i’ll miss borrowin’ yours books to read the notes in the margin ꪆৎ
pairing : spencer reid (post prison) x fem!reader
w/c : 2k
genre : ANGST. with a happy ending i’m no sadist
warnings : mentions of emotional distress
summary : spencer reid came back a different man— quiet, closed off, like the parts of him you loved were locked away. but you never stopped waiting. never stopped reading the dog-eared pages and the ink he left behind. and when he finally lets you in, it’s soft, slow and everything he thought he didn’t deserve.
a/n : i had another fic in mind, ended up writing this at 3am… will post the one i had in mind eventually!
It’s been a month and three days since the day Spencer got out of prison— and somehow, it settles like dust in your chest.
Light, but impossible to ignore.
You hadn’t been dating long when he was framed—meeting him in a grief group a few years ago, followed by a run-in at a bookstore.
He handed you a copy of your favourite book, Jane Eyre with notes and commentary: half analysis, half personal tangents.
For a person so awfully shy and awkward with women, he found himself confident enough to say,
“I think you’ll like this”
You fell for him there, in the ink. Spending countless nights reading the books he’d given you, or grabbing one from his home library and shyly asking him if you could borrow it. Hoping to understand his mind. His view on many aspects of life.
You’d never felt so happy. He was there, and suddenly a part of your life was a little brighter than others.
Until he wasn’t there.
His letters stopped— not because he didn’t want to write, but because they wouldn’t let him. Until you had to hear about his bruises, or how you couldn’t visit him anymore.
This left you wondering whether the parts that made him annotate books were still intact—still there for you.
Now it’s been a month. He’s home.
But not entirely.
You catch glimpses of him— when his fingers hover over your books, not quite touching them. When he involuntarily flinches at your touch, whispering hushed apologies. He doesn’t want to hurt you. Doesn’t want to be like this with you.
You started re-reading the Jane Eyre copy he gave you the night you realised Spencer was gone.
It was still on your nightstand, paperback having grown rusty and worn out from how many times you’d picked it up.
He pretended he didn’t see it whenever he was at your place.
Tonight though, he doesn’t pretend.
You’re in the kitchen humming, making dinner for the both of you. Something warm, easy. You thought he was sleeping.
You were proven wrong as he stood in the hallway, a book in his hands. Not just any book— Jane Eyre.
Turning the stove off, you approach him. You didn’t mean for that to happen— For him to hold the book with shaky hands and be unable to meet your gaze.
Dinner is surely long forgotten by now.
“You know, I—“ You started, but the lump in your throat felt heavy. Spencer was still not looking at you.
“I just— I started reading it after you…”
Silence fell upon you. He looked at you, finally. The hurt and amusement in his eyes could almost make you cry— or wrap your arms around him.
God, you wanted to do that for so long.
“You kept it” He spoke, voice barely above a whisper. Like he wasn’t sure if he deserved to say anything at all.
You nod, your lip caught between your teeth. It’s hard for you to explain why— And he should know. He’s a damn profiler for god's sake.
He knows you. He knows that you probably read the book over and over again because it reminded you of him. But it wasn’t just that.
That part he doesn’t know.
You sit in silence that night. Not entirely uncomfortable, and that’s just because you’d managed to get a smile from him. Even if it was wobbly and almost tearful.
A few days later, he’s shut you out again.
Not in the obvious way— he still comes over and spends time with you. He still kisses your forehead goodnight—But there’s a distance. A distance that wasn’t there before.
You noticed he doesn’t touch the book anymore— or you for that matter. He doesn’t touch you unless you initiate it.
You noticed he doesn’t touch the book anymore— or you for that matter. He doesn’t touch you unless you initiate it.
You want him to yell— to say anything. You hate this silence— this chill that has settled upon the both of you.
It gets harder when he cancels your plans.
You always invited him over. You knew his home didn’t feel safe for him anymore, and he shouldn’t be alone. He doesn’t want to be alone.
It’s hard for you to understand why he keeps pulling away, especially when he needs someone right now. You wonder if it’s you— if you’re not right for him. If your presence doesn’t bring him comfort.
The thought makes your eyes sting with tears.
You’d shut down that night as well.
Lying on the bed, the copy of Jane Eyre in your hold, blankly staring at it. It’s a hard night. And you don’t feel like holding it in.
Spencer leaves calls, but your phone is on silent. He feels like an ass for pushing you away— canceling your plans.
The silence from your side makes it only worse. He can tell that something is wrong.
It’s like he doesn’t even know himself anymore. He doesn’t understand why he keeps pushing you away— why he has you at arm's length when in reality, you’re his favourite person.
