summary: where conrad opens up about an offer his friends have for him that could take him back a forgotten love of his, football.
warnings & tags: football terms. tsitp s1 spoilers, mention of adam, death and infidelity. hurt/comfort, established relationship, fluff.
words: 1.2K
note: i've been dying to write about this side of him, especially now that we know he's playing again 😭
Conrad was nervous. It was evident on the way he was sitting on the couch as you watched a movie, Casablanca. One of his arms wrapped around your shoulder, the other one tapping softly his thigh, covered by the navy blue blanket above both of your laps. His gaze there, on the computer but blank, his expression unreadable, distant, as if his mind was somewhere else.
His phone, placed on the arm rest facing at the ceiling. It didn't sound because he had it set to vibrate only but it did light up every time a new message came. One, two, three, four... He was having an active conversation with someone, probably a group chat, as the buzzing of the phone sounded repeatedly in less than three minutes, still he was actively ignoring it. Just reading the texts, subtly, on the lockscreen, so you didn't think he wasn't there, that he wasn't present in mind and soul, and that he had no idea what the hell was happening in the movie at the moment, even after he knew the plot by heart.
He couldn't ignore it for so long, the vibrations kept coming so he sighed, jaw clenched, shifted a little on the couch. Picked up the phone, read the texts, wrote an answer, erased it a couple seconds later, wrote something again, then repeated his previous actions and gave up finally, not sending any reply at all, leaving his phone in the same place but now face down on the couch.
“Everything alright?” You asked looking up from your lashes, your head on his shoulder, hand steady on his chest. He gave you a reassuring smile, nodded once “Yeah, it's just the guys”
The guys. You knew them. His male friends that he met at class, party lovers, girls lovers but good, smart boys, that treat him better than his own brother, and, had spent an exaggerated amount of time, begging him to become their quarterback for their amateur football team.
“Are you seeing them this weekend?” You questioned again, pulling back a little from his body.
He passed a hand through his hair, shrugged “Maybe...I don't know” He was holding something back, the tone of his voice said it so clearly. He got quiet for a bit, wondering if he should tell you what was happening or not. He did, eventually. “They want me to play with them on Sunday. As their quarterback” He let out and watched you, waited for your reaction, waiting for the negative he knew you surely would give him, because it was a stupid idea. It was ridiculous. But you didn't.
You didn't disagree immediately. You broke apart from him, stretched your arm to pause the movie and moved on the couch so your body was facing his, cross legged beneath the blanket. “What? That's great” You agreed. You seemed excited for him. A flicker of confusion appeared on his face. Then you asked: “You're gonna go?”
He tilted his head, chuckled, unsure, sent you a look that spoke louder than words. He didn't want to, correction, he did want to but was afraid.
“Come on!” You grumbled “You have to do it. You love it” The encouragement fell naturally from your mouth.
He smirked, as you were saying a joke, you could saw the gears of his mind working “My dad love it, I played just to please him” He reminded you, though, you were sure it wasn't the case, he's a football enthusiast. He runs every morning, like he's training for something. He watches his favorite team games, the three an half hours. Celebrates at every touchdown and curse at every interception. Knows random facts about the sport. Wears a happy smile when he plays with his family on the beach house. He does like football, enjoys it even.
“You're a terrible liar, Connie baby” You placed your hand on his thigh, giving him a soft squeeze.
“Hey!” He complained, voice in a higher note. “It's ridiculous. I haven't played in years” he said, unbothered, still, it gave you the impression he was trying to convince himself that it was actually crazy to consider it. “The last time I did was the summer before my mom—” He didn't finish his sentence but you understood.
He abandoned the sport three years ago, exactly in the summer before his mom's passing, as a complaint against his father, as a weak attempt to erase every connection to the man who cheated on his sick mother without regretting. He told himself he started playing because Adam pushed him, and that was true, however, as the years passed, the ball on his hand became a second nature for him, a moment of freedom where he had mostly all the control of what happened in the field. He suggested the plays, he screamed the direction his team would take, he threw the ball and won points, he also made mistakes, sometimes, but it was all on him. His choices. His losses, his victories. No one else.
And now he missed it. You just knew it. Every time he gather to play with his family on warm aftenoons at the beach, he beamed, he instructed his friends and brother like he was the owner of the field, and they listened. He enjoyed it, it served like an escape from the messy chaos the Fisher and Conklins bring into his life. What betrayed him though, was how he stopped walking every time he caught the football team practicing on the green field of Stanford. Briefly. But you'd caught him a few times doing it.
“You're out of practice. So what?” You held his hand, encouraging, anchoring him to this moment, to the words he needed to hear to act on what he already desired. “There's nothing a little training doesn't fix. Besides, this is muscle memory, baby, if you were good then, you'll still be now”
His thumb caressed the back of your hand, lightly, loving. Thinking. Then, he spoke in a weak whisper “What if I fail?”
