Careful Hands
Conrad Fisher x Female!Reader
Summary: Tension in the kitchen boils over into an emotional confrontation with Conrad. A slip of the knife turns vulnerability into closeness, and long-held feelings finally break the surface.
Warnings: angst, mentions of blood/injury, smut, NSFW, 18+
Author’s Note: TSITP has been consuming me in the worst way. I’ve never written smut before so please be nice and lower your expectations lol
The Cousins beach house smelled like garlic and rosemary, the sun bleeding amber through the kitchen windows as you stood at the counter, carefully slicing zucchini for dinner.
Your shoulders were tense. Not from the cooking, but from the storm pacing in front of you.
Conrad was silent, his arms crossed and jaw clenched so tightly you could hear his teeth grind.
You spoke first, not looking up.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that.”
“I just don’t get why you think it’s a good idea,” Conrad snapped. “They’re rushing it. Jere doesn’t even know what he wants half the time, and Belly…. she's not ready.”
You exhaled slowly, trying to stay calm. “I never said I thought it was a good idea, I just said it’s not your wedding, Conrad.”
“Yeah, but it affects me. It affects everyone.”
You turned around, holding the knife loosely in your hand. “Why? Because you still have feelings for her?”
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that.”
“I’m just asking.”
“No,” he said firmly, stepping closer. “You’re accusing.”
“And you’re being impossible,” you shot back. “God, why can’t you just be happy for them? Or at least pretend for one night?”
“I don’t pretend,” he said coldly. “That’s your thing.”
That stung. You turned sharply, blinking hard against the burn behind your eyes, and went back to the cutting board, faster now, angrier.
You didn’t realize how aggressively your hands were moving until the blade slipped.
The pain was sharp and immediate.
“Shit,” you gasped, dropping the knife. Blood was already welling up along the cut in your palm.
“Hey-“ Conrad was at your side in an instant, all argument forgotten. “Let me see.”
You tried to pull your hand away, but he caught it gently, his brows furrowed with that look he always wore when he was scared but pretending not to be.
“This is deep,” he muttered, inspecting the wound. “It might need stitches. We need the first aid kit. Stay here. Don’t move.”
You were still reeling from the pain - not just in your hand, but in your chest. “Conrad-”
“I’m fine,” he said quickly, brushing hair out of his face before darting upstairs.
You stared at the blood pooling in your hand, suddenly overwhelmed. The sharpness of his words, the sting of the cut- it was too much.
When he returned, he was all business.
“Here, sit down.” He pulled out the chair with one hand, the kit in the other. “This’ll sting, okay?”
You nodded numbly. He cleaned the wound, hands steady but lips pressed tight, like he was trying not to say something.
After wrapping your hand, he didn’t let go. He held it gently in his lap and stared at it like it was some fragile thing he'd broken.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he murmured. “What I said earlier. About pretending.”
You swallowed hard, staring at the clean gauze. “You meant it, though.”
“No. I was angry. And scared. And I lashed out.” He paused. “You’re… you’re the only thing in this house that makes sense to me right now. I don’t want to screw that up.”
“You kind of did,” you whispered, voice cracking.
“I know.” He looked at you, eyes full of regret. “And I’m so sorry.”
The quiet between you wasn’t awkward, it was thick with things unsaid, but it didn’t feel heavy anymore. It felt like space. Like room to breathe again. Conrad still hadn’t let go of your hand, his thumb tracing lazy, careful circles over the bandage.
You broke the silence first, your voice soft. “So… dinner’s ruined.”
He gave a huff of a laugh, his head dropping for a second. “Yeah. But honestly, screw the zucchini.”
You smiled faintly. “That’s slander. I was making something good.”
“I believe you,” he said, leaning back just enough to look at you, still close. His voice dropped an octave. “Can I ask you something?”
You nodded.
“Why does it scare you so much? The idea of me still having feelings for her?”
You looked down, a little embarrassed. “Because I know what you two were. And I’ve seen the way you look at her sometimes… like the past is still playing on repeat.”
