembling muscles revealing it all. You could drink in that sound for eternity, you thought. You could sip it like wine and gorge yourself on it like it was all you needed to survive.

For the seconds after, you kept your lids closed, unseeing. So, you were entirely surprised to find soft kisses being pressed to your neck, your cheek, your temple. Even after he pulled out, his lips remained to savor something you thought didn’t exist.

They were indolent, not at all like his earlier markings. This was him taking his time, appreciating you, worshipping you. He was kneeling at the altar, and you were his goddess. Without words, without articulation, but clear enough.

Your breathing was heavy, but you were cautious. Things seldom lasted this long, and you didn’t move in fear of the moment ending. This was a different sort of vulnerability, one that had never before existed between the two of you.

“Conrad?” You said, testing the waters.

“Yes?” He met your eyes, and the knot was back.

Without thinking, you ran your thumb between his brows. It disappeared, if only for a few minutes. That was enough. “Are you alright?”

You both knew the answer, the circumstances of his situation. Alright was a far cry from anything he could be. “I don’t know.”

The two of you needed to clean up, to wash yourselves of the transpired events, but you couldn’t help but hold onto this period of peace. “What do you need?”

He sat up, and pulled you with him. He didn’t answer the question, not as you wished, but this was Conrad, and you had a gift at reading between his lines. “Do you want to watch a movie?” he asked, his voice wrong. Different.

You smiled at him. “Yeah—Yeah, that sounds great.”

Something in him — hiding in his set shoulders, his clenched jaw, his shaking hand — relaxed. Utter relief. He presented you with another smile, and you thought you might start a collection.

He helped you stand on weak legs, a bit of cockiness returning at the sight, but he kept his mouth shut, opting to lead you to the adjoining bathroom instead. The mirror revealed the disheveled states of you both, remnants of things — people — that would never get old.

He met your eyes, and you made your only stipulation. “I’m picking though.”

He shook his head, but accepted. The two of you wouldn’t be able to agree on a movie if you tried. “Only if I choose next time.”

The words warmed something in you, something that told you this was not just an excuse to go another round. This wasn’t a tease, or pity, or any other motive disguised as affection. No, this was something akin to staying.

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spicyyy-muffin · 8 months

Text

oh my god. this is so good.

Make It Better

my masterlist (gif: @conradfiisher)

After getting into an argument with his brother, Conrad seeks out the comfort of a close friend.

8k (18+)

Warnings: smut, oral sex (fem receiving), p in v, strong language, and slight angst.

For every girl in Cousins, there was something about Conrad Fisher that made them go a little crazy. And for Y/N, a girl who grew up with the Fishers and Conklins next door every summer, it was the fact that he decided to choose her of all people to be with. Even if Belly had him first, it was all worth it to her.

With Conrad, it's all soft-spoken praises, feather light brushes off his fingertips against forbidden places, and sensual kisses. It's all she can see when she closes her eyes to sleep at night or merely blinks during the day. It's hard to keep it a secret when her mind refuses to stop recalling the memories at a constant rate. Still, she has to be on her best behavior seeing that it is the last night they have together before the house is officially sold by Aunt Julia. And to honor their summer house, they collectively decided to throw a goodbye party.

The vibration of the bass thumping within the walls of the house is strong enough to rattle her eardrums as she takes a shot with her arm interlinked with Cam Cameron's. He, of course, is drinking a can of soda, but she was quick to assuage his insecurity when he mentioned it. It was the thought that counted.

She and Cam have been friends since they were in middle school, so, when he joined their circle of friends through Belly last year, it made her happy to have him around in the way Jere, Steven, Conrad, and Belly always were. When he and Belly ended their fling, she was there for both of them. She hugged Cam for a minute straight before letting go and offering to cheer him up with ice cream. For Belly, she told her she did the right thing by not leading him on and told her to follow her heart, wherever it may lead her, as they swam in the pool.

How was Y/N supposed to know it would lead her straight into the arms of the boy she's always loved?

"Okay," Cam rips her from her thoughts as he speaks, shoving his hydroflask filled with ice water into her hands, "You are officially cut off for the night until I see you drink some of this. I think your blood may be fifty percent tequila at this point."

She frowns at him.

"You're no fun, but I appreciate you looking out," she says.

She stays with him to swallow a few generous mouthfuls of water before handing the bottle back to him with a quiet, "Thank you. M'gonna go find Connie and Steven."

The last she checked, the two of them were taking pictures with the Polaroid camera they bought at the store earlier. They called her and Belly over to take turns taking pictures together. One of them all together, one of Y/N and Steven, then Belly and Conrad, and, finally Y/N and Conrad.