His question made your heart clenched, even now, after spending two hours a week in therapy for five months, Conrad had his weak moments, his insecurities, his fears. Fortunately, he wasn't alone anymore.
“What if you don't?” He didn't answer. He had the bad habit of fixing on the worst possible outcomes of every situation but you didn't. You reminded him life can be good, that something could turn out fine, every time you have the chance. That's why he loves you. One of the many reasons.
“This is an unofficial game with your future doctor friends, Conrad” You told him “Give it a try and if you realize football isn't really your thing anymore, we move on”
He avoided your gaze, he was thinking, million thoughts spinning around his head. At the end, he looked at you “And if I...still like it?”
“If you still like it...” Your fingers fumbled with his, head closing the distance “You'll have a fan watching you on the bleachers every game” You assured, whispering softly, real.
“You'll be there?” He fumbled with your fingers too. He studied your face, his eyes flickered to your lips and looked up to your gaze when you spoke again.
“Always” You said, firmly. Loving. One hand traveled to his cheek, caressing his skin, lightly.
He smiled, lean to your touch “Alright, I'll try it” He sealed the decision with a sweet kiss.
Summary: After Susannah’s dedication, tensions boil over when Belly announces her engagement to Jeremiah. Feeling overwhelmed by everything unraveling around you, you drive, not knowing what the storm that lay ahead has in store.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 4.5, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9
*Contains S3 Spoilers*
The menus had barely been cleared.
The table still smelled like lemon water and rosemary when Belly said it:
“We’re getting married!”
For a moment, no one spoke.
You felt the silence hit your chest like cold water. It wasn’t the kind of quiet that came from joy, or shock, or even disbelief. It was heavier than that. Like someone had yanked the air out of the room.
Laurel was the first to blink. “What?”
Belly smiled, small, uncertain. Jeremiah sat beside her, nodding, hand on hers like he could anchor it all.
“We didn’t want to say anything before we were all together at the dedication,” she added quickly. “But we're here now and it just feels… right.” Her smile was shaky.
Mr. Fisher set down his fork. Steven leaned back in his chair with a sharp exhale, muttering, “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Conrad didn’t say a word. His jaw was tight. His eyes never left his plate.
You felt it in your body before you could name it: the spinning, the pressure, the way your throat clenched like it was closing. You looked down at your napkin, trying to steady your breathing.
This was supposed to be about Susannah. About remembering. About family. And now your little sister was dropping this bomb like it was casual.
“You’re engaged?” you finally said, voice barely audible.
Belly nodded. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”
Happy?
You didn’t know what to feel.
Everyone at the table was unraveling, and somehow they still expected you to keep your spine straight and your smile fixed.
“I need some air,” you said, standing too fast. Laurel called your name, but you were already walking. You didn’t stop. Didn’t look back.
---
You were behind the wheel before you realized where you were going.
The sky had darkened fast, clouds rolling in like they were summoned just for you. Wind lashed against the trees, bending them low. Rain hit five minutes later. Hard. Loud. You turned up the wipers, but it didn’t help.
Your phone buzzed on the passenger seat: Steven. Then Laurel. Then Belly.
You didn’t answer.
You could still hear her voice. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”
Like your exhaustion was a betrayal.
Your hands shook on the steering wheel. You weren’t even crying yet, just gasping, dry and soundless. You could feel it building in your chest, like thunder.
Engaged.
She was engaged.
And you were... what?
Working a job you hated. Barely affording rent. Trying to parent your parents and fix a family that kept splintering around you.
You didn’t see the branch.
The car jolted hard as the tire blew, swerving on the slick road. You lost control, skidded sideways, and veered off into a shallow ditch. Your head snapped sideways - pain flashed white - and then all you could hear was the rain.
You sat there, shaking.
Your head was spinning, panic and dizziness combining. Fumbling with your phone, your fingers slipped twice before you could hit his name.
“Y/N?” Conrad’s voice was immediate, sharp. “Where are you?”
“I.. I crashed,” you whispered. “It’s raining, and I hit something, I couldn’t see…”
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
You touched your temple. Blood on your fingers.
“I think I hit my head.”
“Jesus... okay. I’ve got you. I’m tracking your phone. Don’t hang up.”
“I didn’t know who else to call.”
“You don’t need anyone else,” he said.
The call didn’t even end properly. It dropped. But you didn’t need it. You knew he was coming.
---
He found you twenty minutes later, parked halfway into a ditch, shivering in the front seat.
His door slammed. Then he was there, pulling yours open. Rain poured in, but you didn’t care. You barely registered it. You only registered him.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, kneeling beside you. “Shit. Okay, let me see.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not.”
You flinched as he touched your face, but you didn’t stop him. He peeled back your hair gently, touching around the wound.
“Does this hurt?”
“No more than everything else,” you said, voice hoarse.
Conrad stilled.
You finally looked up at him: soaked to the bone, hair plastered to his face, eyes wild and worried.