He was quiet for a beat. Then he stood, walked over to the sink, and washed his hands: methodical, almost anxious. Then he turned back to you.
“I used to think Belly was the person I’d love forever,” he said honestly. “But she never felt… steady. It was like trying to hold on to something that kept slipping through my fingers.”
He walked back toward you, voice gentler now.
“But you- you don’t slip away. You stay. Even when I’m being an idiot.”
“You were being an idiot,” you muttered.
“Still am,” he smirked. “But I’m yours. Not hers. Not anyone else's. Just yours.”
You stared at him, your chest tightening in that awful, good way. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours,” he repeated, stepping between your knees as you sat on the chair. “If you’ll have me.”
You reached up with your good hand, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt to pull him closer.
“I’ll always have you. That’s the problem. I’ve wanted you for so long, Conrad. God….”
He tilted your chin up, searching your face. “Can I kiss you?”
Your heart stuttered. “You’re really asking?”
“I just made you cry and bleed in the same hour. Thought it was polite,” he whispered.
You didn’t answer with words, just leaned in and kissed him like you’d been waiting months, years. His hands found your waist, then slid up your back like he was memorizing the shape you.
Eventually, breathless, you pulled back, forehead pressed to his. “That doctor voice you slipped into earlier? Kinda hot.”
He laughed quietly. “Don’t even start with me. You’re injured.”
“And whose fault is that?” you teased.
“I’m making it up to you,” he murmured, kissing your jaw, then your temple, then the edge of your mouth. “One inch at a time.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t stop him. “Maybe after you clean the rest of this kitchen.”
“And what do I get if I do?” His eyes were locked on yours, his voice practically dripping with hunger.
His gaze dropped to your lips again, slower this time, like he wasn’t in a hurry to get anywhere but still couldn’t resist imagining the way. His hand moved, careful not to touch your injured one, and brushed your hair back, fingers lingering at your jaw, then lower.
Neither of you spoke. You didn’t have to. The air between you was already shifting: pulling tighter, charged like the seconds before a summer storm.
He leaned in again, this time slower, deeper. And when his lips met yours, something gave way inside you, not pain, not tension, just surrender.
The chair creaked beneath you as you shifted forward, closing the last bit of space, and he caught you by the hips like instinct.
Steady. Certain. Like he’d been waiting for this moment, and maybe you had too.
“You sure you’re okay?” he murmured against your mouth, breath warm.
“Just shut up and kiss me,” you breathed into him, fingers curling in his shirt, tugging him closer.
His eyes flickered, dark and hungry and sweet all at once.
You didn’t realize how close you were to unraveling until his hands were on your waist like he meant to hold you together.
“Come upstairs,” Conrad said, voice low - not a suggestion, not a tease. A need.
Your breath hitched, and you nodded, heart pounding hard enough to echo in your ears. He laced your fingers with his, careful with your bandaged hand, and pulled you gently toward the stairs, but there was nothing gentle about the way his jaw was set, or the way he didn’t look back.
The second you crossed the threshold into his room, something shifted.
The door shut behind you with a quiet click, and then it was just you and him and the tension you’d been swallowing for months finally breaking loose.
He turned to you, and the look in his eyes - hungry, conflicted, like he was two seconds from losing control - made your knees weak.
“You drive me crazy,” he said, almost like it hurt. His hands found your hips again, firmer this time. “You know that?”
You barely had time to respond before his mouth was on yours, all heat and teeth and desperation.
It wasn’t soft anymore, it was months of holding back, of arguments and almosts and nights pretending you didn’t want this.
You gripped the front of his shirt like a lifeline, tugging him closer until there was no space left between you. He groaned against your lips, the sound low and rough, like he’d been trying not to let it out.
“Jesus…” he murmured against your skin, the word hitting low in your stomach. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“I don’t,” you said instantly, breathless, already backing toward the bed. “I really, really don’t.”
He kissed you again like he believed it - like he needed to - hands roaming, grip tightening like he wasn’t sure how else to say what he felt.
The room was getting hot, full of heavy breaths. “Take off your dress.” It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a demand.