It was hard to watch Belly pose with him considering their extensive history together, but he knew that, and when it was her turn to pose with him, he wrapped his hand around her waist and entwined his fingers in hers to give it a reassuring squeeze. This made it extremely difficult for her not to smile too hard as she looked at the camera lens.

After the flash went off, Steven, the only person to know the details of their recent, days-old affair, says, "Wait, one more! One more! You'll thank me later, I swear."

With Belly having skated off, Taylor doing God knows what, and Jere lingering not far from wherever Belly went, they didn't feel too worried when they were directed to hug for the camera. Her cheek squished against his, their chests rising and falling to meet one another like matching puzzle pieces, and the scent of his body wash—the proximity to him was intoxicating.

"Okay, smileee—"

The flash off went off, and they stayed together for a few seconds longer than necessary before reluctantly pulling apart.

Steven handed each of them one of the pictures with a wink before saying, "Alright, Taylor wants me to do shots with her. I'll probably be back soon."

Conrad got the first one and she got the second. They couldn't help how they smiled as they stood side by side to admire them. His was carefully placed in the back pocket of his pants, which then made her realize that she did not have any pockets herself.

"Can you keep it safe for me?" she asked with a bright, moony-eyed expression. Her hands then slid down the front of her dress to feel for any place to store the photograph only to come up empty. "It's my own fault. Shouldn't have worn a dress."

His eyes softened as they looked up and down the length of her body, then settled back on her eyes.

"No," he said before he could stop himself, "it's perfect."

Her breath hitched in her throat, and she was about to open her mouth to speak when Cam and Skye called her name from across the room.

After a second, he spoke again, "I'll catch up with you later, Padme."

When he turned to walk away, he heard her giggle from behind his back at the inside joke shared between the two of them.

As she searches through the house for him now, she smiles to herself at the thought of it. It originated when they were mere children. After finishing a marathon of the Star Wars franchise in release order—the only correct way to watch it according to Susannah and Laurel—one summer, they all became obsessed with playing pretend with sticks as lightsabers. A week later, once it became apparent that it wasn't a fleeting phase, Susannah surprised them with toy lightsabers.

Somehow, they decided amongst themselves who was who, and it just so happened that Y/N was Padme and Conrad was Anakin. Jere and Steven made a deal to take turns playing Obi-Wan Kenobi since they originally both wanted to be him, and Belly, the youngest of the bunch, was so happy to be included that she would play whatever character they wanted her to for the day. The only roles that never changed were Anakin and Padme. Even when they got to the main trilogy in their game of pretend, Conrad played Darth Vader, and Y/N let Belly be Princess Leia while she played as Darth Sidious. One way or another, they were always paired in some way. Fated.

They much preferred playing as the star-crossed lovers as opposed to the pair of evil Sith Lords. It pleased her more than she ever let on that she and Conrad were together, even if it was just pretend. They've always teasingly called each other by those names ever since.

She peeks into every entryway when she walks by in hopes that she'll spot Conrad or Steven, but neither of them appears. It isn't until she steps out onto the front porch after searching the whole lower level of the house that she finds one of them. Well, actually, she hears one of them. Conrad.

"Jere, you know for a fact that I came home every second I could—"

"But it wasn't every day!"

Jeremiah, she notes as she stands with her back against the front door. Neither of them sees her.

"Okay, okay," Conrad retorts. "What do you want? A medal?"

What Jere says next makes her have to look away in the direction of the neighbor's yard, not wanting to see the heartbreak written across his brother's face as he calls him a coward. Her jaw tightens with every vitriolic word spewed at him. It isn't her place to interrupt, but it kills her to stand by and listen.

"You're not someone to look up to. You're not even someone I wanna know."

The universe must have a cruel sense of humor, because the second these words are said, someone trying to swing the door open against her back sends her stumbling forward into their line of vision. The sound of her falling to her hands and knees brings their attention away from one another instantly.

Her eyes meet Jeremiah's first, then they immediately switch to lock eyes with Conrad, and the first thing out of her mouth is, "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop or anything. I just came out here cause I couldn't find you guys. I'll go back inside." Despite her anger at what she overheard, she makes sure to look at both of them when she says, "I'm sorry."

She's already on her feet and facing the front door, abandoned by the guy who tried to walk out only to be greeted with this shit-show, when Jeremiah says, his tone harsh, "Don't. I was already leaving."

This makes her stop in her tracks, her hand frozen in place where it grabs the door handle, and, after she listens to Jere's footsteps gradually disappear, she turns back around.

Conrad is closer now than he was a second ago. Rather than remain in the driveway where he and his brother argued, he stands on the porch with his hands in his pockets. The look on his face...it's heartbreaking. His eyes are glassy, his lips downturned into a slight frown he tries to keep at bay, and knows based on the look he gives her alone that he will never forget what Jere said to him tonight.