“I feel like I’m drowning, Conrad...” you whispered. “I can’t fix anything. My mom’s falling apart with guilt. Steven’s angry at everyone after his accident. Belly’s getting married and I’m… nothing. I can’t do anything right. I’m so tired of pretending I can.”
His face twisted. “You’re not nothing.”
“I feel pathetic.”
“You’re not.”
“I feel alone.”
He swallowed.
“You’re not alone.”
You stared at him. “Then why do you keep leaving me?”
That stopped him cold.
He opened his mouth, then shut it again. His hands were shaking now.
Then he reached up to wipe a streak of red from your temple with his thumb - and froze.
So did you.
The air between you shifted, heavy, like the storm had followed you inside.
His hand lingered at your cheek, thumb still ghosting over skin. You could feel every breath, every heartbeat.
“I didn’t mean to,” he said finally, quietly. “I just… I didn’t know how to be around you. Not with how I felt.”
You blinked at him. “What are you talking about?”
His eyes searched yours, like maybe this was the moment he was finally going to say it.
But he didn’t.
He looked down instead, dropping his hand.
“It’s just… easier to stay away sometimes. That doesn’t mean I wanted to.”
You were quiet. Your heart was loud.
“Then don’t,” you said.
He nodded once. Still not looking at you. But his thumb brushed your knee, just once, and didn’t move away.
“Come on,” he said, quieter now. “Let’s get you home.”
---
You sat in silence the whole drive back, rain still pouring like hell outside.
When he parked in your driveway, you didn’t move right away.
“Thank you,” you said finally.
He nodded, eyes on the steering wheel. “Anytime.”
You opened the door.
He didn’t stop you. But he didn’t drive off, either.
And as you walked back toward the house, blood drying on your skin, heart still breaking in too many places to count, you could feel his eyes on your back.
♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ. Now playing... You Are in Love (Taylor's Version) - Taylor Swift
It was always him. You just didn’t realise it until a quiet night on the Cousins beach house porch — knees brushing, tea shared, words you never thought he’d say. A soft, slow burn about the moment friendship quietly becomes something more.
warnings: none
word count: 500+ words
Georgia’s Playlist | Masterlist
The thing about Cousins is that the days stretch long, like taffy. Sticky and sweet and golden at the edges.
It’s late — past midnight, maybe. The kind of quiet that only exists when the world is asleep. I’m barefoot on the porch of the beach house, sweatshirt tucked over my knees, watching the waves roll in like they’ve got nowhere else to be.
Conrad’s next to me. He’s quiet too. Not unusual — Conrad’s quiet in the way that still water is quiet. Calm on the surface, but you know there’s a pull underneath.
He tosses me a glance. “You tired?”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
He nods. Then hands me his mug of tea without saying anything, like it’s instinct. It’s chamomile. Warm. I hold it with both hands.
We’ve always done this — existed near each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world. No declarations. No labels. Just… this.
The porch creaks as he shifts, pulling his hoodie sleeves over his hands. I peek at him from under my lashes. His hair’s a little messy from the salt air. His profile’s all soft lines tonight — not thinking, not brooding. Just existing.
You can hear it in the silence, silence, you can feel it on the way home...
Something hums in my chest.
I look down at the mug.
“I heard Belly talking to Jeremiah earlier,” I say, voice light. “She said she thinks we’re in love.”
Conrad turns his head slowly. “Oh yeah?”
“She said we look at each other like a couple in a rom-com.”
He huffs a laugh, but it’s quiet. Nervous. “And what do you think?”
I shrug. “I think she watches too many movies.”
He doesn’t say anything.
You can see it with the light out, lights out...
There’s a pause, filled only by the ocean.
“I look at you like that.”
My head snaps toward him.
He’s not smiling. Not teasing. He’s just looking — straight at me, like I’m something he’s never let himself study this closely.
“What?” I say, breath caught somewhere between my ribs.
“I look at you like that,” he says again, softer. “And I have for a while.”
My heart thuds, slow and heavy.
“You’ve never said anything.”
He shrugs, and for once, it’s not dismissive — it’s vulnerable. “I didn’t want to mess it up.”
I’m silent. My fingers tighten on the mug.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he adds quickly. “I just… I wanted you to know. In case you ever wondered.”
And I had. All the time.
I turn toward him fully. The porch light flickers behind us, casting his face in the kind of shadow that makes you want to lean closer just to see better.
I set the mug down. My voice comes out softer than I expect.
“I think I look at you like that too.”
Conrad blinks. “Yeah?”
I nod.
He smiles — and it’s the kind that’s all crinkled eyes and relief and something golden behind it.
Then he shifts closer.
Our knees touch.
He doesn’t kiss me — not yet. He just leans his shoulder into mine and lets it stay there.
And it’s so simple. So right.
And you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars...
We sit in silence after that.
And it doesn’t feel like nothing’s happening — it feels like everything is.
Because suddenly, I know.
