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caernys · 11 months

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“yes, rintaro?”

“hi-jesus, a warning next time would be nice,”

“you called me,” you huff, picking at the now dried mask on your face in the small reflection of the facetime. “what do you want, rin?”

suna is outside, walking rather quickly as the background is blurred around him. he lets out an airy laugh before looking at the screen.

“i’m drunk;” he smirks, continuing to walk but tripping a little, shaking the camera. you raise your eyebrows at him to continue. he sniffs. “and i’m coming over.”

“is your house broken or something?”

he giggles, then shakes his head. “nah, yours is closer though.”

you sigh and accept defeat. you knew your best friend was in the neighborhood from his social media posts, so it’s no surprise he’s deciding to drop in. it’s late though, well past midnight. you shuffle into your bathroom to rinse off the mask, setting your phone on the counter.

“when will you be here?”

he clears his throat and swallows. “i’m walking up the stairs, so 2 min-fuck-minutes,” he trips up the steps and groans.

“what? okay give me a minute, i’ll be right there,” you wash off your mask quickly and run to the door, realizing too late as you slide on your socked feet that you’re only in a t shirt, suna’s t shirt. you open the door to find a very intoxicated suna, leaning against your with heavy eyes and a smile, which turns to a frown when he sees you.

“hey, that’s mine,” he taps the collar of your shirt before pushing past you, slipping off his shoes and throwing his coat on the floor.

“you reek, rin. god, where were you?”

he smirks. now making himself comfy on the couch despite your protesting glares.

“the club a few blocks away, it was packed and-“ he hiccups. “y-yeah it was just busy. aran was there,”

“don’t fall asleep on my couch,” you tap his leg as you walk past, tidying up a little. he opens his eyes and sits up, slumped into the cushions. “how do you feel?”

suna doesn’t answer. he scrolls on his phone at full volume, completely ignoring you while chuckling at the different videos he comes across.

one of the worst things about your best friend was how stubborn he is normally, but that stubbornness triples when he’s had enough to drink.

you stand in front of him with your arms crossed for a few more seconds before you clear your throat. he finally looks up and waves.

“rin, why don’t you-“

“so yeah, aran was there and-“ he laughs at something on his phone, losing his train of thought.

“how about you take a shower?”

“no,” he pouts again. “why don’t you take a shower?”

you huff. “i’m calling aran to get y-“

“i think i’m going to take a shower,” he grunts, standing up and following you to the bathroom while you grab towels for him. when you finish turning the water, he begins to lift up his shirt.

“uh-uh,” you laugh to yourself and slip out the door, pulling it shut. “you can do that in private. take your time, i’m going to bed.”

“but what if i wanted you to see?”

you stutter. “y-you’re drunk, rin. just shower, please.”

you hear him clamber into the shower soon after and retreat to your bed. as you settle in, suna’s comment continues to nag at you. sure, he jokes around and has his fun with you. but in the many years being his best friend, he’s never made any sort of effort to make a move on you.

you feel dizzy, suddenly picturing suna in a way you had never before. it felt like jumping off the high dive and into water all at once.

“what am i supposed to wear?” a very wet suna waltzes into your room with a towel on his waist, and you wish you could jump into that pool right now. you can’t take your eyes off his torso, eyeing the defined muscle as they flex with every step.

“there’s s-some of your clothes here from last time, they’re clean i just forgot to give them to you,” you jump out of bed and rummage through your closet before handing him his belongings.

“oh cool,” he walks back to the bathroom, bumping into the wall on the way. you slink back to bed without another word.

just as you’re drifting off to sleep, your mattress dips.

“hi,” suna breathes, getting under your covers with you.

“what are you doing?” you hiss, voice a whisper. he stares back at you with an irritated look.

“painting a picture, what does it look like? i’m going to bed,” he huffs, pulling your covers over him and leaving your legs exposed to the cold air.

“rintaro,” you pull the covers back over you and he groans. “i don’t want to hear it! if you’re going to sleep in my bed at least share.”

he remains quiet, making himself comfortable on the other side of the bed. meanwhile, your heart is racing and your mind is fighting between being bothered and pining over your best friend.

“did you use my shampoo?”

“of course i did,” suna’s voice is tired as he finally settles in. “the extra stuff you gave me sucks. and you smell good so thought i’d use it,”

your heart skips a beat. you don’t say anything, though.

your eyes get a little heavy, mind finally relaxing as the heavy sounds of suna’s breathing lull you to sleep.

the next morning you wake up next to your best friend, blinking a few times before you get a good look at him. he’s resting against the pillow, your blanket pulled up to his bare chest while he scrolls on his phone.

“good morning rin,” you mumble, yawning and sitting up. “did you sleep okay? are you feeling today today?”

“slept great,” he mumbles, eyes not leaving his screen. “i feel okay. head hurts,”

you nod, handing him your water bottle and an aspirin from your bedside table which he happily takes.

“thanks for letting me stay here by he way,”

“of course,” you watch as he sits up, blankets falling to his hips and showcasing his muscles once more.

“i feel bad that you had to deal with me,” he looks you in your eyes and for some reason, it feels different from normal. you shrug.

“i don’t mind.”

he smirks and gets comfortable once more, but begins typing on his phone with a giggle.

“what’s so funny?”

“nothing,” he smirks at the screen. “i just told aran we slept together, though.

“rintaro!”

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caernys · 11 months

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。i know you still think about the times we had

synopsis. satoru will always comes when you call him, he just never thought you’d stop calling

— word count. 5.2k (where did i go wrong)

— contents. college au, rich boy! gojo, break ups and make ups <3, it’s the cliche trope where the rich guy’s parent forces you to leave him aka gojo’s father is the villain, angst with a happy ending—i don’t want my cause of death to be angry rb! gojo stans, emo gojo ft. marvin’s room (iykyk), cliche rain scene—this fic is so cliche i’m sorry, reader is gn! but gojo is mentioned to like pics of girls on instagram (he was being petty)

— notes. well, it finally happened. the long awaited break up. this one’s for you niku 🤞🏽 AND DABITEE ANON

you open the door when satoru knocks—just barely, though. it’s just enough to hand him the bag with the remaining things he’s left at your apartment. it feels familiar, being here, but it feels so different too. it’s always been happy knocking on your door—he never thought he’d dread letting his knuckles meet the cool wood. it’s like taking the last bite of something sweet when you’re too full. when the sugar is too decadent on your tongue and your head spins and your stomach twists and it’s too much even though it used to be so good.

it’s too much being here. it’s too much trying to meet your gaze and get nothing in return. it’s too much being handed back that sweater he basically let you keep. and yet, it’s good to see you. he wants nothing more than to be here with you, wherever you are, even if you don’t want him to stay.