She says softly, "Connie," unsure of what else to say to him, but that's all it takes to open the floodgates.

Silent tears start to fall down his cheeks as she closes the distance between them to take him into her arms in a comforting embrace. He bends down a little to allow his head to rest on her shoulder. Her hand cups the back of it to cradle his face into the soft crook of her neck, giving him the shelter he needs from the rest of the party to cry it out. The arms wrapped around her waist squeeze tightly enough to push the air from her lungs, but she never complains. To be in his arms is a blessing regardless of the reason and circumstances behind it.

They remain this way for the better half of a minute before he has the courage to break the silence. The hand on the back of his head brushes through his hair in a repetitive motion in hopes that it will soothe him.

"Do you wanna get out of here?" he asks. "I just"—he shakes his head—"I can't think straight right now..."

She nods.

"We can go to my house."

The Fishers and Conklins aren't nearly as familiar with her family's summer house as she is with theirs, but they have been inside a few times. On days when he didn't feel like being around everyone last summer, Conrad would come over and sit in the chair in the corner of her room, blowing the smoke from his joint out of the window while she cleaned, folded laundry, or read whatever book Laurel had recommended to her at the time. It was domestic in a way that made her heart skip a beat. It made her imagine how it would be in the future if they were together. If they truly ended up getting married as they pretended to when they were children while playing as Anakin and Padme.

She reaches down and entwines their fingers in order to lead him away in the direction of the house next door. It's a short walk over the fence gate that connects their yards. That was Susannah's doing. Five years into her friendship with the kids in her house, she and Y/N's parents agreed to install a new fence with a gate between their two properties to allow their children to play without having to leave the yard.

With everyone busy partying, no one should come back to sleep until way later. It wasn't until after they arrived back from their night at the country club that she remembered where her mom kept the spare key, so the others may forget their plans to sleep there. If they do, she'll shoot them a text in the group chat to remind them rather than allow them to sleep on the floor.

The door is already unlocked from when she went inside to shower and get ready with Taylor and Belly before the party, so all it takes is her turning the handle to allow them access.

She drops his hand once the door is kicked shut behind them and looks over her shoulder to say, "I think there's frozen food in the garage freezer if you're hungry," as she walks toward the kitchen. "And there's still my mom's Diet Coke in the fridge. We could always mix it with my dad's whiskey if you wanna keep drinking."

From behind, she can hear his footsteps on the freaking hardwood floor, getting closer and closer until his hand wraps around her arm to spin her around to face him.

"What—"

The question is cut short by his lips crashing against hers.

Kissing Conrad is something she doesn't think she will ever get used to or grow tired of. No matter how many times it happens, which, so far, has been at least three times since the night they spent at the country club, it takes her breath away the same as it had the first time when they were just children playing pretend.

Her arms are thrown around his neck in less than a second to pull him closer, and she doesn't hesitate to kiss him back. Not even for a second. At first, she is too intoxicated with the thrill of having him touching her to remember why they came here in the first place. Every thought revolves around him—the taste of the alcohol on his tongue, the feeling of his chest pressing against hers, and how confidently his hands find their place on her waist.

A second later, the memory of the fight he and Jere had comes back to her, and she forces herself to push him away.

"Wait," she says with her hands flattened against his chest to create some distance between them. "Wait, Connie."

When he opens his eyes, they're overflowing with concern for her. She already knows that he is assuming he made a mistake or that she doesn't truly want to do this with him, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. In fact, she is the one who is concerned for him.

"Are you okay? You and Jere just..." Her expression softens a little. "I don't wanna do this unless I know you're sure you're alright."

The confusion evident on his face disappears by the time she's finished speaking. In his mind, he anticipated something much worse than her wanting to check in on him to make sure he was okay. As the seconds passed between her telling him to wait and him looking at her, he feared she'd take back everything they shared in the past few days. All the secret kisses, gentle touches, and giggles. He wasn't sure he could take losing another one of the girls he grew up with in that way.

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and stares at her without saying a word. If it were anyone else, it would be uncomfortable, but it never is with them. That's part of what keeps bringing him back to her. Of course, it can't end well seeing that he dated Belly, she's friends with her, and they had such a messy break-up, but what is he supposed to do? Ignore his feelings? Pretend not to want her when he clearly does? He can't do it. He won't. Now that he's already had a taste of her, he can't resist any it longer.

His chest rises with a deep inhale, then—

"I fucked everything up, and I knew Jere must have resented me for it, but I didn't think it was that bad," Conrad says. "I'm sad and angry, of course, but that doesn't mean you'd be taking advantage." He lets the tip of his nose brush hers with how close he comes. His voice is hardly a push of air when he speaks again. "You make everything feel better. You always have."

