Breakin' Dishes: Conrad Fisher x fem!reader ⚠️smut⚠️
The kitchen felt colder than it should have, the hum of the refrigerator filling the silence between you. Conrad leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the floor like the tile was the most fascinating thing in the world.
“Say something,” you pushed, your voice strained.
He shook his head. “I don’t want to fight.”
“That’s the problem,” you snapped. “You don’t want to fight, you don’t want to talk, you don’t want to feel. You just shut down and leave me out here looking like an idiot who cares too much.”
His head jerked up, eyes flashing. “You think I don’t care?”
“You don’t act like it!” you fired back, your chest heaving. “I’m trying, Conrad. Every single day I’m trying to love you through whatever storm you’ve got going on, and all I get in return is silence.”
His jaw clenched, voice low and dangerous. “You don’t know what it’s like.”
You stepped closer, daring him. “Then tell me! Explain it! Let me in instead of building walls so high I can’t even see over them.”
Something in him cracked, and his voice rose. “Because if you saw all of it, the way I spiral, the way I screw everything up, you’d run. Everyone leaves when they realize I’m not who they thought I was.”
Your throat tightened, but the anger was louder than the ache. “I’m not everyone, Conrad. I’m here. And if you can’t see that, if you can’t trust me enough to stay when it gets messy, then maybe you don’t actually want me.”
The words landed like a slap. His eyes darkened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Don’t you dare say that. You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted.”
“Then prove it,” you shot back, breath shaking. “Because right now, it feels like I’m fighting for both of us.”
For a moment, the room was dead quiet, both of you breathing hard, like the air itself might shatter. Then Conrad moved quickly and decisively. He grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him, his mouth crashing onto yours in a kiss that was all teeth and heat and desperation.
You gasped against him, nails digging into his shoulders, and he didn’t hesitate. His hands slid lower, gripping the back of your thighs as he lifted you effortlessly, setting you on the countertop.
His voice was a growl against your lips. “You want proof? I’ll show you proof.”
Conrad’s breath was ragged against your mouth as he pinned you to the countertop, dishes clattering to the floor.
“You think I don’t want you?” he growled, tugging at your shirt until the fabric strained. “I can’t stop wanting you. You’re all I think about..every second.”
Your nails scraped down his back, pulling him closer. “Then stop shutting me out. Stop making me feel like I’m not enough for you.”
His hands tightened on your thighs, pulling you flush against him. “You’re too much,” he said, almost like a confession. “Too perfect, too good for me…and I’m so fucking scared of losing you.”
You caught his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “Then don’t lose me. Keep me. Show me.”
That broke him. He kissed you like he was trying to devour the words off your lips, messy and desperate. Another plate shattered when your heel knocked it from the counter, but neither of you flinched.
“You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and hoarse, like he wasn’t asking, he was begging. “Say it. Tell me you’re mine.”
“Yours,” you breathed, pulling his hair hard enough to make him groan. “I’ve always been yours, Conrad.”
Conrad freezes for a brief moment at your words. Suddenly, he's more desperate than ever, and he deepens the kiss as his hands find the hem of your shirt,
tugging it upward with rough urgency. The fabric catches for a second, and he growls in frustration before yanking it over your head and tossing it somewhere behind him.
The cool air against your skin makes you shiver, but Conrad’s mouth is already trailing down your neck, hot and frantic. His hands splay across your waist, thumbs brushing the bare skin just above your jeans.
You grip his shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift motion, needing him just as much as he needs you. His chest presses against yours, and the heat of his skin makes you gasp.
“God, you drive me insane,” he mutters against your collarbone, lips brushing your skin between words.
Your nails dig into his back, pulling him closer. “Then stop pushing me away.”
His head snaps up, eyes dark, breathing ragged. “Never again,” he promises, voice hoarse, before crashing his mouth back onto yours.
One of his hands fumbles at the button of your jeans, tugging with so much urgency it pops open in an instant. His fingers slip beneath the waistband, pulling at the denim until you lift your hips, helping him shove them down. The countertop scrapes your back as you move, another plate tipping off the edge and smashing on the floor.
You’re breathless, half laughing, half moaning into his mouth. “You’re making a mess—”
“Don’t care,” Conrad cuts you off, voice low, almost feral. “Only care about you.”
You tug at his waistband in return, fingers shaky, frustrated at how slow it feels. He curses under his breath, ripping the zipper open himself and kicking his jeans down in a rush.