“that should be everything,” you murmur, still looking down. “let me know if there’s anything missing.”

satoru would never tell you if there’s something missing. he’d never come back and demand back something he gave you, he doesn’t think he could ever take back something he gave you—being handed back his heart after pressing it to your palms is hard enough. but then again, maybe he should look for small things you probably missed. just so he can come back. just so he can see you—how else will he see you now?

“no, it’s alright,” he says quietly. he doesn’t miss the way you quickly let go as soon as his hands grab the bag, almost like you’re being careful enough not to let your fingers meet each other. “you can uh…you can just keep them. or…throw them out if you don’t want them,” he mumbles.

you nod, standing there silently. it’s quiet, and then it’s quiet some more. and finally, you look up at him for the first time since he got here, staring at him a little expectantly. oh, right. now would be the part where he leaves.

“can i…can i just know why?” he croaks. fuck. he’s not supposed to cry. you ripped his heart out and threw it at his feet, you didn’t even care to hand it to him even after you tore every artery apart. but he sniffles anyway, lips wobbling as he stares at you. “why are you leaving me?”

your fingers twitch, like you itch to reach over and wipe that tear that rolls down his cheek. in the end, you cross your arms instead. “i already told you, satoru—”

“that’s bullshit,” he clicks his teeth, shaking his head as he stares at you frustratedly, “you gave me some bullshit reason.”

satoru has worked so hard to be here—to be with you. hadn’t he done enough? hadn’t he told you about himself, things he didn’t want to? hadn’t he tried to become something, someone more than just a guy swimming in trust funds? hadn’t he worked for your attention, waited outside classes and walked opposite directions in the hall with you just to seem dedicated? fuck, he even burned his hand trying to learn how to make pancakes to impress you, let the maids laugh at him as he twisted the stove the wrong way to try and turn it on.

why wasn’t it enough? what more could he give you than everything? how can the guy who has everything not have enough to give? he doesn’t understand.

“satoru, we weren’t gonna work,” you pinch your nose—it’s like you’re the one who doesn’t understand why he’s being like this. “the sooner you accept that the more hurt you’re saving the both of us—”

“we were working just fine,” he says exasperatedly. it’s like you insist he’s crazy when he’s nothing but sane. like he’s trying to tell you the sky is blue, and you’re refusing to believe it’s anything other than green. it’s clear. it’s practically a fact. you were doing just fine—why don’t you see that? “we were happy,” he takes a step forward and cups your cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours, “was it someone? did they tell you something? just tell me who, baby—i’ll fix it. i’ll put them in their place, okay? no one can bother you if i get them to leave you alone—”

“then you leave me alone,” you whisper. he stills. you pull away from his hands. “sator—gojo. please just leave me alone. it’s better that way.”

you close the door, and he stands there. numb. maybe a little shocked. entirely ruined.

gojo. he laughs quietly after a moment at that—it’s a laugh meant for men who’ve lost the last thread to sanity. gojo. it’s like a slap in the face, being called the name he worked so hard to get you to drop. it took him weeks—months, even, to convince you to call him satoru. then he upgraded to toru. then it was baby. sometimes you teased him and called him pumpkin—he called you peaches in return. when you introduced him, you called him your boyfriend.

not anymore. now he’s back to gojo—that god-forsaken name with everything but what he really wants attached to it. his grandfather’s legacy. his future. business deals. fancy invites. more money than he knows what to do with. the name gojo comes with everything but you.

but he had you for a bit, didn’t he? when he was just satoru—but now he’s gojo again, and you’re gone. the only sign of you left is in the faint traces of your perfume in the sweaters you’ve returned.

and satoru still isn’t sure what brought the break up on. he thinks it’s the part that stings the most—when everything seems perfect one second, and then it’s not. had he not tried enough? maybe he was too much. maybe he didn’t understand you the way you needed him to. maybe he was too overbearing. maybe he asked for too much too fast.

he’s not sure. he tried asking when you broke it off—you only shook your head and said it wasn’t going to work out between the two of you, that it was a mistake to try at all. mistake? how could you call this a mistake? things were so perfect, weren’t they?

satoru doesn’t think there was even one second he wasn’t smiling when he was with you, and he used to think the same was true for you too. had you been faking it this long? or was it real at one point—had he really failed you so badly, seen past you so blindly that he didn’t notice when your smiles stopped reaching your eyes?

it’s too late, he figures. you and satoru are broken up.

you ask him to come over one morning, and he does—because he always comes when you call. he brings your coffee order from that cafe you like, the one you don’t go to often because the coffee is more overpriced than any other coffee shop you’ve ever seen. he’s grinning when you open the door, leans in to kiss your lips excitedly. you turn your head then, and his lips meet your cheeks instead—he supposes he should’ve known it at that moment. he should’ve seen that your lips weren’t smiling. your eyes were tired, a little red. you were hugging yourself in that way you do when you’re nervous. you didn’t let him kiss your lips, you made him kiss your cheek.

and then you sat him down on that worn-down couch of yours, took off that bracelet his mother gave him to gift you on your anniversary, and pressed it to his palm as you said we should break up. break up. you wanted to leave him—and satoru didn’t understand, still doesn’t understand.

he’s tried for so long, replayed the last month of your relationship in his head over and over and fucking over. you always smiled. you kissed him first. you held his hand, and even squeezed. you asked to see him. you laughed when he was around. you said i love you. you were happy. but then you weren’t—when did you stop being happy? and how could you have stopped feeling it with him?

—————

breaking up with satoru is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. how long can people live without the sun? you think not longer than a few minutes—that’s what it feels like without satoru’s warmth, anyway.

gojo satoru has always smiled as long as he’s been with you. he smiled smugly on your first meet, smiled bitterly after every rejection, smiled in pure glee when you finally said yes, and smiled like his fingertips could touch the sky every time he saw you after that.

satoru has never looked sad for long in your presence—you have that effect on him, you make his lips curl and his eyes brighten in that way that they deserve to shine. but for the first time ever, his eyes dim with you around, his lips curl into a frown at your words, and he cries for you. his eyes glisten with tears instead of wonder, and you think for a moment that you might be making a mistake.

but then you remember that this is for the best—that if you really love gojo satoru, you’ll let him go instead of clipping his wings.

“he’s picked up his things,” you speak quietly into the phone. you don’t sniffle even as you desperately need to—it’s the last bit of control you have left, and you intend to keep it. “i won’t be seeing him again.”

“good,” his father speaks, “that’s good to hear.”

satoru’s father is a cold man, you learn that on the first meet. he doesn’t look at his wife with a soft look that tells you there’s any love built between the decades of marriage, and he doesn’t look at his only son with any affection for the boy he raised. instead, he stares at satoru like any businessman would an opportunity—with a calculating gaze that tries to work out the best course of action for the most profit.

satoru is young, but he’s charming and conniving and knows how to get what he wants when he wants—he’s quick on his feet and rarely lets himself get cornered into a wall. in the last three generations of the family business, no heir has shown as much promise as gojo satoru. that’s what his father tells you, anyway. you believe him—satoru is smart and knows how to play his cards right, you won’t deny that. his future is set to be comfortable, and he’s never known anything outside of that, never built any other plans for himself.

you can’t rip that away from him—not for your own sake, not for your own happiness.