It’s never been you. You were never the problem. But the closer you get, the more he retreats. It’s like he doesn’t want you to see the broken parts of him, the ones that are beyond repair.
Spencer knows you deserve someone better, someone who doesn’t flinch every time they feel vulnerable.
He hates how prison has changed him. How he put up these walls around him and drove you away.
So Spencer sits on his couch, phone in his hands as he struggles with the thought of calling you again. He feels like he doesn’t deserve your voice right now. Not after tonight, or the night before.
He wishes he could tell you that prison didn’t just steal time from him—it stole pieces. Pieces he doesn’t know how to get back. Pieces you used to fit into so easily.
You were probably one of the few people— if not the only person who made him feel seen without judgment. And now, he’s terrified you’d seen too much.
Spencer Reid hopes that another person he cherishes so much hasn’t given up on him yet.
You’re still in bed when you hear the knock on your door— soft, hesitant. Barely there. At first, you think you must’ve imagined it, but it comes again. Three gentle taps.
Spencer.
You move slowly, heart thudding against your chest as you don’t know whether you should feel hope or fear.
Spencer’s already standing there when you open the door. His shoulders are tense, his jaw sharp and expression hard. He prepared for the worst.
Not this.
The sight he was met with— made his face fall entirely. You looked absolutely spent.
Eyes red, rimmed with tears. Your hair was in a messy braid, loose pyjamas on you. You looked as if you’d spent the entire evening in bed.
Which you did.
He steps inside, closing the door behind him. The look in his eyes is something you hadn’t seen in a while— But you’re sure you’re imagining it. Especially after all those days spent of him pushing you away.
Until he speaks.
“Sweetheart, can you look at me? Come on, baby”
You’re terrified to meet his gaze. You’re so sure for a moment you’re hallucinating. You must be.
He tries to reach for you— grab your wrists. But he’s truly horrified when it’s you who flinches. You’re the one to take a step back— stumbling away from him.
His breath catches, hands falling limply to his sides like he’s just being struck.
“I didn’t mean— I wasn’t—“ He attempts, but the words crash and tangle on his tongue, useless.
He takes another step closer to you.
“Angel—“ He calls gently, the pet name making your eyes tear up again. You hadn’t heard him using those sweet names in such a long time.
You’re still silent.
“You flinched” He says again, voice low.
Bottom lip trembling, you couldn’t meet his gaze yet. You hadn’t meant to flinch— you hated that you flinched. You felt as if you shouldn’t be the one to break down.
“I don’t want you to be afraid of me” He speaks softly. “Not ever, not you”
There’s a pause so thick, you could fall right into it. But he stays still now. He doesn’t dare touch you again, even if his whole body aches to.
“I’m not— I’m not afraid of you”, you whisper finally— wiping your tears frantically.
“I’m afraid I’ve already lost you”
It comes out broken. You wanted to curse yourself for falling apart.
In three quick strides, you’re pressed against his chest. One of his hands goes to your head, stroking your hair. The other is on your waist, pulling you tighter as your muffled cries fill the room.
You’d hugged him when he got out— hugged him a few times after that as well. But now, it was different. The feeling of his arms was something you were so sure you’d lost— Something you weren’t used to anymore.
But here he was, holding you.
“No, angel— you haven’t lost me. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry” He whispered, over and over again.
Your cries only intensify, to the point where your knees almost give up. Spencer holds you up, guiding you to the touch where he pulls you in his lap.
“Shh, I’m here” He soothes, peppering kisses on your temple.
“Do you know why—” You started, but the sob in your throat caught you off.
Spencer doesn’t push. He just cradles you closer to him, kissing your forehead again. He decided by then that he’d never let you go again. He didn’t want you to be like this because of him.
“I kept borrowing your books and re-reading Jane Eyre because—“ You paused, taking another shuddering inhale.
“Because reading the notes in the margin made me believe I could understand you”
Your words physically hit him. His grip on you tightens, firm— not painful in any way. He’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold you close.
“I never wanted you to feel like you had to read between the lines”, he murmurs— voice rough.
“It was the closest I could come to reading your mind” You continue, the trembling of your lips not being unnoticed.
“Oh, sweetheart” He coos, guiding your head to rest on the crook of his neck again.
He doesn’t realise when— or how, but you’d fallen asleep on him after crying.
It’s the first night you lie tangled up in each other's limbs— The first night he doesn’t wake up plagued by his nightmares.
Small steps.
The next morning, he wakes up before you. He gets your favourite coffee and tries to cook you breakfast but fails miserably so. For someone with an eidetic memory, he sure as hell made you wake up by the smell of burnt toast.