I’m in love with Conrad Fisher.
And he’s in love with me, too.
And you can hear it in the silence...
So get ready for a lot of Conrad because the new season is out, meaning... NEW WHITE BOY OF THE MONTH!
Summary: Conrad really wants to kiss you... but something keeps getting in the way - AKA the three times that Conrad almost kissed you and the one time he finally did.
Warnings: alcohol, light profanity, jealous Conrad, kissing, making out
Word Count: ~4.5K
A/N: three days late but here she is!!!!! sorry guys, it took me way longer than anticipated. a lil rusty but not too mad abt it. if u have any req's, send em my way :))
____________
Conrad doesn’t remember much of that lazy summer afternoon at the Fisher household when at the exploratory age of fifteen, he had held your hands and tried his best to hold in a chuckle as he watched you attempt to waltz with him. He hadn’t told you then, but you were doing it all wrong.
Your feet moved just a little too quick, stepping over his own and your mouth spilled perpetual apologies as you cringed at the lack of rhythm in your movements. You marveled at how you had made it this far in life, having acquired absolutely no coordination at all. It was a miracle, you thought, that you could even walk straight.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Conrad had smiled, countering your own critique, as his hands remained on your own and you were glad that they were – you would’ve fallen on your face by now if they didn’t have a steadfast grip on you.
“Really?” You had asked as you brought your eyes up to look at him properly. You squinted a little to convey your disbelief but found nothing on his smiling, bespectacled face that would show that he was lying. “I feel like I look really stupid,” you voiced your concern again, laughing a little.
“No, you look great,” Conrad had said with a soft shake of his head. “As always.”
The compliment had caught you off-guard, unsure of how to respond to such flattery. You laughed it off, though — albeit with a nervous lilt, and tried to focus again on the rhythmic movement of your body alongside his.
“Yeah, okay,” you chuckled, deciding to play along.
“What?” He had asked, amused.
“I do look stupid, don’t I?”
And Conrad couldn’t contain it then as he looked at the knowing smile on your face. He laughed with you as you shook your head and rubbed your face in defeat.
“You’re not that bad,” he had tried to console, taking your hands back in his, doing nothing to hide the massive grin on his face. “Just a little more practice and you’ll be as good as a deb. Seriously.”
“You and your lies, Conrad Fisher,” you had accused lightheartedly with a growing smile on your face. You knew you were hopeless at dancing.
Hell, even Conrad knew you were hopeless at dancing. But it gave him an excellent excuse to hold your hand … and study your face, which mysteriously always seemed to have gotten more beautiful even after the countless summers Conrad had spent admiring it.
“You just need to slow down your movements,” he had said as he placed one hand on your waist and gently held your hand in the other. “Feel the music and all that shit.”
“Right, of course.”
“Feel the rhythm.”
“Yes, uh huh, I totally know how to do that.”
“Let your body do the leading.”
“God, don’t say that,” you had laughed again at his cheesy admonitions that he swore were helping you reach your unfathomable potential as an excellent dancer. Your cheeks flushed a little as you threw your head back to laugh.
“What?” he had looked up to grin at you. “It’s helping.”
And you hadn’t noticed it yourself but his stupid advice really was helping. Your feet no longer seemed to be in a frenzy and you had started dancing with a lot more elegance than before. It was certainly progress.
It was strange then, how quickly the ambiance in the room changed. The sunlight that danced in the Fisher living room suddenly felt a lot more momentous, the calming waltz music a lot more romantic and suddenly Conrad’s hand on your waist was emitting too much heat. The slow swaying didn’t do much to diffuse the tension either and it didn’t take long for Conrad’s eyes to soften as they looked into yours.
“I wasn’t kidding, you know,” he had said then, almost whispering it, as if he wanted to make sure you were really hearing him. “You do look great. You always do.”
And this time, your eyes roamed his face – really roamed his face – to check if he was lying. And sure, he had rendered you speechless before, but this time felt different. This time, it didn’t just stop at a simple hand on your waist or a soft smile shared by the beach or a good morning text that contained one too many emojis.
This time, his eyes wandered down to your lips and it seemed like they were glued there for an eternity. Like no matter how hard Conrad tried, he could not get enough of them. Your breath hitched in your throat as his thumb gently grazed the back of the hand that he had clasped, eyes flickering back to yours for a second as if to ask permission to meet your lips before you heard footsteps in the hallway.
“Conrad! Mom’s asking for you!” Jeremiah called, and you quickly let go of his hand and stepped away, trying your best to play off everything that had just happened.
So no, Conrad doesn’t remember much from that lazy summer afternoon at all, except for every detail of you that he can possibly memorize, that he can play in his head over and over again.
__________
Conrad Fisher was many things — sailor extraordinaire, a destined D1 athlete, a gifted student — but he had never been a good communicator. This was a known fact, yet the gravity of his ineptness at communicating showed itself in more blatant ways as the years went on.