“you promised you wouldn’t freeze his trust funds once i ended things,” you remind him, “and that he’d keep his inheritance.” somehow, because the world grants you this one favor, your voice doesn’t shake—it’s steady and firm as it reminds the stone-cold man at the end of the line of your agreement—and he offers a slow chuckle that makes your jaw clench.

“yes, i do recall,” he hums, “i’m glad we could come to agree. you understand, don’t you? it is my job as his father to do what’s best for him.”

you know what he’s saying—what that means. you’re not what’s best for him. maybe he’s right—maybe satoru needs someone who’s equally as promising to build a successful company into even more success. maybe he needs someone who can take him out for a change to those fancy places he takes you every few weeks. maybe he needs someone who’s heard of half the brands he wears and doesn’t scold him to turn the lights off so the electricity bill isn’t high. maybe he needs someone who can keep up with everything that gojo satoru is—and that someone is not you, no matter how deeply you love him.

“—the offer still stands, should you change your mind. i’m willing to compensate you for the trouble this must all be.”

your lips curl into a scowl at his words. that’s the thing about rich people, you think—money is always enough to sugarcoat everything. why worry about the dead grass in your lawn when you can paint it green? but you don’t leave satoru for extra cash on your hands—nothing can be worth auctioning off the only man who’s ever made you feel anything. you leave satoru because he deserves to continue living comfortably, to make a name for himself that isn’t just a ghost of his father’s. if that means being cut from the corner of the picture, you’re willing to pick up the scissors yourself.

“no thanks,” you hiss, “i don’t need the money.”

“i would disagree,” his father sneers, “but suit yourself.”

the line ends, and for good this time, satoru is no longer yours. was he ever to begin with?

—————

you try to forget your ex-boyfriend—keyword, try. every hour of your life consists of you using your burner account to refresh his instagram page to see if he’s posted anything new. you unfollow satoru from every social media platform the same day he picks up his belongings—you know he’s noticed within the first thirty minutes because all of his pictures with you are gone, just like all your pictures with him.

in what you assume is an attempt to be petty, he likes every picture of every girl he sees, and he even blocks you on twitter—you know he picks twitter because twitter is the only social media that blatantly states you’re blocked. but then you’re unblocked in two days, and you know he must be missing you now that the initial anger is faded.

it makes you laugh a little, even through your tears. satoru is not satoru without petty fits of emotion, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad, not when it’s your fault he’s hurting like this. he’s extra sad today, you gather—if the way marvin’s room is posted to his instagram story on a blank screen is of any hint. it makes you scoff in amusement that in true gojo satoru fashion, he’s effectively told all eight-thousand-something of his followers he’s pathetically in his feelings.

you scroll through suguru’s story, too—he didn’t unfollow you even after satoru temporarily blocked you, but you figure suguru is the only person satoru really has. you shouldn’t keep yourself close to him, not when it could hurt satoru more, so you remove him too.

suguru is, as always, drinking at some fancy party with obnoxiously rich college students who have not a care in the world for midterms around the corner. who needs to pass when you’re swimming in money whether or not you have a degree? the first thing you learn about the rich is that most of them are only at college for the experience—they don’t see college as the stepping stone to better opportunities, there’s nothing education could offer that trust funds already don’t. but satoru attends college for himself—he enjoys business classes, you learn, and especially finance ones. for someone who spends money so carelessly, he understands it particularly well.

there’s no sign of satoru at whatever party it is suguru is at, there’s no trace of strikingly bright white strands anywhere in any corners—you do see naoya in a corner, though, and you crinkle your nose in distaste. if satoru were here, he’d say something bitterly under his breath about the asshole, and you would giggle. but satoru is not here, and even naoya the women-hating jackass makes you miss your obnoxiously whiny ex-boyfriend.

everything reminds you of satoru. that bear he won you at the fair (after maybe six tries) by your pillows, those polaroids at your desk that you can’t bring yourself to take down, that sticky note on your fridge he left promising to replace the creamer he finished (he’s replaced it more times than he’s needed to by now), that extra big blanket you keep on the couch because the old one barely covered his legs, that pair of silly matching mugs you both had for coffee in the mornings.

every corner of your apartment has something that reminds you that satoru was here, that he was yours, that for a short while, he was the best thing you ever had. it’s your fault, you think—that satoru and you are here in this mess in the first place. he’s always looked at life through a hopeful lens. having everything does that to you, makes you ignorant to the misfortunes of the world, makes you think everything is within the realm of your reach. you, on the other hand, knew this was bound to happen. the two of you together is like hot oil and cool water—what feels like sparks is just the oil shooting out to burn you. you should’ve known this would never have lasted.

in a way, you think you did. it’s why you hated him so fiercely at first—maybe deep down, you always knew you wanted him, that he would never be yours. maybe that’s why you were so adamant about rejecting him, that even when he was clearly trying, it would never be enough. satoru has always been enough, has always been what everyone has wanted—you’re not so sure you can say the same for yourself.

you love gojo satoru. he loves you too—he falls first, and you think maybe, he might have fallen harder too. no one loves like satoru. they say if you press a coal hard enough, it turns to diamonds—you think if you gave satoru coal, he would hand you back the sun and all of her stars. it’s just the kind of guy he is, the one that turns everything dull into something bright and warm and worth it. you wish you didn’t have to break his heart, you wish you could’ve walked out of this the only one hurt. but maybe, at the very least, if you break him good enough that he hates you, he’ll move on quicker, maybe have something to look forward to while you continue to work your way up and cheer him on.

before you can refresh suguru’s page one more time to stalk his story, you’re pulled from your thoughts as someone knocks on your door—correction: pounds on your door. you jolt on your couch, standing up and making your way to the front door quickly and looking through the peephole.

satoru.

of course. he’s soaked to the bone—it’s raining outside, and of course, just as on brand as always, he must’ve rushed here without an umbrella.

you shouldn’t open it. but you can’t just leave him in the rain, can you? but he’s not your problem anymore, you agreed to leave him, didn’t you? but how could he not be your problem when he’s all you think about? but this could cause him trouble, if his father found out he was here, right? but can you really leave someone, ex-boyfriend or not, in the pouring rain? you can’t be that cruel can you?

before you can make up your mind, he speaks up, “i know you’re standing there. open the door,” he demands.

“satoru, go home,” you sigh, head pressing against the surface that separates you, “don’t make this anymore difficult than it has to be.”

“if it’s difficult, that means you don’t really want this,” he argues. he’s still as good as ever at sweet talk, still as persistent and charming as ever at getting what he wants. “please,” he croaks, “just let me in.”

you know it means more than one thing. you know it means more than just your home. you shouldn’t, you can’t let him know why you did all this—how can you protect someone from something if they don’t let you? satoru would never let you if he knew, and that’s why you can’t let him know.