She doesn't allow him to kiss her again. Instead, she plays with the hair at the nape of his neck and keeps her eyes on his, not giving in even when their noses bump together and the heat of his exhales cloud on her skin. The kitchen table he has her pressed up against digs into her back, keeping her pinned in place exactly where he needs her.

"So, that's what you want?" she asks in a hushed tone even though they have the house to themselves. Every breath they take is pulled from the little pocket of air between their faces, and they can both smell the liquor on each other's breath every time they exhale. The hands on her waist slowly descend until they settle on her hips. "You want me to make it better?"

The moment she says the words, Conrad seems to melt into her touch. That is all it takes to turn him to putty in her hands, and he nods in response with his face pressed against hers.

"Is that okay?"

In other words, is that what you want? Have you been dying to get your hands on me the way I have been dying to get mine on you? It feels like a lifetime since they first hooked up in a secluded room at the country club, but it hasn't been more than a day.

In lieu of a verbal answer, she closes the inch of distance between them and connects their lips in a tender kiss.

He reciprocates with a passion that ramps up the intensity in a matter of seconds, quickly turning it from its initially timid and gentle nature into something more desperate and needy. Those hands on her hips squeeze hard to keep control and steady her body as he presses her further into the table, making her back arch a little. Her hands wander to explore every part of him now that she knows he wants this again, and she slips them up underneath his shirt to feel his bare skin beneath her palms. But when her hands make contact with his nipples, he shivers.

Their lips disconnect, shining from the saliva they share, for him to murmur, "Cold hands," as explanation before reaching down for the hem of her dress. She helps him shimmy the tight material up from where it gets stuck around her breasts until it is pulled free and tossed somewhere on the kitchen floor behind her, leaving her in only her undergarments. And he is quick to dispose of those too. Nimble fingers fumble with the clasp of her bra for a few seconds, then it finally comes loose around her back.

But, that's the last thing she lets him take off of her before she puts a hand on his chest to stop him.

Without saying a word, she grasps the bottom of his shirt and starts lifting it up to reveal his bare chest to her. He takes the hint without a second of confusion, pulling it the rest of the way off. It drops from his grasp the second it's off his head and abandoned in favor of aiding her in her attempt to undo his pants with those soft, trembling hands.

In a way, it feels similar to their first time. It was against a wall at the country club the other night after they became bored looking for a place to sleep. All they knew was that they needed to make it quick, so they did. His hand disappeared down the front of her panties to help her along, the pressure of his fingertips rubbing her clit bringing a wetness that soaked the cotton fabric concealing her from view, and that was all the preparation they took before it happened. He asked, voice quiet and low, if she'd done it before when she began tugging on his shirt as they made out, so once she said she had, all bets were off.

The thought of it slows him down for a second.

That time, they had to get it over with quickly. If they hadn't, the others likely would have gone looking for them and found out what was going on in the office room they snuck into. It was rough and quick and passionate, and he liked that, he truly did, but recalling that now makes him want to do it differently this time. Especially considering what happened before they came into this house.

"Slower, slower," he murmurs into her mouth.

The adjustment is made instantly, and she allows him to take back full control of the kiss. With his hands pulling her hips flush against his, he surrenders to the urge to rut against her to relieve the aching of his hard cock through the material of his boxer briefs and unzipped pants. He invades her open mouth with his tongue and kisses her slower, deeper than he had the last time. His teeth nip playfully at her lower lip in the second he takes to pull back for air.

His hands cup her face on either side to keep her in place as he dips down to kiss the underside of her jaw. He doesn't dare to leave any marks behind where anyone could see them, but he does take his time and suck gently on the sweet spot on the gentle slope where her shoulder and neck bridge together. Faintly, they can both hear the music from his house next door over the wet sound of his lips on her neck.

The other day, they didn't have the time to do everything he wanted to with her, but tonight they do. Tonight, he has her to himself for the first time in months, and he isn't going to take that opportunity for granted. Everything with her happened too fast for him to process. Last week, he'd been caught up on Belly, and part of him still is, but, then, Y/N came into the picture in a way he never expected. Despite the fear of ruining their lifelong friendship, to be with her felt as natural a process as breathing.

The hands on her face slip down the sides of her neck and down the front of her body until they find the band of the thin little thong she chose tonight for the sake of not having panty lines through her dress. Part of it also had to do with the possibility of this happening again, but she'd never give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

It appears, however, that he already knows when she finds the end of his mouth tipping upwards in a slight smirk as his fingers hook around the fabric. Seeing that they just hooked up yesterday and that these are a decent step up from the boy-short panties patterned with flowers he saw her in before, it isn't too difficult to put together.

Conrad sinks down onto his knees to tug it down her legs, and before her cheeks can begin to burn with embarrassment, she warns him, "Don't even."