He had certainly grown up now and if anyone had noticed, it had been you. His hair was a little longer, his muscles more defined and he had long ditched his dorky baseball hats and glasses. He talked less now than he did at the age of fifteen and his eyes had assumed a sort of glassy cover, a shield to hide what he was really thinking or feeling at any given moment. You had noticed these changes – it was hard not to: you two had always been close.
But, much to your dismay, your attempts at getting Conrad to talk to you hadn’t worked. At all. He had grown colder with each attempt and frankly, you had had enough. After spending much of your day trying to convince Conrad to go to one of Nicole’s parties with Jeremiah, Belly, Steven and you, you had finally given up. If he wanted to distance himself from you, there was nothing you could do and that was a bitter truth you had to accept. You were tired of running after him only for him to change course so fast that you got lost in the process.
And so, here you stood by yourself in Nicole’s crowded living room as people jumped and swayed all around you, drink in hand. Jeremiah had walked off somewhere with some guy he had just met and Steven had left the party long ago with Shayla. Even Belly, who normally remained at your side, had found some company with Cam, some guy that she had met at the bonfire just a week prior.
You swirled the drink in your hand as you looked at Cam and Belly sitting together on a couch a few feet away. You smiled as Cam extended a hesitant hand to tuck Belly’s hair behind her ears and saw Belly blush. It was bittersweet then, how quickly your loneliness seemed to catch up with you.
You’d always had a thing for Conrad. You were convinced almost everyone knew at this point. Conrad knew for sure, yet he did nothing to show that he felt the same. His cruel treatment had reached a precipice this summer, and you found yourself exhaling through your nose heavily. You were so done with Conrad.
“Hey,” you felt a tap on your shoulder, “[Y/N], right?”
You turned around to an attractive blonde guy towering over you, shooting you a quick friendly smile. You hadn’t really talked to the guy before but you’d seen him around the country club. Standing in the dimly lit room, he didn’t look half bad.
“Yeah,” you smiled back at him, crossing your arms over your chest nervously. “Sorry, who are you?”
“Ben,” he said as he took a step closer. “Wanna dance?”
You looked around for a second, unsure of whether or not you should accept his offer. You were about to politely decline the blonde’s offer before you saw Conrad walk into the living room, beer bottle in hand and a blank expression on his face. His eyes caught yours as they surveyed the room and flickered quickly to the tall guy beside you. Conrad felt it then, in every part of his body: a strange, prickling sensation followed by waves of anger. With his jaw set, he was sure his eyes were about to turn green with jealousy any moment now.
“Yeah,” you turned to Ben beside you, taking your eyes off of the scowling Conrad that stood across the room. “I’d love to.”
It hadn’t originally been your intention to make Conrad jealous. Your acceptance of Ben’s offer was more for yourself. You needed to show yourself that you could move on, be wanted by people who aren’t distant or cold. People who aren’t jigsaw puzzles, those who don’t need to be cried over because you cannot, for the love of God, figure them out. You wanted something simple for once. You wanted someone who didn’t want you in secret, if at all.
It had only been a few minutes into the song before you found your eyes involuntarily wandering over to Conrad, leaning against a wall and taking a swig of his beer. His eyes had been burning holes in your head the entire time, and as you finally made eye contact with him, he did nothing to turn them away. He brought his bottle to his lips once again as his eyes remained on you, silently conveying his dismay.
“Are you and him a thing or something?” Ben asked as his eyes followed to where you were looking. He wore a friendly smile, one that would show that he wasn’t mad at the prospect, just curious.
You scoffed as you shook your head. “Absolutely not. Just friends.” It hurt a little to say it out loud, but you had to face the fact that it was the truth. No matter how much you wanted him to do more, to be more, he was just a friend. Nothing more. Nothing less.
“Good,” Ben had smiled as his hands found your waist and he took a step closer. His hands slipped a little lower as you two danced to whatever pop song was playing in the background and you breathed a laugh as he whispered corny jokes in your ear. He was so simple. It was refreshing.
“[Y/N]. We need to talk,” you heard Conrad say before you felt his hand on your shoulder, forcing you to turn away from Ben and look at him.
But he wasn’t looking at you anymore. Instead, his eyes were fixed on Ben. They carried a silent warning, a sort of menacing ferocity that could only be generated by someone like Conrad, but Ben didn’t do much to heed it.
“We’re dancing, man,” Ben had said affirmatively as he placed a firm hand on Conrad’s chest to push him away and you held your breath as your eyes flickered nervously between the two guys.
“Yeah, I can see that,” Conrad deadpanned. “But I need to talk to her.” He flicked Ben’s hand from his chest and took a step closer. “Got a problem with that?”
Before any punches could be thrown, you hastily took Conrad’s hand to lead him away to the kitchen. You did not want a repeat of the bonfire last week, that much you knew. Conrad’s new personality change had also warranted his sudden affinity for picking fights.