“satoru, if you don’t leave…i’ll…i’ll call the cops,” you warn.

“no you won’t,” he says instantly. “i’m not leaving until you open the door. and if i get sick, i’ll send you my bill for the emergency room visit.”

“you’re not going to the emergency room for a common cold, you idiot,” you scoff.

the rain doesn’t slow—in fact, you can hear thunder. satoru is still stubbornly outside, knocking away.

“i’ll start screaming,” he insists, “your neighbors will complain for noise again. do you want to be kicked out of this apartment? just let your cold, wet, heartbroken ex-boyfriend in if you have a heart.”

and because you are, and always will be, weak to the charms of gojo satoru, you open that damned door—even though you shouldn’t, even though you can’t, even though you said you would never again. but you do. because it’s satoru, and he always comes when you call, and you’ll always let him in when he’s here.

“you don’t come to your ex’s house less than one week after the break up,” you sigh once you open the door. he takes a step in, shutting the door behind him.

“why did you leave me?” he asks.

“satoru, you can’t keep bringing this up—”

“why? just tell me why.”

“i don’t have to—”

“tell me why and i’ll stop bothering you. i just need to know why,” he insists.

and then you break.

you’re only human. you’ve lost the man you’ve given everything to for over a year in the span of one week, you’ll never see his lovely mother again who spoiled you rotten, you’ll never hang out out with his funny best friend who treats you like family, and you’ll never be enough for gojo satoru, the rich, loud, sheltered, obnoxious, handsome jackass you met and had to do a project with and accidentally fucked over and over again until you fell in love.

so you shove his chest, once, then twice, then a third time, each time getting weaker and weaker than the last as tears slip down your cheeks as you simply break down. “just leave, satoru,” you sob, “why can’t you just leave? why do you keep coming back?”

you hate seeing him here. you want him gone. you never want to see him again. you hope he never leaves. you’re glad to see him. you hope this isn’t the last time. you hate that he seems to not be getting enough sleep. his eyes are hollow. he must not be eating properly. he probably hasn’t attended class. he has a quiz next week. he probably forgot about that. his clothes are wrinkly. he probably hasn’t showered in days.

“last month you said i was it for you,” he glares at you, his eyes red and swollen and every shade of heartbreak. you miss when they were blue, that beautiful, bright, perfect shade of blue. “last week you said we were a mistake. what the fuck do you mean, huh? what are you playing at?”

“you can realize a lot in a month—”

“not enough to erase over a year,” his voice booms. it makes you flinch and hug yourself tightly. tears slide down your cheeks, your vision is blurry. this might be the last time you see satoru, and even if he’s angry, you want to remember the curves of his features. so you wipe them away. they keep coming back. “so tell me,” he clenches his jaw, “did you string me along for a year or did something happen last week that you’re not telling me?”

“i realized you were bad for me,” you say quietly.

satoru stares at you. it’s a piercing gaze—his eyes are electrically blue and his lashes are unfairly long and every time he stares at you, you think he almost sees into your soul. they’re tired—there are purplish bags under them on that pale skin of his, and the whites of his eyes are concerningly bloodshot. he stares, and stares, and for a second, you think you’ll die like this. watching him stare at you as your heart bleeds out.

“i spent weeks,” his voice shakes, “i waited outside your class. i followed you to the next one. i memorized your fucking schedule.”

“satoru, you need to leave—”

“and then you fucked me and left every morning like i was nothing,” he glares, sniffling. you don’t know where the rain drops on his face start and where the teardrops end. “and then i begged you for a chance—begged. i burned my hand, got laughed at by the maids to learn how to make stupid fucking pancakes for you.”

“i didn’t ask you to—”

“it took you two months to call me baby for the first time. did you know that? i waited two months to hear that. i thought it was the best two months i ever waited.”

“satoru,” you plead.

you’ve given up trying to wipe away the tears—he’s given up on crying altogether. you’ve never seen him so hollow, so dead in the eyes and so, so tired. satoru has never gotten tired—not when he’s fighting for you.

“and then you kept pushing me away, acting like i was some shallow guy who wanted to get in your pants and leave cause i had some money to my name. i took you everywhere, introduced you proudly, let everyone say what they wanted to about me because i loved you, and…and i thought you loved me too,” he shakes his head.

“i do love you,” you admit it before you realize what you’re saying.

“then why did you fucking leave me?” his voice is loud. satoru never yells, not at you. his voice is always gentle, patient, like he worships the ground you walk on, like he’ll get on his knees if you ask him too. satoru never yells—but he does tonight.

“because i had to,” you sob, fingers digging into your temples as you shake. the words spill from your lips faster than the tears, like a swarm of angry bees, one following after the other. “or you’d lose everything. the trust funds, the inheritance, the company. i couldn’t let that happen to you—not for me,” you whisper.

it feels like defeat—in the end, you couldn’t have satoru, and you couldn’t leave him either. you couldn’t love him like you wanted, and you couldn’t let him go like you should have. what else is there left to fuck up? what more can you ruin in less than a week? the bees feel like maggots in your mouth, swarming a dead carcas.

“you left me because my old man threatened you with my trust funds?” he asks in disbelief. you think something in satoru dies at that—something in his shoulders falls and his eyes almost seem gray.

satoru gets his blue eyes from his mother—they’re bright and kind and deeper than the ocean. but unlike the ocean, they’re not scary to fall into, to lose yourself in no matter how far you are from shore. his father’s eyes are gray—cold and blank and not laced with a single hint of emotion.

you can’t help but think that blue suits satoru so much better than gray ever could.

“it wasn’t just that,” you shake your head, “that’s not fair, satoru. what was i supposed to do? know you were about to lose everything and stay?”

“you could have talked to me before you decided for me,” he hisses, “what do you want me to say? thank you? thank you for breaking my heart? thank you for making me feel like a worthless piece of shit who wasted a year for someone who didn’t seem to care? thank you for walking out on me?”

“you know i’d have stayed if i could,” you argue, voice breaking.

“then why didn’t you? why the fuck didn’t you?”

“because i couldn’t!”

“you could!” he screams—you realize, for the first time in your life, you hate when satoru screams. he never screams. “all my life, that old man has been making decisions for me. satoru, wear this. satoru, go here. satoru, don’t do that. satoru, put that away. satoru, stay away from them. satoru, come with me. that’s all he’s ever fucking done—make every choice for me. and now…now you’re just like him,” he breathes, lips wobbling as he stares at you with hurt.

it’s like that for a bit—you stare at him as he crumbles, and he stares at you like he doesn't know you anymore. you don’t know who leans in first, if it’s your hand or his face, but one second you’re feet apart, and the next second his face is cradled in your hands, thumbs swiping away at his tears. you catch them, one by one, waiting to wipe them away no matter how fast they come. because satoru always comes when you call, and you’ll always be there when he finds you.