This draws a giggle from him, his head tilting back to let him look up at her. Even in the midst of their playfulness and laughter, the sight of him kneeling before her makes her go weak in the knees. The strands of hair hanging in his eyes frame his face with an effortlessness she has envied him for her whole life. His beauty is classic, statuesque, even. He is the specific type of attractive that never falls out of trend or becomes less shocking over time. At least, not for her.

"I didn't say anything."

She counters, still laughing, "You didn't have to!"

At this point, she is grinning from ear to ear, and it's difficult to be self-conscious about being laid bare in his presence when he's looking at her like that. Her left leg is lifted off of the ground for her underwear to slide off of her ankle, but he doesn't put it back down. Instead, he turns his head to kiss her sensitive inner thigh, leaving her with nothing to do except watch while the anticipation of what he plans on doing eats her alive.

Unlike her neck, he has no qualms about marking up her thighs. It may be mildly uncomfortable to forgo wearing shorts in the summer heat, but it's doable. She can wear some of the bottoms she has stored in the dresser upstairs to keep the others from seeing if need be. His other hand grips her right hip to keep her steady while his other has her bent leg propped over his shoulder. Soon, his kisses have made a path up the length of her thigh, and she can't help but breathe heavier when she feels the heat of his exhales at the apex of her thighs.

"Connie..." she breathes out.

This brings his attention up, eyes fluttering open from where they'd been closed as he inched closer and closer to where she wants him most. And when she finds him looking up at her, pupils dilated and lips swollen from kissing, she can hardly breathe.

He asks, "You nervous?"

Words fail her. All she can do is nod.

"Don't be," Conrad whispers, the hand on her hip reaching to take hers in it for the sake of comforting her. "It's just me."

To this, she chuckles a little and tries not to shift in place with the sheer discomfort of the need she feels for him in this moment. No one has ever done this specific sexual act with her before, so the nerves are strong, but not quite as strong as her curiosity or desire.

"That's exactly why I'm nervous."

Her free hand comes down to brush the hair out of his face, and he leans into the touch like a cat brushing up between your legs. His eyes shut again for a second to appreciate the sweet gesture before looking up at her again, a slight grin begging to come to fruition on his face.

"Let me make it better, then," he says softly, in that charming, distinctly Conrad way that could take any girl's breath away with ease.

The first flick of his tongue against her is gentle, a mere glimpse of what's to come, but it stuns her all the same. Never having experienced this before, she is extremely sensitive to anything he does to her, and she finds that she's far more sensitive when it's his mouth pleasuring her as opposed to his fingers. Every soft brush of his lips against her in teasing kisses makes her hips press forward into his face in a silent command to continue without her noticing that she's doing it. He is quick to notice it, though, and he doesn't continue to tease her any longer.

This time, when he spread her open on his tongue, he gives her what she wants.

Sparks of pleasure shoot through her the second she feels him lapping at her aching clit, soft and gentle at first until he feels her grinding herself forward against his face for more. With her soft sighs and stifled moans as encouragement, he dips his head between her legs and eats her like a man starved. The remaining leg she stands on is quickly guided over his other shoulder, and his hand slips out of hers in favor of taking hold of her hips. The supple flesh of her ass is soft where it is squeezed beneath his fingertips and used as leverage to bring her as close as possible.

"Mm," she whines, "Fuck..."

The ability to speak evades her in the heat of the moment, but they both know how much she's enjoying this without her having to come out and say it. If the sounds she's making weren't enough, the hand she has gripping the back of his head to keep his mouth on her would prove it.

She knew from conversations overheard between the boys that Conrad was no stranger to this kind of thing. It may have made her heart sink into the pit of her stomach to hear it back then, but, right now, she's thankful for his experience. Every lick, kiss, and caress is placed exactly where she needs it as though he's able to read her body without having to open his eyes. The pleasure he's giving her far outweighs the jealousy she feels when she remembers that he's done this with other girls, one of them possibly being Belly.

The taste of her arousal, slick on his lips and tongue, has him humming in contentment into her as though he is the one being pleasured by this. In a way, he is. There's something intoxicating about being surrounded by her in every sense like this—her weight on his shoulders, her hands in his hair, and her thighs clamped shut on either side of his face. His dick strains against the fabric of his underwear as well as his unzipped pants, pulsing with the desire to sink into her and find his release.

She cants her hips to grind down on his face in pursuit of something closer, something deeper that they can't manage like this. And it isn't long before she starts to pull gently at his hair, reaching down and trying to pull on his arm to get the message across.

Conrad's lips part from her soaked pussy with a wet sound. When he looks up at her from between her thighs, she can see how his lips and chin are smeared with her arousal. It glistens under the moonlight coming in through the kitchen window. In seconds, the moment is already gone. The hands gripping her hips slide down to take hold of her thighs in order to guide them off of his shoulders, and when he sets her back down onto the ground, her muscles are trembling.