“What the hell was that?” you fumed as you dropped his hand and looked at his blank face with nothing but resentment. “Seriously, who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Who do I think I am?” he yelled back, setting his bottle down and running a hand through his hair. “Who do you think you are? Ben? Really?”
“Yeah, Ben,” you had said in disbelief. “What’s it to you? How is it any of your business? What is wrong with you? What are you even doing here?”
He scoffed as he shook his head, feigning amusement. “We both know what Ben’s like.”
“What’s he like? Please, enlighten me, Conrad. Because I’m obviously just some little girl who has no idea what she’s doing, right?” The anger you felt in this moment could not be described. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Conrad could barge into your life as he pleased, and walk out whenever you demanded more. It wasn’t fair.
“Ben’s a player,” Conrad said impatiently. “Stop yelling like a baby, [Y/N].”
You could almost laugh at the incredulity of it all. “What does that make you, then?”
“What?”
“God,” you tilted your head back in disbelief, a bitter grimace on your face. “How are you this clueless? Why do you keep stringing me along like this? You act jealous when I dance with someone else and then turn around and barely give me the time of day. I’m so done. I’m so done with waiting for you.” You exclaimed, taking deep breaths. “I… I want all of you or none of you. Just— Pick one.” You struggled to get the sentence out.
The anger in Conrad’s eyes had never fled as quick as it did that night upon hearing your words. His eyes softened once more as he took a step closer. “You have all of me already.”
“No, I don’t,” you took a step back and swatted away his hand that tried to reach out to hold your face. “And that’s fine. Seriously. I’m over– I can get over it. But stop fucking sabotaging me! I’m allowed to dance with people. I’m allowed to dance with Ben! Stop driving away people who actually fucking want me.”
It took a moment for your words to register for Conrad and he winced at the heartbreaking honesty of them. He knew he’d been an asshole. Everyone around him had done well to remind him of that every waking moment. But it killed him to think about how wrong you were.
“I don’t want you to get over it,” he said, trying once more to take a step closer.
“Excuse me?” You’d never slapped anyone before but this felt like the perfect opportunity.
“Because I do want you,” he whispered as he placed a tentative hand on your face and he was pleased to see you didn’t swat it away this time. “I’ve always wanted you. And I think I always will. I don’t want you to get over me,” he said again as he leant in a fraction of an inch and you could smell the booze on him. It was intoxicating to be this close. You were sure you could get drunk off of this feeling alone. Your eyes searched his as he leant in closer, “Because I don’t think I could ever get over you.”
You gulped as you saw his eyes jump to your lips. Your noses were almost brushing now and you could feel the ghost of his lips on yours.
This was the moment you’d been waiting for since you two were kids. It was everything you thought you wanted.
But the smell of booze on him was intoxicating for all the wrong reasons.
It took everything in you to bring your hand to his chest and push him away. “You’re drunk, Conrad,” you pulled away, averting eye contact. “Go home.”
And as you turned around to walk back to the living room, he couldn’t do much more than watch you leave, breathing heavily through his nose. He looked around awkwardly before spotting the drinks and picked up a bottle or two as he walked out the door. He’d be needing those tonight.
Conrad was many things – a shitty communicator, misunderstood, a full-on trainwreck – but he was also completely, absolutely in love with you.
The only problem was, being a lovesick teenager without the ability to communicate was a bit of a tragic flaw.
_____________
You cursed profanities under your breath as you nervously looked around for Ben in the crowd. The overwhelming amount of eyes on you at this moment certainly was not helping and the weight of your white dress bore down on you worse than it had all evening.
Being a debutante this season had not been your idea. At all.
And as you stood in the middle of the large banquet hall as your deb sisters paired up with their escorts, you couldn’t help but curse yourself for ever giving into Susannah’s request.
“Jer!” you called nervously as you walked over to him in the midst of all the couples getting ready for the final waltz of the evening. “Have you seen Ben?”
“Ben?” he questioned with furrowed brows as if he was trying to remember who that was.
“Yeah, uh, my escort?” you laughed nervously, continuing to look around, your hands folded over your stomach fiddling anxiously.
“Oh right!” he exclaimed, before furrowing his brows again. “Didn’t he leave with Gigi’s sister like twenty minutes ago?”
“He left?” you asked incredulously to no one in particular as Jer had been roped in by Gigi, preparing for the dance that you were sure you would no longer be participating in. Belly shot you an alarmed look from across the room, as she stood with Cam’s arms draped over her waist.
“Where’s Ben?” she mouthed silently and you had no answer to give. You looked around once again but it was hard to escape the humiliation of the whole situation. It felt like everyone was looking at you, like the whole room was silently remarking on how pathetic you looked standing there. You were just about to leave the dance floor when you caught Conrad’s eyes.
Conrad, who sat with Susannah and Laurel and looked jaw-droppingly gorgeous in his suit.