“i don’t want to leave,” you mumble, “i never do. you are it for me, i meant that, you know. who else will melt extra chocolate in my hot chocolate?”

“then don’t leave,” he pouts, voice cracking, “i don’t want you to. i’ll handle that old geezer—my grandfather will knock some sense into him. fuck, suguru and i can even hide his body, it’s fine. just don’t leave, okay?”

you let out a watery chuckle, pinching his cheek as you shake your head. “i don’t know if i’m worth homicide, satoru.”

“i think you’re wrong,” he huffs, “you’re wrong about a lot of things, you know. so wrong.”

“i never said i was perfect,” you pout.

he buries his head into your neck, clinging to you tightly—you cling back, because nothing is as safe as satoru’s arms. you’d melt into his skin if you could, live in that spot right where his heart is so you can make sure it’s always beating.

“you’re still perfect,” he mumbles, “but you’re always mean to me. this was the worst you’ve ever been.”

“i’m sorry,” you murmur, slipping your fingers into his hair—it’s still wet, you realize. he’s soaked, and he could catch a cold but you don’t care. satoru is home. he’s here in your run-down apartment with the mugs and the blanket and that toothbrush you forgot to return and that pair of socks you found in your drawer. satoru is finally home. “i’ll never leave you again.”

“promise?”

“yeah. as long as you don’t block me on twitter again.”

“you deserved that.”

“and for the love of god, toru, delete that marvin’s room story. that was so dumb.”

“are you stalking me?” he pulls away with a grin, making you glare with a huff. he chuckles, kisses your forehead as he murmurs, “missed me that bad, huh? yeah, i would too.”

“obviously not enough to post marvin’s room on my story.’

“you can’t be mean to me after you broke my heart!” he whines. yeah, you think, satoru is home. he’s still that loud, obnoxious, pestering brat that he always was—and he’s still the only love you’ve ever known.

“i love you,” you press your forehead to his, kissing him slowly. you want to kiss him harder, you want to kiss him desperately like you’ll never kiss him again. like you lost him and miraculously got him back. like you’ll never see the sun without him.

but there’s time for that—lots of it, in fact. because satoru is home.

“i love you too,” he whispers, “wanna shower with me? if you really love me, you would.”

if this fic was a person i would want it dead.

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caernys · 11 months

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random boyfriend texts from kuroo tetsurou

cw: fem!reader

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caernys · 11 months

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this is the cutest thing i have ever read oh my gosh

THEY’VE GOT NO IDEA ABOUT ME AND YOU — sakusa kiyoomi one-shot smau

you and sakusa kiyoomi have been competing with each other since your first year when for the first time in your life, someone beat you at academics (something you based your self esteem on).

you developed a begrudging crush on him in your second year when you realized he wasn’t that bad when the two of you stayed late in the classroom and you had a breakdown and instead of telling you to suck it up like you expected he would, he wiped your tears with his handkerchief and calmingly brushed your hair away from your face (he still called you a dummy tho).

it was in your third year when sakusa (with a flushed face) asked you out while you were ranting about how you were going to outrank him in the next semester as well. you were so shocked it took you too long to answer and he stomped away annoyed (you ran after him and held his hand which made both of you blush— you guys did go on a date the following day).

once you made things official, you both have agreed to keep it a secret (mostly cause you didn’t know how to tell everybody, sakusa didn’t really care, but you do, so he cares by default). none of your friends know about your romantic relationship with your academic rival who you swore you hate so much. not even your childhood best friends, kenma and kuroo, knew. for kiyoomi, motoya didn’t know (but sakusa knows motoya has his suspicions).

you talk about sakusa all the time in your priv (which is an acc just for you, but ever since dating him you’ve let his account in).

the following day, sakusa was more aware of his surroundings— and glared at poor yuu a lot who didn’t know what he did to upset sakusa.

it took you a while to notice but when you eventually do, you laughed so hard your friends thought you were crazy. later on at lunch you coddle sakusa (and tease him also) but your laughs were contagious and he gave in after a while and even let out a small smile.

that small smile diminishes later on in the next period where you guys end up arguing— which was normal, what wasn’t normal was when “yuu” raised his hand and sided with sakusa’s point. which made sakusa mad, because why the hell would anyone disprove your point? you made sense! sure he was arguing with you too, but he wasn’t saying you were wrong, he’s just saying there’s more to it than that. (he’s the how-dare-you-disagree-with-my-gf boyfriend)

unlike our [name], sakusa has surprisingly healthy study habits despite juggling volleyball and academics.

[name] does indeed do better in the exams, with a point difference but still.

they go on a movie date after! motoya was looking for kiyoomi everywhere.

[name] accidentally sees kuroo and kenma in the mall when their date was about to end. they saw a glimpse of sakusa and thus, confirmed, [name] really wasn’t delusional.

kenma was following [name]’s phone in life360 and stumbled upon her sweetly feeding sakusa kiyoomi— the same person she’s been ranting about for years— while kissing his cheek. it grossed him out but not enough to not take a picture.

motoya signed kiyoomi up for the date auction for fun (kiyo currently has the most biddings).

you irritatedly dug out your wallet and tossed your bag to kiyoomi’s lap and ran.

a/n — apologies for zero nonsense updates i needed to get this out of my system!! (and a lot happened, one being i fINALLY finished jhs hello 3 weeks of freedom before i go back to school)

general taglist + @renardiererin @giyuus0nlywife @luvrsthrist @cherries4denki @cloud-lyy @misscaller06 @noideawhothatis @wolffmaiden @rivaiken @wooasecret @weird0o0 @eclecticlandmughoagie @gokm1023 @bitchotine @nicerthanu @sukunasrealgf @ris-krispie

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caernys · 11 months

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mornings with the haikyuu boys

featured: oikawa tōru, iwaizumi hajime, kageyama tobio, romantic pairing (sfw, gn!reader)

notes: mildly ooc but we'll call it creative license

ੈ✩‧₊˚ oikawa tōru

this man finds it ridiculous that you have to get up in the mornings

like, the absolute audacity that you must have to leave him cold and alone at the harsh hour of seven am is beyond him

he's tried to sneakily turn off your alarm the night before

oikawa delights in the extra thirty minutes of warmth it takes you to notice that you should be awake

the lengths he goes to are so funny

when you do get up, it becomes a whole thing

"babyyyyyyy, don't go!"

you've committed the biggest betrayal ever known to man by swinging your legs off the mattress and onto the floor

he's so disgustingly adorable that a lot of the time you do fold to his desperate pleas and get back in bed

and he'll hum all satisfied and pull you against his chest, nuzzling his nose into the back of your neck.

best believe you don't get out of there for at least another forty five minutes

you're late in the mornings. every single time.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ iwaizumi hajime

iwaizumi is always awake before you

he likes to go on runs when it's still cool in the morning, which means he's constantly getting up around four or five am

he'll leave little notes on the the pillows so you don't feel lonely when you wake up