He's standing back up at his full height with his body slotted perfectly between her legs in the time it takes her to blink. Their next kiss is hungrier, much more aggressive in nature, than the last they shared, and she can taste herself on his lips.

In the gaps between their fervent kisses, she says, breathless, "I know you wanted to go slower this time, but I can't." His tongue invades her mouth again, pushing past her soft lips to allow the taste of her lip balm to blend with the semi-sweet taste of her pussy. It's only when his tongue retreats to give him the chance to bite down on her bottom lip that she can speak again. "Please," she whines and juts her hips out until she feels him hard against her. "We can go again after, I just want you now."

This sends him into a bit of a frenzy.

He has had his fair share of hook-ups—not nearly as many as Jere but plenty—yet there's something about her that thrills him in a way few others ever could. No girl has ever said anything like that to him. With Belly, it was her first time, so everything was tender and experimental due to the nature of the situation. With Y/N, it's different in the sense that they cannot be fairly compared. How could anyone compare a gentle, sweet first time with what may end up being the best fuck of his life, surpassing the quickie at the country club that left them both breathless and weary.

Conrad is panting for air when their lips part, their mouths hanging open and brushing as he hefts her up onto the table with little effort. Beneath her hands, she can feel his biceps flex with the quick lift. Taut muscle contracts and pushes back against her fingers before relaxing again once her ass is planted on the tabletop, but if it weren't for her hands gripping his arms for support, she wouldn't have noticed it had any effect on him. It's strangely arousing. She never gave his casual strength much thought until he utilized it in this context for the first time. A thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead when he had to keep her lifted against the wall at the country club as he thrust into her, but he didn't struggle.

Please. He hears her whining the word on a loop in his mind as he aids her in shoving his pants and underwear down his lean thighs. We can go again after. She wraps her hand around his length and pumps a few times despite the fact that he's already hard enough for it to ache. All the while, he's still stuck on the things she said. We can go again after. Not only does she want him now, she already knows she'll want him again. I just want you now. That crucial part gave him the answers he'd been seeking for the past twenty-four hours since he pinned her to the wall at the country club and fucked her hard enough to make the framed paintings shake on their hooks. I just want you now. It was life-altering for her too.

As he angles his hips just right to guide the broad tip of his cock into her, his fingers dig into her hips so hard, she'll be shocked if it doesn't bruise by tomorrow.

She uses the legs wrapped around his hips to push him further into her, and they both gasp at the sensation it brings them. Her heels press into the backs of his thighs, urging him to take whatever he wants from her whenever he wants it. It doesn't matter that the stretch she feels the further she urges him inside of her almost makes her have to bite down on her lip to contain a wince. Nothing matters to her except for getting as close to him as physically possible.

He lets out a low, drawn-out, "Oh fuckkk," under his breath as he sinks the rest of the way into her.

Their noses bump with every slight movement made or breath taken in, and she refuses to look away from his eyes. There's something inherently vulnerable about holding unwavering eye contact with him while he is buried in her to the hilt. The hands on his biceps slide up slowly until both of her arms are wrapped behind his neck to keep him from shying away from her at any point. This is the closeness she craved more than anything. Nothing else would do, not even having him on his knees for her.

It's a wonder that he doesn't come right away with how tightly the soft, warm walls of her pussy are squeezing around him. And when she bucks her hips up in a wordless request for him to move, he shakes his head.

Eyes clenched shut, Conrad murmurs, "I just need a second."

He feels her nod against his face, her nose nudging his cheek. For the next thirty or so seconds, he remains as still as possible. It's torture for him to stay this way and resist doing what comes naturally. Although it's for his sake, not hers, he struggles to keep a firm enough hold on his self-control. He keeps his eyes shut because he knows that if he looks at her, he won't stand a chance.

It isn't until the fire that blazed in the pit of his abdomen has calmed that he allows himself to look at her again. When he opens his eyes, she's already watching him. Her fingers twirl strands of his hair absentmindedly, and when she sees him open his eyes again, she closes the gap between their lips again.

This time, as his lips slot against hers, he draws away from her, pulling out until it's only his tip inside of her.

"You don't have to be gentle," she murmurs. "I can take it. I won't break."

His response comes in the form of him snapping his hips into her until he's gone as deep as she can take him. Despite her urging him to get rougher with her, she still gasps at the sudden intrusion and looks up at him with a wide-eyed stare of disbelief. Her past hook-ups were meaningless and unfulfilling. It happened during her freshman year at Trinity College while Conrad and Belly were dating. Considering what was going on at the time, she didn't plan to talk to either of them about it afterward, and, once it was as over, she didn't want to.