“Spence?” You croak out, padding down the hallway toward the kitchen. You’re tired— events from last night hanging on you heavier than they should.
“Hey, baby,” He says softly, pulling you in for a hug. He hates how you tense at first. He hates himself for causing this to you.
He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, and murmured, “Sorry for the smoke alarm symphony”
You chuckle amidst your sleepiness, arms locking behind his middle. “It’s okay, you tried. That’s what matters”
Spencer feels as if something clicks back into place. There, in the soft morning light— with you in his arms again.
He reads to you for the most of the day— Jane Eyre. The book that brought him to you.
And this time, he’s not reading to escape— he’s reading to stay.
Eryk was tired, the journey took longer than expected. His face was wind bitten and he wanted to sleep, the last thing he expected to be greeted by was the sound of a girl screaming.
"WHAT DID YOU DO CIAN!?"
The sound made the sixteen year old boy perk up, he looked up from the ground and watched as a girl frantically recovered a book from the snow. Her body was... tense, she seemed mad. Her blue dress fluttered around her as she knelt, then clung to her as she stood. She wiped the snow from the bound book, acting as if it was her last possession.
Eryk watched as her hair seemed to float around her, he watched as some boys surrounded her, he watched as they pushed her around and he watched as she calmly put the book away before reeling her arm back. He heard it before he saw it. The sickening crack of the boy's jaw as her fist collided with his jaw. He watched the tussle as adults pulled the two apart, he watched as the girl was dragged kicking and screaming away.
"I'm... sorry about her. She tends to be, more reactive. Than the rest."
Said an elder, embarrassment clear in his voice. A small laugh came from Lena, his mother, as she excused the girl's behavior.
Maybe this camp would prove to be interesting.
Eryk thought.
It was hours before he saw the girl again. This time her blue dress was gone. Her hair had been done up in an intricate bun and she wore a purple dress now, it made her eyes pop. But... she looked miserable. Sitting next to her father, which Eryk learned was the chief, he watched her pick at her food and as she blankly stared towards the door.
"Eryk eat."
Lena said.
His mother's voice broke him from his trance and he took a bite of food. It was hot and warmed his body from the inside out, he slowly forgot about watching the girl as he ate. Warm food was amazing after weeks on the road, it made Eryk's mind hush as he ate. If he didn't have half a mind he wouldn't of noticed that girl stand up, or leave the tent. He watched her lean and glanced at Lena, who smiled simply and gave him a look of approval.
Stepping into the chilled winter air, he followed the girl silently. Watching as she tugged off the dress, revealing a turtle neck and a pair of pants, and laid it over a tree then; as she took pins from her hair and scattered them on the path; he watched as she climbed a tree and retrieved a bag from one of the highest branches. Eryk watched as she melded the branches into steps, then returned them to their original form, before returning to the path. Still quietly behind, Eryk watched her meld branches, stones and how she moved metal with ease. He watched her mold a man, then a woman, and a little girl. He watched her silently flip through pages of a book before disassembling everything, the way she played with these elements of nature amused him. He barely noticed how she had expertly pulling him closer before shaping a rock into a simple knife.
"So are you going to speak?"
The question caught Eryk off guard and made him stumble through some words before she laughed and smiled gently. She dropped the rock, and returned it to a simple stone, before turning to face him. She held her hand out and smiled gently.
"I'm Y/N, what's your name?"
Eryk's grey eyes flicked over her, taking in everything about her. The way her hair laid and the way she held herself. The way she smiled sweetly and how her voice seemed so... different then before.
"I saw you break that guys jaw of yours, is he someone I should avoid?"
Eryk asked as he took Y/N's hand, bringing laughter from her.
"What!? No! That's my best friend!"
She said, making him confused.
"Do you... regularly break your friend's jaw?"
The question made her laugh more, Eryk watched as she doubled over in laughter and how her cheeks turned a pretty red. She laughed hard enough she couldn't breath.
"Saints Y/N... Shit's not that funny."
A voice sounded, putting Eryk on alert. He spun around and watched as a boy appeared from the tree line, in similar attire to Y/N. Eryk's eyes narrowed as he watched the boy come closer, he noticed the laughter died down and he couldn't help how... uneasy it made him. He followed the boy's path, turning slowly as the boy made his way to you.
"If you're done flirting with the new guy, let's go."
"Go where."
Eryk asked, making you look over at him. You looked up at Cian, your friend, who was annoyed by that question.
"Out, why do you want to come?"
"Y/N!"
"What? It's a simple question, does he want to come or not?"