"hi, love, i'm out on a run. should probably be back about half an hour after you read this. i made breakfast, if you're hungry-- it's on the counter."

iwaizumi absolutely adores coming home to you after he works out

you're all soft and sleepy, tangled up in the covers, and every single time his heart is in his throat

he'll take a shower, dry off, then collapse over you in the bed

his hair is still wet, so you'll laugh and try to push him off, but he'll just wind his arms around your waist and pull you on top of him

you keep all his notes inside your desk drawer

after he proposes, he buys a little glass box for you to store them in

you keep it in your bedroom, and add to it daily.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ kageyama tobio

this man is SHY

kageyama really likes it when you shower him in physical affection, but isn't always the best at asking for it

he's working on his communication skills, and he's starting to learn to express himself further

even though you've been in a relationship forever, he still asks to hold you in the mornings

he treats it like a matter of utmost importance, so you try to apply the same seriousness to the situation

even though you've articulated that it's not necessary to ask permission for this multiple times, he still likes to make sure it's okay

so you respect that

you'll always say, "of course, tobio!"

and he'll get all excited, and place reluctant arms around you

he'll melt almost immediately, scooting forward so your bodies are melded together, back to front

he'll hum contentedly, and you'll stroke your thumb over his hand before you're both lulled back to sleep

morning cuddles are his favorite thing.

#haikyuu x you #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu reader #established relationship #kageyama tobio x reader #oikawa toru x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hq x reader #hq fluff #iwaizumi fluff #haikyuu headcanons #oikawa fluff #oikawa toru #kageyama tobio #iwaizumi hajime #haikyu x reader

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caernys · 11 months

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bf!sakusa headcanons

relationship: sakusa kiyoomi x reader, romantic pairing (sfw, gn!reader)

notes: okok ik that maybe he wouldn’t really like physical affection, but i honestly think he’s just a sucker and he would love to hold his partner

sakusa likes to hold you.

he prefers a constant point of contact: joined hands, a finger in the loop of your jeans, a gentle arm around your waist.

at the beginning of your relationship, he was always a little reluctant to touch you, but now he’s always constantly hovering.

he likes to squeeze your hand when he gets overwhelmed in a public setting.

he’ll thumb nervously at the strap of his face mask, and you’ll smile up at him, then make up an excuse to leave and he’ll follow after you gratefully.

he keeps a little bottle of hand sanitizer in his pocket and insists you each use it every time you enter or exit somewhere.

sakusa always has a steady hand at the small of your back whenever you talk with someone, appearing decidedly uninterested in the conversation until you tap excitedly at his shoulder.

he loves to listen to you talk. your voice calms him, and anything he might have found trivial before suddenly becomes the most crucial piece of information he’s ever heard in his life— if you’re interested in it, so is he.

this applies to every little thing, and soon your shared apartment (which used to be a sterilized flat with about four pieces of furniture and nothing else) is flooded with little knickknacks.

sakusa knows what each one is.

watching you get excited about your passions makes him happy, and he leaves the house in the morning still thinking about the warmth of your smile and the sound of your laugh.

he likes to come home to you, all warm and soft, waiting for him. he’ll wash his hands and change his clothes and collapse into you arms, breathing out a sigh of exhaustion.

sometimes he’ll just sit there while you play with his hair, absentmindedly stroking while you watch a movie on your phone.

it’s his absolute favorite thing, though, when you’ll lay with him, curled around him under the sheets. he’ll murmur something about dinner, and you’ll say “five more minutes.”

he always falls asleep.

#sakusa x reader #sakysa x y/n #haikyuu #sakusa #bf!sakusa #haikyuu sakusa #haikyu x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you

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caernys · 1 year

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car jacking and other crimes

relationship: derek hale x stiles stilinski, romantic pairing (part one— kmart grandmas)

summary: derek’s life is hard, okay? it’s more difficult than it looks. especially when a hot er tech tries to coerce him into stealing his own car.

notes: also posted on my AO3 account, kitkat_katsuki

Look, it’s annoying when people say it, and he knows it’s annoying; but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t have a little bit of truth to it. Derek’s just going to say it. Good looks are a pain, okay? They’re insufferable. They cause problems at every turn and you can’t go anywhere without middle aged women objectifying you in filthy, filthy ways. (It’s a sad bit of truth that the most action he’s gotten recently was a 53 year old kindergarten teacher calling him a “hot chunk of ass” at the downtown K-Mart.)

His good looks are a special breed of annoying, though, seeming to solely attract complete psychopaths. There was that whole mess with Kate, where she tried to burn his fucking house down, and then Jennifer, and then Jeremy, which was a whole other thing. Laura calls him romantically cursed. He calls Laura stupid, but it’s not like she’s actually wrong.

It’s also horrible for going under the radar in any way whatsoever. He just doesn’t like talking with strangers, okay, and having every single one turn around and point at him when he’s walked past isn’t exactly likable either. And putting on a baseball cap and a mask just makes him look like some jerk-ass C-list actor who had his Daddy pay for acting school, so.

It’s a lose-lose.

There’s also this weird thing with teenagers asking him out, hoping to live out some weird dating-an-older-guy thing, he guesses? It’s creepy, is what it is, and Derek is not trying to go to prison. He’s too emotionally unpredictable and picky for life behind bars. (He doubts prison guards have an average of 45 minutes a week to listen to their 27 year old son moan about being forever lonely. Truly, his mother has a gift.)

But, anyway, when the skinny looking kid approaches him, he supposes it’s another one of those deranged teenagers. It’s not a difficult assumption, going off of his superhero t-shirt and worn flannel. He also just has that general annoying aura that Derek usually associates with them. Like tragedy is about to strike at any given moment and all the peanut butter cookies are gone.

Then again, that’s kind of the vibe that he gives off, so maybe he can’t judge.

The guy’s moving alarmingly close, though, quickly moving past hey-let-me-go-get-a-better-look to hey-let-me-go-interact and Derek does not like that development. He tries to veer subtly to the left and pulls his leather jacket slightly tighter around himself. The kid is not deterred. Damn.

He whirls around and flails slightly when a hand lands on his shoulder. The nerve.

“Look, I don’t want to go out with you, kid, so一”

“You look like you know how to steal a car一”

“What.”

