𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇 - 𝐈𝐈𝐈
the covenant x reader | reid garwin x black! fem! reader
the last thing reid expected was to develop an insta-crush on the transfer student from jersey. yet here he was, crushing. hard.
cw - violence, death, magic, witches, mature themes, 18+, profane language, young love, reader moved to salem from jersey
III. AP Lit
Monday morning sunlight filtered in through the tall, arched windows of the AP Literature lecture hall, catching on the dust motes that drifted lazily in the air.
The room smelled faintly of old books and chalk, a blend that always carried the weight of academia—though Reid, apparently, couldn’t have cared less.
Ironically, you had been assigned a seat right next to him, the fate of landing squarely beside Reid Garwin, trouble incarnate in a studded bracelet and a lazy grin.
From the moment you sat down, he’d been quietly talking your ear off—leaning back in his chair, passing folded scraps of notebook paper across your shared desk space, his pencil tapping absently like the lesson was background noise to your conversation.
You tried to keep your gaze on your notes, though your mind kept replaying the weekend.
Saturday’s lunch had been at a casual little bistro tucked on the corner of Main Street, the kind of place with mismatched chairs and hand-written specials on a chalkboard.
He’d ordered without hesitation, like he’d been there a hundred times before, and the food had been good—not just the food, but the company.
Over iced tea and sandwiches, you'd talked again, the conversation meandering easily from light teasing to personal tidbits you didn’t expect to share so soon.
Then Sunday afternoon, there’d been the knock on your dorm door.
Reid had stood there, hands in his pockets, a small bouquet of lavender and baby’s breath dangling from one wrist.
“Just checking if you’re settling in,” he’d said, like it was the most casual thing in the world.
You had been touched—the soft purple blooms still sat in a glass on your desk—but Kate’s warning about Reid’s reputation still hovered in the back of your mind like a whispered caution.
And now here you were, side by side, supposed to be analyzing prose.
Reid leaned in slightly, voice low, “You know, you look really good when you’re taking notes.”
You didn’t even glance up, just rolled your eyes and murmured, “You’d look good too if you actually took some.”
His brows lifted, a spark of amusement in his gaze, “Word?”
Before you could answer, he flipped to a blank page with exaggerated speed and snatched up his pencil like a man on a mission.
You let out a small, involuntary snort, shaking your head, “You’re impossible.”
The sound of your laugh—unguarded, genuine—made something light take root in his chest, a weightless kind of float that he wasn’t used to.
And the smile that followed… he wanted to see that again, no matter what it took.
The banter continued in low murmurs, Reid shameless in his flirting and now more emboldened after your Saturday together.
You tried to stay coy, keeping your tone neutral, but you caught yourself softening, more than once, at the way his eyes crinkled when he grinned or how his voice dipped when the teasing turned softer.
It wasn’t until Mr. Wyatt suddenly cleared his throat, sharp as a snapped twig, that you both looked up.
The teacher’s expression was bland, but his eyes glinted with challenge as he turned toward Reid.
“Mr. Garwin,” he said evenly, “since you seem to be having such a stimulating conversation, perhaps you could tell us in detail what the author’s treatment of isolation in the summer reading suggests about their broader worldview?”
You felt your stomach sink.
It was the kind of layered, open-ended question designed to corner anyone who hadn’t actually done the work.
But Reid just leaned back in his chair, as if this was no more taxing than deciding between black or cream in his coffee.
He began speaking—and not just speaking, but delivering a thorough, articulate, and almost irritatingly eloquent analysis.
He touched on symbolism, on historical context, even weaving in a quote with perfect recall.
And of course, he did it with that trademark smirk, like he knew exactly how good he sounded.
When he finished, Wyatt stood there for a beat, visibly caught off-guard before briskly returning to the lesson without another word.
You tilted your head toward Reid, your voice cool but your lips threatening to curve, “Nice save.”
“Thanks,” he said lightly, leaning in just enough for the words to feel like they belonged to you alone. “Told you. Beauty and brains.”
You rolled your eyes, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as the bell rang and the room filled with the shuffle of papers and the low roar of conversation.
Students filed toward the door, the lecture hall gradually emptying.
You slung your bag over your shoulder and was halfway turned toward the exit when Reid’s voice stopped you.
“Hey... you should come to my swim meet after school.”
You arched a brow, pretending to consider, “Hmm. I don’t know… I might be busy.”
He grinned, shamelessly soaking in the playful resistance, “Come on, you’ll love it.”
You let the silence stretch for just a few more delicious seconds, then sighed in mock defeat, “Fine.”
“Good. Meet at three,” he said, that satisfied glint lighting his features again.
You gave a smooth little nod before turning toward the door, walking out without another word.
Reid watched you go, standing there a moment longer than he needed to, his grin softening into something unguarded.
Yeah.
He had it bad.
.
.
.
The scent of chlorine hit you as soon as you stepped into the humid air of the natatorium, the echo of splashes and muffled chatter bouncing off tiled walls.
You followed Kate and Sarah up the metal bleachers, your sneakers clanging against the steps until they settled near the middle—a good view of the pool and the locker room entrance.
Students milled around in clumps, parents chatted idly with thermoses of coffee in hand, and the rhythmic slap of water against the lane ropes gave the whole place a steady heartbeat.
Kate and Sarah didn’t waste a second.
“So,” Kate began, drawing out the word like she was winding up for a serve. “You and Reid have been awfully… present in each other’s lives lately.”
You rolled your eyes, crossing one leg over the other, “It’s strictly friendly.”