"He can't come!"
Eryk watched Y/N and Cian argue before Y/N took his hand and pulled him towards the water. He watched as she created a bridge and tugged him across, as uncomfortable as Eryk was with this... he couldn't find himself saying no.
He could get out of this situation if he needed to, and he knew he could. So he followed her. He followed her through the winding paths and down the slopes and... into a village. He never once tried to stop Y/N though, the most he did was slow down every now and then but she'd always screw off with Cian and scream playfully; which would make Eryk speed up again. By the time Y/N and Cian's antics relaxed, a town was coming into view. Eryk never stopped though, he followed you through the town and towards a building. He watched as you walked in, and was pushed in by Cian. Who was less than pleased by his presence with you
Y/N had his full attention and curiosity, you were a peculiar soul. So lively and free spirited. It made his heart beat louder than he thought it was possible.
Something Eryk never thought would happen was to be tipsy and watching a girl. He knew the stupid look he had on his face, he knew how fucking ridiculous he looked. He knew he looked like a fucking idiot. But he didn't seem to give a shit. He watched as you danced to the chaotic music, as you laughed and pulled Cian into the dance. He must've zoned out because he didn't see you walk up to him, but he felt you. He felt your hands on his arm and how warm you felt and... you were so beautiful. Your hair had fallen from the protective style it had been in, it fell freely and saints... it made you look so beautiful.
Hours later the three of you were walking back, and Eryk laughed as he felt your arm drape over his shoulder; he smiled gently as you gently pushed him and ran ahead. You were so perfect...
Perfect for him.
@nomournersonefuneral
Eryk is from the prequel to the SAB series, aka the baby Darkling
If beloved was a book lover, do you think Terry would have a library built for them in the house? (if he doesn’t already have one that is!) Are there any other sweet things you can imagine Terry doing for beloved? Just into some Terry fluff atm
---
Terry has a private wine cellar, Terry has a private training gym, Terry has a private weapons and sword collection, he has a wide array of cars he seems to collect, so him having a private library is really a mundane fact of life in comparison of all the things he already owns. Why not? If beloved was an avid reader, his collection only expands and he goes to great lengths to acquire every edition of everything money can possibly buy and more. First editions? Rare tomes? Medieval manuscripts? Old medicinal notes? Historical pieces? Coveted hand illustrated articles? Spending a fortune for unique bits of literature only he has? Historical scrolls and decorative almanacs? Antique scriptures of extreme significance? If he can possibly make his library the most expansive one in the State of California and further then so be it, because it means beloved will browse his special and most unique collection curiously for hours and hours, and if they're too busy browsing under his roof, then hey, that is just another way he's tied them to himself. Means they're less likely to spend time anywhere else. He's lured the rabbit in with a scrumptious carrot.
And Terry doesn't quite care just how he acquires this treasure trove for his beloved. He'll make do by any means necessary, trust and believe. Investing copious amounts of cash? Having his secretaries haggle black market smugglers? Having someone downright steal things which are otherwise priceless and unsellable? If his beloved wants something, they ought to have it by sheer virtue of being his beloved. Even if they never expressed the desire that they need that 15th century Book of Hours, a 14 carat golden Torah scroll, a Korean fashion plate from the 30's or a 9th century Japanese Floral Lexicon, if Terry feels they should have it, they'll have it --- simple as. It belongs in a museum? No, it belongs with his person, and by extension, him and that's that on that. This is a man who is in possession of a Rembrandt thought missing for decades, after all. Moral values fly out the window when he is lavishing those who mean the world to him, and in gaging just what it is that makes beloved tick, he will legitimately hoard every valuable book into his collection and gift it all to beloved. All ten thousand tomes within his gallery.
Yet, the sweet things Terry can and will do when he loves someone don't end with a mere library or books. That is just the beginning. A bait. A method of seduction. An elaborate here is what I am offering you as a prelude when there is much, much more to come. The condition? Be mine, and the world is yours. That's the price. And Terry truly would make true of that promise seeing as how he has the tendency to give and then give some more when he is legitimately invested to the point where beloved themselves might have to intervene and express the desire for him to cease lavishing them quite so much. Sure, Terry might concede on the surface. He's a smooth and clever operator. And then he'll still proceed getting beloved that Victorian picture book that cost half a million dollars anyway. Or better yet, he'll act unflinchingly stubborn and convince them he intends to give it to them and they'll have it. Beloved better take it, because he's just as nonchalant about paying for it and then destroying it (might just do it in front of them to showcase what happens when his presents are rejected). If beloved won't accept it than it has very few reasons to exist.