#derek x stiles #derek hale #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #teen wolf fic #teen wolf au #teen wolf fanfiction #derek and stiles #romance #derek is a dick #stiles is a bad criminal #because he always gets super guilty last minute #derek can’t stop getting objectified by women who are more than twice his age #it’s getting to be an issue

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caernys · 1 year

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i only dream (when i'm lying down)

relationship: spencer reid x reader, romantic pairing (part two)

summary: you're an agent of the violent crimes division of the fbi and you’ve fallen in love with spencer reid.

notes: also posted on my AO3 account, kitkat_katsuki

trigger warnings: vague mention of a dead body, and guns

part one -> part two

spencer reid was an anomaly and he knew it. he was used to being the smartest person in the room, a mysterious kid with an iq that could rival einstein’s– and he loved it. there was a certain rush that came from thinking circles around someone, being able to calculate equations with his mind. there were downsides, of course, but this is how he was put on this earth and he was going to make the best of it.

what was the use of hiding a mind that could remember anything? dumbing himself down to tend to others’s egos and adhere to normal standards? spencer reid was anything but normal, and he knew it.

another anomaly: spencer reid had trouble with women. morgan would tell you that that was anything but an anomaly, but morgan could get a date by handcuffing himself to a table and letting people line up.

contrary to popular belief, spencer reid knows how to talk to women. he knows how to talk to them once he’s comfortable, and then it comes easy, but spencer reid does not get comfortable easy.

he supposes it’s from his horror story of a highschool experience, but everytime he opens his mouth he finds himself on guard, closed off and wary. logically, he knows that there’s an extremely low chance that a random girl he meets at a club with the team will strip him naked and tie him to a flag pole, but he can’t help but worry about it. just a little bit.

the chance is never zero.

(also, he deals with the absolute worst part of humanity for a living, and grabriella kingston and her crazy psychopathic pole tendencies seem to pop up in every third person he meets. he’s allowed to employ a little caution, damn it.)

so when he’s following penelope, who’s tearing out of her apartment and running down the stairs, he can’t help but think about what he’s going to say to the woman on the security feed that penelope had pulled up on her computer.

the women who had shot penelope’s almost-killer, jar of peanut butter cookies in her right hand and a gun in her left, hands steady and eyes cold.

she was beautiful.

spencer had a few issues talking with beautiful women, because beautiful women looked like gabriella kingston, and gabriella kingston lured him to a football field and stripped him naked and tied him to a pole.

and it was exactly because of those ever present issues that the first words he said to you were, “did you know that cows and horses only dream when they sleep lying down?”

[][][][][][][][][][][]

the first thing you did after firing the shot was drop your gun and put your hands in the air. you weren’t stupid enough to keep holding a gun in an fbi building while wearing civilian clothes. your badge was in the back pocket of your jeans, so you slowly moved to set the cookies down and turn around, hands still clasped behind your head.

“there’s a badge in my pocket,” you said, motioning slightly to the left one with an outstretched elbow. “i’m fbi. violent crimes.”

the man behind you, who had pulled a gun from a desk drawer pretty much as soon as you had fired the shot, slowly approached.

“which pocket?”

“left.”

his hand pulled lightly on the edge of the pocket, the cold metal of his gun nosing into the your lower back. you waited while he flipped to your id picture, then flicked the whole thing to the shivering analyst who still looked slightly ill.

he examined it, pecked a few keys on the laptop, and gave a quick, jerky nod to the man. he lowered his gun.

you shifted your weight to your right foot, then solely lowered your hands. the man stepped around from behind you and outstretched his hand. you didn’t take it.

he let it hang there for a few moments before his fingers curled into a slightly exasperated fist and he dropped his arm to his side. his lips pulled slightly down at the corners, and he moved to hook his thumbs in the pockets of his slacks.

“i already know your name, but i’m hotch. you didn’t need to step in back there.”

oh, go to hell.

“yeah.” you step past him, wrap your hands around the jar of peanut butter cookies. your eyes flick over the body laying on the floor. okay— maybe it hadn’t been your finest moment. but for all “hotch” knows, you’d probably just saved his stupid life.

“you just executed a man!” hotch snapped, and you kept moving, not turning around. if he wanted, you could cite the exact bylaw in the fbi regulations that allowed you to take down an armed and clearly crazy man threatening agents inside the building. besides— you’d have to do the paperwork, not him.

you dropped the peanut butter cookies on the nearest flat surface and resolved to text penelope their approximate location as soon as you were downstairs. you took the long way across the room, neatly avoiding the sprawled corpse that was starting to leak on the carpet.

maybe you should stay and clean that up.

hotch was still yelling, and you were still moving. you were halfway out the door and going strong when something collided agasint you.

[][][][][][][][][][][]

the flying object (that you had noted and catalogued while it was still hurtling at the speed of neon colors and boas five feet away) was penelope. you maneuvered her agasint your body and back through the front entrance where she’d come, blocking her view of the body.

there was no need to further upset her.

not that penelope couldn’t handle it, of course— penelope was one of the strongest people you knew. but just becuase she could didn’t mean she had to.

just like you techinically could try austin’s gravy that she had devised from the depths of hell, but you didn’t have to. something which you had made abundantly clear.

the familiar weight of her in your arms was both comforting and refreshing. the assault of colors and the warm hug briefly drew your attention, but you could clearly see dr. spencer reid standing behind her.

spencer reid was your white whale. you say that never having read moby dick and not truly understanding the metaphor, but the sentient was there:

your elusive arch-nemesis.

the little goal that you used to dream of surpassing.

the goal you had surpassed.

the man in the stupid patterned little suit that no self-respecting doctor would wear to a charity ball. (even if it was kind of cute.)

spencer reid.

he’s cute. his fair flops almost frantically around his face, and he has a rather nervous energy around him.

you open your mouth to greet him, but he beats you to the punch:

“did you know that cows and horses only dream when they sleep lying down?”

you can’t help it. you laugh. reid looks minorly crushed for the few seconds it take you to say:

“yeah, i did. but that’s an article from a few years ago, dr. reid. they just published an update with a rather fascinating dissection of the involved rem cycles.”

penelope giggles in your arms and you push them out to examine her. “you okay?”

she looks a little frayed around the edges but nods and leans forward to nip lightly at your mouth. you smile and lean back on your toes, moving subtly out of her reach.

so maybe you wanted to look slightly available for doctor reid. so what?

reid bounces forward eagerly, shoves his fingers out for a handshake, then aborts halfway through and stumbles a little in his haste to return his hand to his pocket.

normally, you would’ve introduced yourself, but the adrenaline rush from the confrontation with the gunman has faded and the restless night you had yesterday is catching up with you.

penelope seems to notice, and starts to guide you to the elevator, looking harshly back at hotch’s cough of protest. spencer waves after you.

“i’ll see you later, then?” he asks, and you look over your shoulder.

“definitely.”

#Spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fic #no yn #x reader #Spencer reid #im making stuff up again #Spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic

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caernys · 1 year

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i only dream (when i'm lying down)

relationship: spencer reid x reader, romantic pairing (part one)

summary: you're an agent of the violent crimes division of the fbi and you’ve fallen in love with spencer reid.

notes: part two! also posted on my AO3 account, kitkat_katsuki

warnings: vague mention of dead body (the shooter) and mild use of firearms

part one -> part two

you don’t shake hands. it’s a thing you’ve had since childhood— an aversion to touch and skin to skin contact. it’s stupid, you know, but everytime you go to peel off your gloves another statistic goes clicking through your head (a study conducted by researches at the institute of biological, environmental and rural sciences at aberystwyth university showed that a handshake passed about 124 million colony forming units of e-coli) and you’re pulling back your palm to wipe nervously on the hem of your shirt.

it’s been interpreted a lot of ways. a sense of superiority, some propose. others spit about a god complex, or just a plain old lack of basic etiquette. it doesn’t help that immediately after you’re proudly introduced as a “genius” by your ssa, left to stand there awkwardly while stevens brags about your iq (192), how fast you can read (30,000 words per minute), or your photographic memory (eidetic, you’re always itching to correct).

but you’re used to it. before your mother passed, she used to pull you tight at night and work her hands into your neck, whispering about how you were perfect just the way you were. it wasn’t your fault people got threatened when confronted with someone they perceived to be above them. it didn’t stop the harsh, barbed words that would always be hurled at you, but it did soften the blow.

your mother had always said you were meant for greater things than your dinged up apartment in la and your run down elementary school. she’d urged you time and time again to go where your brilliant mind was taking you, but you always turned her down. just because you could memorize a dictionary in seven minutes didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy the fifth grade.

when she got stabbed for refusing to give over her purse in a mugging (and subsequently bled out over the dirty pavement, screaming and alone) you cried for the first time in years. you’d never been one to cry— your father had beat it into you long ago before your mother had managed to whisk you away half across the country. you gave yourself forty eight hours. then you dried your cheeks and took a placement test.

the administrator had been shocked, at first. you knew you had aced it. it hadn’t been that hard. when she had told you with slightly shaking hands that she recommended skipping you all the way to highschool (college was on the table too, she said, but you just shook your head. that was a bit too far of a jump). she enrolled you into your senior year of highschool, and you had rocked back on your heels with a satisfied grin. it was a tribute to your mother, you told yourself. one day you were going to stand at the top of the world and you were going to be able to tell her that you had let your brilliant mind take you all the places she had told you about. (of course, she hadn’t mentioned some things.)

you got thrown into a locker the first day of school. they were seventeen, going on eighteen— you were eleven. as smart as you were, it wasn’t hard to put together the conclusion that harassment like this was always going to be inevitable. unavoidable.

you’d swing by the drug store on the way back from school, buy a tiny tube of concealer to dab on in the denny’s bathroom before heading back to the “flavor of the month” foster home. you got bounced around a lot. couldn’t blame them.

you were three months into your senior year when you met austin. she was pretty. long, auburn hair and natural make up. high cheekbones and sharp, angular lines that made up her face. she told you she had lost her parents young, and she fostered to give other kids the childhood she never had. you didn’t trust her. you never trusted anyone.

she was, surprisingly, the first one who finally got a clue. it doesn’t match your skin tone, she’d told you, rubbing the concealer off your face with a wet rag. you didn’t flinch away from her touch and she smiled all soft at you. she was alright, you guess.

austin offered to step in. she might not be your actual parent, she had vowed, but she could make hell in the school system until those kids were reprimanded. you had laughed, assured her it was fine. it wasn’t, but this was one of those things you had to deal with yourself.

she’d been frustrated, but understood. after a couple more days of you coming back a little rough around the edges, though, she had snapped— and offered to teach you how to fight. you had accepted. seemed like a valuable skill to have, didn't it?

austin owned a gym a twenty minute drive from your house. the mats in there quickly became a safe space for you, a shelter of training and quiet and peace. you took to taekwondo immediately, transitioning from there into hapkido and jiu-jitsu, muay thai and just about anything else you could get your hands on. your frame began to fill in with wiry muscle and you began to catch the punches before they hit you.

after you beat harry summers into a bloody pulp by the water fountain after he tried to reach a hand up your skirt, people began to back off. you’d been suspended for five weeks but austin had squeezed your shoulder proudly on the way to the car. you’d let her. she would adopt you five months, three days, four hours and thirty two seconds later. (an eidetic memory did have its perks.)

the fbi recruited you when you were fifteen and at mit, hacking their servers on a drunk dare. you had done it after eight shots, and they had never been more delighted to their code so mercilessly destroyed.

they couldn’t take you on as an agent until you were of age, so you stayed a shadowed consultant for the three years, sorting through case files between lectures and research papers.

you signed away your life to them when you were eighteen and got a badge and a gun in exchange. it was an even trade, you mused. (the first time you would fire that gun you were quivering and bloody, beaten and scratched, but your hands were steady when you pulled the trigger. grayson davids, a serial murderer, died that day. when you got to hug a mother and tell her the man who had taken her daughter would never hurt anyone again, you found that you didn’t regret it.)

austin would always force you home on weekends. she’d moved to dc to be closer to you, and you would spar for old times sake in the living room, tackling each other over pillows and chasing around the kitchen counter. you found that you loved her, one rainy saturday when you were 19. you called her mom for the first time a week later, and you both cried.

you met penelope garcia at a party and you were instantly enraptured. technology seemed to bow to her will and you’d spent the entire night together, drinking and laughing and dancing. you kissed her in the bathroom and she’d sighed all pretty, leaning forward to snake a hand around your neck.

you’d left the party happy and floating for the first time in years. (though you loved penelope to pieces, you two had parted as friends that night.)

she’d often call you with questions or invite you over with movie nights, though you’d always end up bent over a computer with her, nudging each other and laughing as your fingers flew over the keys. she never asked about your job. you never asked about hers. it was widely understood that penelope garcia’s house was a serial-killer free space.

at least, it had been until she’d gotten shot on the steps of her apartment. you’d gotten a call from her late the next day, and you had flown into a nervous panic. you couldn’t lose her– couldn’t bare to lose anyone ever again. at the hospital, she’d held your hands and cried into your arms, and assured you that there would be police outside of her house. you had dismissed that, offered to stay over, but apparently a member of the fbi had already beat you to it.

you’d asked her if she trusted him. she’d responded, “with my life.”

so you had relented. gone home, took your phone off of silent, set it right next to your bed. she didn’t call, so you assumed everything was alright. (it wasn’t).

the next day you swung by her office with a jar of peanut butter cookies to leave on her desk. she loved them, and you’d figured it was a nice thing to come back to.

instead you found a police officer with a gun pressed to the temple of an fbi agent, and two men from penelope’s team standing in front of him, hands raised. you recognized him from a sketch an artist had made penelope complete the other day at the hospital. you shot him in the back of the head, bullet shattering the glass.

the room was silent. the man was dead. your hands, as always, were steady.

(you would meet spencer reid exactly twenty five minutes and thirteen seconds later.)

#romance #fic #Spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #no yn #x reader #fem reader #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fandom #reader is super smart #smart reider #see what I did there #ok im making a lot of stuff up and its kind of obvious

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