It was horrible.

It was the polar opposite of her first time with Conrad. Not only was it with an uncaring frat boy she met at a party her roommate dragged her to, it was uncomfortable. He didn't do anything other than get himself hard and stick it in, and with her nerves being so bad, it was already hard for her to get aroused. But it couldn't be any more different now. It couldn't be any more different with him.

It's rougher than it was initially, yet still slow and sensual. The hands on her hips guide her into a cadence to match his movements each time he thrusts into her, stifling the sound of his own low moans by smearing his mouth against hers. It's a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Their tongues brush, saliva coating their lips, and he makes sure there isn't a single part of her left un-worshiped tonight. Whether it be her neck, her collarbone, or her jaw, he pays every part of her the attention it deserves, partly for her sake and partly because he cannot help himself.

Their lips pull apart with a loud smacking sound, and he keeps his forehead pressed to hers as he looks into her eyes, head tilting just slightly to the side. One of his hands abandons its place at her hip to slide up the length of her torso. Her stomach flinches inward at the contact of his knuckles brushing her skin on the way past, but it's when he lets his hand flatten over her breast that she lets out a shaky exhale, He doesn't spend too much time there, though. After teasing her with a gentle squeeze, his hand wraps around the back of her neck for the sake of having control of where she looks, and, right now, he wants her to look at him as he admits something to her.

"I've dreamt about this," Conrad whispers.

He delights in her slack-mouthed expression when he ruts into her a touch faster and harder for the sake of seeing the expression on her face shift.

Somehow, she finds her voice and manages to stammer out, "I"—she is interrupted by the need to take in a sharp breath of air—"I thought..."

The hand on the back of her neck squeezes harder at the implication of her unfinished statement. It isn't necessary for her to continue the thought, he already knows what it means. I thought you dreamt about Belly. He did. He dreamt of Belly every night last summer, but it was Y/N who he dreamt of first.

She was the one who awakened these feelings within him for the first time. Being the oldest alongside him, she was the first to develop, and he didn't know what to do with the feelings that surfaced the summer she came back looking less like a girl and more like a woman. She was the first person he kissed, albeit for a game they played together, not Belly. Surely, he thought she had to know that it meant something to him too, but when he looks at her now, it's clear that he thought wrong.

His brows pinch together at the sensation of her tightening up around him, but his eyes are soft. Tender. Honest. He shakes his head. Just once.

"You were first," he says it so quickly, she almost misses it. "It was you."

That doesn't mean what he had with Belly meant nothing. In fact, it means the opposite. What he had with Belly was unlike anything he experienced before, but so is this. There is no way for Conrad to compare the two because what he feels for them is so solid yet different.

With Belly, he knew what he meant to her. He knew she put him on a pedestal her whole life and believed every word he said, so it was difficult not to feel an added pressure to live up to that standard. His heart broke when he ruined prom for her, but he did it because he thought he didn't deserve her.

With Y/N, they've always mirrored one another. Both the eldest in their respective families, gifted children, and sensitive in a way that troubled them more than most of their siblings and friends. Where everyone else misunderstood Conrad, she understood him. And it was never something that had to be acknowledged out loud or spoken of. It was a law of existence.

The summer before last, when Conrad got into reading as a result of Laurel gifting him a few of her favorite classics, he ended up insisting that Y/N read Wuthering Heights shortly after he finished it. Never having read for pleasure before, she thought she'd find it difficult to devote herself to it, but she should have known. She should have known that if he wanted her to read it, there were good reasons for it. Belly and the boys were having dinner with their moms when she finally got to his favorite line.

It was underlined in red ink, she noted, not pencil. Never to be erased or undone in any way. When she read it, she knew immediately that he'd done it for her. On the page, it read, "He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same," and that was the moment she knew she loved him.

Right now, as he kisses her and reaches down with the same hand that held her neck to rub her clit, it's all she can think of. So, she says it. She takes the vulnerable confession and offers one of her own in return.

"You were first for me too," she says breathlessly.

The contact of his fingertips brushing her most sensitive spot has her jolting against him in equal parts shock and pleasure. It instantly makes the feeling of him rocking into her at a steady pace all the more gratifying. What she said is fuel to the fire for him. It urges him on, chasing the weightless, stirring feeling inside of him with reckless abandon. He decides to trust what she said about being able to handle him not being gentle, because, truth be told, he can't control himself.

Conrad, lost in the haze, starts sucking at her neck after he leans down to kiss it. Everything outside of this house no longer exists to either of them, so it doesn't occur to them that they'll have to answer for the marks left behind on her come morning. No, all he can think of is what he feels for her and how he can possibly show her the full extent of it without telling her. This is the only way, he thinks. When he talks, he fucks everything up, but she has to know how he feels through this. After all, she's always had a sixth sense when it comes to him. Why should it be any different now?