Conrad’s eyes didn’t hold the same silent pity as everyone else. Instead, they seemed like they were gleaming. It seemed like he was waiting silently. Waiting for your permission to stand up and walk onto the dance floor. And, he must have seen something in your eyes then – something you didn’t even know you were concealing – because he stood straight up right then and walked over to you with the gentlest of steps.
He wordlessly extended his hand to you and you took it quickly, keeping your eyes on his. And that’s when the music started.
It felt so easy to dance with him. It was like it took no effort at all. Your bodies found the rhythm quickly and you couldn’t help but remember the dance practices he used to subject you two to when you were fifteen.
“I’m getting deja vu right now,” you whispered to Conrad and your heart fluttered a little at how quickly a shit-eating grin appeared on his face.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” you laughed a little and Conrad couldn’t think of much else but that laugh and that sound and how much he wanted to hear it again.
“Looks like you’re, uh– feeling the music,” he grinned as he tried his best to keep his voice down. You groaned silently as you remembered his cliche advice.
“Oh, god,” you shook your head, looking around quickly to make sure no one had noticed you two talking in the middle of your waltz. You were sure the dance teacher would have a meltdown if she saw.
“Feeling the rhythm.”
“Do not say it, Conrad,” you snorted a quiet laugh as you continued to sway.
“Letting your body do the leading,” he said finally through a laugh of his own, adding a suggestive eyebrow raise at the end. You shook your head fondly. Same old Conrad.
“Do I look stupid tonight, Con?” you asked then, a smile still on your face. Conrad stopped laughing then and his smile softened as he regarded you just as he had a couple of years prior.
“No, you look beautiful, [Y/N],” he said simply, and he meant it. “As always.”
It was the truth. It had taken everything in Conrad to tear his eyes off of you when you had walked in with Ben. Ben, who was nowhere to be found right now.
“Thank you,” you said with a small smile. “And thanks for stepping in like that. I know dancing isn’t really your thing anymore.”
“Who said dancing isn’t my thing anymore?” he asked with mock offense. “Maybe I’m just very selective with my dance partners.”
You chuckled, playing along once more. “Right, of course.”
You swayed in silence for a little while before Conrad broke it again.
“I’m glad it was me,” he said quietly, but his tone carried the utmost sincerity. “I’ve kind of waited for this ever since that first dance rehearsal.” He breathed a quiet laugh and his eyes searched yours nervously, as if he was testing the waters. Testing how vulnerable he should be, given what transpired at that party. Though you had both gone on with life acting like that exchange hadn’t happened, Conrad couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“I’m glad it was you, too,” you said slowly, as if you were testing the waters yourself. “Looks like you were right about Ben.” You finished with a bitter smile. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, every last one of Conrad’s words from that night at the party still rang in your ears. He had called Ben a player that night alone and you’d carelessly ignored him.
“He’s an asshole,” Conrad shook his head. “I’m sorry he did this to you.”
You found yourself feeling a little guilty at his apology because truth be told, you weren’t sorry at all. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself that your first choice for a dance partner and escort tonight would’ve been Ben, you couldn’t shake the allure of the tall, brunette boy standing right in front of you.
“I almost asked you to be my escort instead of Ben, you know,” you blurted out, filling with instant regret. “But– I guess… I just wasn’t sure if you would’ve said yes.” You cringed a little when you saw Conrad’s eyebrows furrow, showing he was deep in thought. You turned your eyes away quickly, suddenly embarrassed at his close proximity and his striking eyes fixated on you.
“I wish you would have,” he concluded finally and your eyes immediately shot to his. “I would’ve said yes. I’ll always say yes to you, [Y/N].” He added as a soft afterthought. As a tender observation that he wasn’t sure if he should be sharing. He gave your waist a gentle squeeze as if to reaffirm his words and you knew that you were a goner.
This time, it was your eyes that flickered to his lips. You were suddenly hyper aware of your senses and his overpowering cologne made you weak in the knees.
That night, you cursed profanities under your breath a second time after the dance was over because if you two hadn’t been swaying at the momentous occasion that was your deb ball, in front of hundreds of people, you would’ve kissed him. Right then and there.
_______________
“Steven’s going to kill you for eating the last of the blueberry ones,” you said with a giggle as you took a bite of your own muffin clutched in your hand, sitting in the passenger seat of Conrad’s car.
“Don’t worry about me,” he remarked playfully, with a small smile playing on his lips as he reached for the last blueberry muffin collected on your morning muffin run. “I’m going to blame it on you.”
You roll your eyes and hit him on the shoulder lightly as his grin grows bigger. His lips had turned a little blue from the blueberries in the muffin and you couldn’t help but turn away, feeling your heart grow heavy with how endearing everything about him was.
It had been a while since it had just been you and him, you and Conrad. Your eyes had still been groggy with sleep, your bedhead untamed when he had knocked on your door to ask if you wanted to go on a muffin run. Without thinking, you’d nodded at him with a smile and he’d told you to meet him outside in five.