Now there’s nothing left between you but heat, bare skin pressed to bare skin. His hands roam desperately over your thighs, your hips, your sides, like he can’t decide where to touch you first. You wrap your legs tighter around him, dragging him flush against you, pulling a groan from deep in his chest.
His forehead drops against yours, his voice rough and wrecked. “You’re mine. Say it again.”
“Yours,” you breathe, nails scraping at his shoulders as your lips brush his. “I’ve always been yours.”
The words undo him completely. With one last shove, he spreads your legs wider against the counter, holding you there like you’re the only thing anchoring him to earth.
Conrad pulls back just enough to look at you, his chest heaving, hair falling into his eyes. His gaze drags down your body, and the raw hunger there makes your stomach flip.
He sees how ready you are for him, and his restraint snaps. With a low groan, he grips your hips and wastes no time sliding into you.
The sound that leaves your throat is half gasp, half moan, echoing in the wrecked kitchen. The counter digs into your back, but all you can focus on is the way Conrad fills you, the way he moves like he’s been starving for this.
“Fuck,” he mutters against your skin, jaw tight, voice wrecked. “So perfect. So fucking perfect.”
Conrad’s pace is relentless, each thrust driving the breath from your lungs and making the countertop groan beneath you. Shards of broken dishes glitter on the floor, but all you can feel is the way he moves inside you, messy, desperate, like he’s pouring every unsaid word into the motion.
Your legs tighten around his waist, forcing him deeper, dragging a groan from his chest. His hands grip your hips hard enough to leave marks, his jaw tight as he buries his face in your neck.
“God, Y/N,” he mutters, voice breaking. “You feel—” He cuts himself off with a ragged moan, teeth grazing your skin.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, yanking him closer. “Don’t stop,” you gasp, your voice half-plea, half-command.
His rhythm stutters for a second, his forehead pressing against yours, eyes blazing. “Could never stop. Not with you.”
The counter jerks under the force of his movements, another glass toppling and shattering to the ground. The sound barely registers. Your world is narrowed to Conrad’s body, Conrad’s voice, Conrad’s desperate need to prove he’s not letting you go.
Conrad slows just enough to shift, one of his hands sliding from your hip and down to your clit. His fingers find you with practiced ease, moving in sync with every sharp thrust of his hips.
The sudden extra pressure makes you cry out, your head tipping back against the cabinet. “Conrad—”
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear, his voice wrecked. “I need you to feel everything I feel right now. Don’t hold back.”
Your nails dig into his shoulders as he works you closer to the edge, each stroke of his fingers perfectly timed with his movements inside you. The dual sensation is overwhelming, your whole body tightening around him.
“Look at me,” he demands again, his forehead pressing to yours as your eyes flutter open. The intensity in his gaze almost undoes you right there. “That’s it. That’s my girl. Stay with me.”
Another dish clatters to the floor as the counter jolts beneath you, but the sound is drowned out by your own gasps, his low groans, and the dizzying rush of pleasure building under his touch.
Your body tightens around him, every nerve pulled taut as his fingers work in rhythm with the relentless thrusts of his hips. It’s too much, his mouth on your skin, his ragged whispers in your ear, the broken dishes scattered on the floor beneath you.
“Conrad—” you gasp, nails dragging down his back.
“Let go for me,” he urges, his voice low and wrecked, almost begging. “I’ve got you, Y/N. I’ll always have you.”
The sound of his words, so raw, so certain, tips you over the edge. The pleasure crashes through you, tearing a cry from your throat as your whole body shudders against him. He groans at the feeling of you, his pace faltering, then unraveling completely as he buries his face in your neck and follows you over the edge.
The kitchen is chaos, glass in shards, the counter shifted half an inch from where it started—but all you feel is Conrad, clinging to you like you’re the only thing keeping him steady.
For a long moment, the only sound is both of you gasping, skin slick and hearts hammering in sync. Slowly, his grip softens, his fingers brushing your waist in lazy, grounding circles.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his chest heaving, eyes glassy with more than just exertion. “You’re it for me,” he whispers, voice hoarse but certain. “I swear I’ll never shut you out again.”
You cup his face, brushing a thumb over the damp hair clinging to his forehead. “Good,” you breathe, still catching your own. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
He kisses you then, not messy or frantic this time, but slow, steady, like he’s sealing the promise between you. The fight feels distant now, buried beneath the wreckage of shattered dishes and whispered confessions.
In his arms, even in the middle of the chaos, you know you’ve never felt more wanted.