Her fingers card through his hair and tug gently on the soft strands as she tips back her head and arches her body into him, gasping into the dark, empty kitchen. Even when he kisses his way back up to her lips, he remains trapped in the trance she put him under, taking every part of her for himself. It takes her crying out in bliss at the combined sensations of his fingers on her clit and the smooth, wet drag of his cock inside of her for him to meet her gaze again. This time, he doesn't dare look away. Neither does she.

Their eye contact never wavers as she murmurs, face twisted in pleasure, "Fuck, I think—"

Her sentence can't even be finished before she's coming undone from the next caress of his fingers against her.

The arms wrapped around the back of his neck pull him in as her body tenses up with the onset of her climax. Not only does he watch and listen as the euphoria washes over her, he feels it. He can feel her spasming around him, clenching and unclenching, through every powerful wave.

Her jaw has fallen open in a gape that allows every beautiful moan, gasp, and whine to escape into the space between their lips. And it's the sensation of her coming around him that threatens to send him over the edge, but he holds out for as long as he can. Both for the sake of helping her ride it out and prolonging his own orgasm.

He pulls out quickly out of fear of finishing inside and withdraws the fingers that were rubbing her clit to wrap them around his cock, stroking himself once, twice, three times until he comes with a breathy moan. Watching it drip down her trembling stomach heightens the swift pulses of pleasure, and when his body jerks involuntarily from how good it feels, the next rope of cum lands across the hickeys on her inner thighs. It's downright filthy, but he'll be damned if it isn't the most erotic thing he's ever seen in real life.

For a second, time is suspended to allow them both the chance to catch their breath and enjoy the comfort of each other's embrace. Her arms are still linked around him, trapping him in, and he lets his face fall forward onto her shoulder with a tired sigh. It's impossible for either of them to find words in the midst of their post-orgasmic bliss, so they don't bother trying. Much like how it has been for their lives preceding this moment, the silence is comfortable. There is no misunderstanding, awkwardness, or trying to fill the space with meaningless small talk.

Once the rapid rise and fall of their chests have evened out, Conrad pulls away from his cherished spot in the crook of her neck and kisses her one last time before coming back down to earth.

He's already pulling his pants back up before moving to get a few paper towels from the kitchen counter, telling her, "Stay there, I got it."

The sound of the tap turning on reaches her ears, then vanishes as quickly as it appeared, and it isn't long before Conrad is back in front of her. Every swipe of the damp wad of paper towel is gentle on his skin, carefully minding where she's particularly sensitive in the aftermath of what they did. As he wipes his release up from her stomach and thighs, he folds the towel in half to clean her again, then, once he's finished, he leans down with one hand cupped underneath her thigh and presses a kiss to one of the marks he left behind.

Her face burns hot at this, but she tries not to let it rattle her brave face.

"You're lucky I like you so much," she says, tilting her head to show him her neck, "cause this is gonna be impossible to hide."

He can't even stop the smirk from crossing his face at the sight of her freshly bruised skin. Yet, he doesn't answer right away. He simply continues to smile to himself and walks around the island she's perched on, digging in the freezer for something for the next moment or so. When he returns, he's holding up a bag of frozen peas as though it is a coveted trophy.

"This will help," he says and gently presses the cold bag over the spot on her neck. "Thank you, by the way."

She blinks at him.

"For what?"

His shoulders pull up in a shrug as he tries to find the right way to word it without it sounding like he's only talking about the sex.

"For everything." He says softly, rubbing the edge of her jaw with his thumb. "Sometimes, I feel like you don't know what you mean to me."

The room has been plunged into silence since they stopped moaning, panting, and joining their bodies together. All that can be heard over their voices is the music next door, as well as loud voices speaking in the back and front yard. In here, though, it's just them, and he can hear how her breath hitches in her throat at what he said.

"It was confusing last summer, but ever since you underlined that part in the book you gave me, I've known. At least to some extent," she admits. "I knew you did that for me."

He nods.

"I did."

There's a long pause, then—

She breaks her gaze with him and looks down at the floor, smiling like an idiot at the thought of what has transpired in the last forty-eight hours. Seeing her clothes in a pile on the floor prompts her to take the frozen peas from him and jump down from her seat on the counter.

As explanation, she says, holding the bag to her neck, "We should probably get back to the party before anyone notices we're gone."

He casts a quick glance to the counter where they fucked for a second before looking at her again.

"And probably clean that."

A giggle escapes her when he says this.

"Yeah, we definitely should."

Hello! Finally wrote a Conrad fic! If you enjoyed it, I'd love to hear your thoughts. If you want to be added to a tag list for future Conrad fics, let me know as well. Thank you.

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