Anxiety began to pool in your stomach now. You’d wanted this, wanted Conrad, for years. Why now was the thought of being so close scaring you so much?
He must have seen the hesitation on your face, pulling away slightly and meeting your eyes.
“Hey… hey…. We can stop whenever you want, okay? But let me help you…”
His words were so sweet, but his eyes never lost their hunger.
He started slowly, kissing gently across your chin. The air in the room was still thick, but a shiver went down your spine.
He kissed his way down your jaw, your neck, sucking gently and prompting a soft moan to escape your lips.
His lips were on your shoulder now, and you felt his fingers slowly slide the strap of your sundress off, then the other. With a gentle tug, you felt the cloth fall to the floor around your feet, leaving you there in nothing but your panties.
Conrad stepped back and looked at you, really looked at you.
“Fuck, (Y/N)… I mean… fuck.” He was breathless.
Before you could respond, his lips were already on your nipples. He pushed you back onto the bed, taking no time to remove his own shirt before he crawled on top of you.
Now it was your turn to feel breathless. You’d seen him shirtless a million times. But here, now, so close, the ripples of his muscles were enough to make you feel weak.
He went to work on your breasts, nipping and sucking in just the right ways that had your toes curling and your fingers digging into his hair. He moaned in response, the vibration shooting pleasure between your legs.
He kissed his way back up your neck, his lips meeting yours desperately. His hand was trailing lines around your chest, then your stomach, until finally he reached the hem of your underwear.
His callused fingers ran along the edge teasingly, hands doing one last pass across your stomach.
“Take these off.” Not a suggestion. A command.
So you did just that, pulling your panties off and tossing them to the side.
Your breathing was deep. Conrad dared a look down.
“God… I’ve wanted you like this for so long…,” He said, kissing down your neck again, “You are so fucking beautiful, (Y/N).”
You felt his hands grab your inner thigh, breath hitching.
“Open your legs,” You obliged. Suddenly the heat of the room had escaped, replaced by a chill running over your exposed body, “Good girl.”
All you could do was whimper as his fingers touched you, eyes rolling back in your head as he pushed inside you.
Conrad moaned against your neck, “You’re so wet, baby.”
He started to move faster, pumping in and out of you as whined in pleasure.
“Connie…” You let out breathlessly, the sound of your voice bringing him close to the edge.
He removed his hand abruptly, shocking you out of your dizzied pleasure as you watched him fumble to take off his belt and pants. He dropped his underwear, his member now fully on display.
“Jesus-“ You sucked a breath in, not expecting Conrad to be so huge. So ready.
He crawled back on top of you, hands pinning your wrists down, careful to avoid the bandage across your palm. His eyes were staring intensely into yours.
“You’re on the pill, right?”
“Yes, Con, you already knew-“
But before you could finish your sentence, he was in you, the shock of his size knocking the wind out of your chest.
He hissed in pleasure. Your ears rang, feeling every inch of him in you. He started rocking gently, giving you time to adjust to his pace.
He peppered kisses on your neck, your breasts, your chin. His increased his pace, and you matched it, raising your hips to meet him. Every movement sent pleasure down your spine.
“You take me so well, baby.” You moaned in response.
The two of you become messy breaths, sloppy kisses, and roaming hands as you worked your way towards climaxing.
His hand found his way to your clit, rubbing circles that had you seeing stars. You whined out his name.
“That’s it baby,” The sound of his voice was enough to send you over the edge.
You screamed his name, nails digging into his back as you shook with pleasure. The feeling of your walls closing was enough to send Conrad over the edge, feeling his warmth spill into your stomach.
He practically collapsed next to you, the sound of both of your breathing filling up the room.
After a moment, air finally settling and bodies feeling drained, he turned to you, resting his forehead against yours, hand on your cheek like he couldn’t believe you were real.
“Still mad at me?” he whispered.
You gave a breathless laugh, too spent to answer properly. “Ask me again in the morning.”
His lips brushed your temple. “Okay. But I already know the answer.”