And, driving with him, the windows down and the morning air crisp, you quickly found yourself lamenting how much you’d missed this.
You had been coming to Cousins for practically your whole life. That meant seeing Conrad was a given, a package deal. But the last few summers had been different, filled with strange tensions between you two that you could never seem to quell.
This, though, was different. Conrad, thankfully, wasn’t in one of his moods this morning and his playful jokes reminded you so much of the Conrad you used to know. It felt easy to talk to him, sitting there in his car and listening to music, parked by the seaside. It felt wholesome. It felt simple.
You were jolted out of your thoughts when you felt Conrad’s eyes on your face and you flushed as he smirked, as if you had just cracked the funniest joke he had ever heard.
“What?” you asked quickly.
“Nothing.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked again, suddenly trying to check if you had something on your face.
Before you could pull your phone out to open the front camera, he took your face in his hands and turned it to face him. He gingerly brought his other hand to your lips to wipe some residue chocolate off, left behind from your muffin, explaining, “You’ve got a chocolate mustache.”
The action had been simple, yet it set your body aflame. His calloused thumb, from years of sailing and football, rubbed against your lips and you were sure then that your cheeks would burn his other hand placed on your face.
And just like that, he was no longer looking at his hands on your lips. He instead brought his eyes to look into yours and the intensity of this moment – the intimacy of it – proved too much to bear.
“You have blue on your lips, too,” you tried to joke, trying to diffuse the tension but the effort was meager at best.
“Do I?” he had whispered absent mindedly, as if he hadn’t really heard what you had said at all. And if he was being honest, he hadn’t. Everything about you in this moment was distracting for him and he couldn’t focus on what you were saying even if he wanted to. His eyes were glued to your face – to every part of it. It was like he was looking at it for the first time and he wanted to burn every detail into his memory. He ran his thumb on your lip again before finding his voice, “[Y/N]?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I…?” he’d begun to ask before trailing off and with everything he had in him, brought his eyes to yours. “Please.” He begged breathlessly, as if he were a starving man and you were his last meal.
That was all the convincing you needed. Your head was spinning as you quickly brought a hand to his jaw and pulled him in over the center console of the car. Your lips met in a desperate, passionate clash and you breathed in sharply through your nose as you kissed him with all you had. His lips were soft against yours and his hands had a mind of their own as they took you in – all of you. Your hands quickly wound up around his neck, pulling him closer as one hand tugged slightly at his hair. Your noses brushed as your lips parted slightly, and Conrad was quick to deepen the kiss.
It was like you could feel his heart beating alongside yours and the feeling was enough to show you stars.
When you two finally pulled away, you were both reluctant to let go completely, sitting with your foreheads pressed, eyes closed, breath mingling together. Conrad had never been a religious guy, but in this moment, he couldn’t help but pray that he would get to do that again everyday for the rest of his life.
“Fucking finally,” he whispered as he opened his eyes to look at you with a dazed smile. You laughed as you nodded, at a loss for words. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ears before tucking a hand under your chin to pull you closer again.
“Your lips are still blue, you know,” you mumbled against his lips and felt him smile into you.
“Are they?” he smirked as he nipped at your bottom lip, before pulling away again to look at you. “Yours are too, now.” He replied smugly, leaning in again. It was your turn to smile into the kiss this time.
“Wait,” you said abruptly, pulling away. “Is this all a clever ploy to blame me for eating the last blueberry muffin?”
Conrad laughed at this and it was the first one of those loud, content laughs you had heard from him all summer. “Maybe. I guess you’ll never know,” his last words were muffled as he brought your lips to his smiling ones yet again.
And Steven did end up killing you that night… not because he thought you ate the last of the blueberry muffins, but because he saw you and Conrad making out on the living room couch. Much to his dismay, he was subjected to witnessing that quite frequently from thereon onwards.
And no amount of blueberry muffins could ever quiet the eardrum-crushing shriek he'd let out everytime he spotted it.
22f , been writing for over 10 years and currently looking for someone to play Conrad Fisher against my Belly Conklin ( a little canon divergent ) from "the summer i turned pretty". (18+ only, please)
i'm very open for plots, i love wold building, texts threads, using socials, sharing edits and mood boards, and all that good stuff. same goes for having multiple muses going on into our rp. I'm okay with nsfw and always open for a discussion about it, regardless of what the topic is.
i do have a loose idea for the plot, but i am also very happy to discuss something if you have a specific idea.
I also love doubling, so if there's another pairing or fandom you're into, feel free to ask and we can brainstorm something fun, whether that is in the same rp or not (i am happy to play male muses as well, just ask) ! It would be great if you're comfortable playing side characters, as I like to bring in more depth and interaction to the plots by doing the same.
i prefer using discord as the platform but if you prefer another one, we can discuss it.
if you're interested, please either like or comment this post and i'll reach out to you myself, or just simply dm me here and i'll get back to you.
im super eager for this kind of rp, so please please please reach out