Sarah’s brows lifted in a way that said sure, and I’m the Queen of England, “Uh-huh. You mean like how Caleb and I are strictly friendly?”
You gave her a dry look, “Exactly.”
Kate shook her head, lips curved in disbelief, “Please. I caught you two at the bistro Saturday afternoon.”
“That was lunch,” you said, your voice even, though you could feel the heat crawl up the back of your neck.
“And Sunday,” Sarah added smoothly, “Caleb and I saw you guys leaving the store parking lot when we were pulling in.”
You leaned back, your tone prim, “Also professional.”
Neither girl bought it for a second.
Kate’s smirk turned wicked, “Professional, huh? Is that what we’re calling your new boy toy?”
You scoffed, about to protest—and then the locker room doors swung open.
The Ipswich boys led the way, and the rest of the swim team trailed behind them like a school of fish.
The warm, chlorine-thick air seemed to tilt for a moment, because there was Reid Garwin, looking like he’d been sculpted by the gods themselves and then dropped into a pair of tiny, low-slung swim trunks.
You felt your jaw threaten to unhinge.
Every muscle looked cut from sunlit marble, his skin glistening faintly under the fluorescent lights.
The sharp V of his hips disappeared into the black fabric, his abs— and yes, you were counting—could probably grate parmesan.
The smug, lazy grace in his stride only made it worse.
You weren't the superficial type.
You'd always valued a sharp wit and charm over a perfect body.
But sweet mercy, this man had both.
And you were staring.
Kate noticed first, biting back a laugh.
Sarah caught it next, elbowing Kate as if to say get a load of this.
And then—of course Reid himself caught you.
From across the pool deck, his gaze hooked into yours, slow and deliberate.
The corner of his mouth tipped upward into a knowing, utterly pleased smirk.
Kate leaned in, voice just loud enough for you to hear over the ambient noise, “You might want to wipe the drool from your lip, babe.”
You gasped in mock offense, smacking her arm playfully, “Fuck off.”
Kate only laughed, Sarah grinning beside her.
Down on the pool deck, Reid was still watching you, still wearing that smug little look like he’d just won something.
After that, the meet moved quickly, heats ticking by in a whirl of splashes, cheers, and the scent of chlorine that clung stubbornly to the humid air.
The Sons of Ipswich were, unsurprisingly, cleaning up—each one putting on their own kind of show in the water.
Reid, though, was last in the lineup.
The announcer called the final heat, and your gaze found him immediately.
He was already striding toward his lane, his walk slow, confident, and calculated.
He glanced across the pool, and when your eyes met, there was nothing casual about it.
That sharp, electric kind of look that made you feel like he was seeing everything at once.
He rolled his shoulders, shaking out his arms as he lowered into the starting stance.
Even now, poised at the edge, he was still watching you.
The starter’s blank cracked through the air, and in one fluid motion, Reid and the rival swimmer dove forward, slicing into the water like a pair of silver arrows.
The boys from Ipswich shouted encouragement from the sidelines, their voices echoing off the tiled walls, but Reid’s style wasn’t just competitive—it was theatrical.
Each stroke was precise but almost lazy in its confidence, his body cutting through the water as if he had no doubt he’d be the first to the wall.
On the last length, you could've sworn you caught the faintest shimmer beneath the surface—nothing anyone else would notice.
By the time his hand slapped the wall, the gap between him and his opponent was almost comical.
The whistle blew, the crowd clapped and cheered, and Reid surfaced with a wide, smug grin.
Droplets rolled down his face, catching in his lashes before sliding down the strong line of his jaw.
His teammates clapped him on the back, voices tumbling over each other in praise as he hauled himself up out of the pool.
And then—naturally—he started walking straight toward you.
Kate leaned in without breaking her smile, “Don’t look now, but Loverboy’s inbound.”
You shot her a look but didn’t have time to reply before Reid was standing in front of the bleachers, utterly unfazed by the fact that he was dripping wet, his chest gleaming under the harsh lights.
He wore his usual self-satisfied smirk, like he’d just been waiting for this moment.
“Hey,” he said casually, as if you were bumping into each other in the quad instead of at the edge of a swim meet.
“Hey,” you replied, careful to keep your tone even.
You talked like it was nothing—like the heat rolling between wasn’t palpable enough for Kate and Sarah to exchange barely contained grins on either side of you.
You fought hard to maintain your composure, refusing to give him the full satisfaction of seeing you flustered, but your pulse had other ideas.
Eventually, Reid turned slightly, addressing all three.
“The boys are thinking about heading to Nicky’s once we’re done here,” his tone was easy, but his eyes flicked back to you almost immediately. “You in?”
Kate and Sarah perked up instantly, exchanging a quick, excited glance before nodding in unison.
Then Reid’s attention locked fully on you.
“And you?” he asked, voice pitched just a little lower, his expression telegraphing that your answer mattered more than anyone else’s.
You tilted your head, keeping your tone light but unreadable, “Maybe... we’ll see.”
His smirk deepened—not the cocky one from before, but something subtler, more intrigued.
“Hope I see you there,” he said, the words heavy with meaning before he finally turned away.
On his way back to rejoin the boys, he glanced over his shoulder more than once, catching your gaze each time before finally disappearing into the knot of teammates.
Kate and Sarah waited until he was gone before turning to you in perfect sync, eyes gleaming.
Kate leaned close, her voice a conspiratorial murmur, “If that was professional, then I’m a nun.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head—though the flutter in your chest told you Kate wasn’t entirely wrong.
.
.
.
