౨ৎ summary she wasn't ever the picture-perfect student. that is, until she started going to his lectures. top of the class, always challenging his points and asking several questions. maybe she even harbors a secret infatuation for her professor, but it's never supposed to go further than that. that is until participating in class turns into lingering looks which leads to long after-hours meetings in his office. and spencer? he never should've lost focus at work. because now he can't help but cross the line and get tangled up in her messed-up life.
౨ৎ pairing professor!spencer reid x student!fem!reader
౨ৎ content/tags no use of y/n, suggestive content and slight smut? but not really explicit/descriptive , age gap, teacher/student relationship, reader can be perceived as naive and soft, they both become obsessed with each other and quickly
౨ৎ w/c 2k
Spencer has always thought that participating in workplace relationships was the most foolish mistake a person can make. They were always unnecessarily messy and distracted you from actually doing your job. So, he never indulged, never even wished to. He expected nothing different when he took up the job as a professor at Marbury University.
Teaching, in theory, was simple. Organized lectures, predictable schedules, the quiet hum of a classroom filled with students scribbling down notes while he spoke. Spencer liked the structure of it. It allowed him to do what he did best—share knowledge, analyze ideas, and challenge young minds. Though, as he had expected, no one fancied being there. It was just another requirement, another class to survive so they can get one step closer to their degree.
And that's precisely what made her stand out.
She wasn't the type of person that gave much effort to participating in classes. Always too shy to say anything, preferring to quietly sit through the lecture and keep her head down. Yet when she first stepped into Spencer's class, she felt an undeniable pull towards him. She couldn't focus on a single word he said during the whole class, all of her thoughts circling around different images of him, some soft and sweet, others lustful and reeking of desire. Her eyes roamed every inch of him, from head to toe. It wasn't just a sexual pull; it was something more. Like a certain part of her brain had been turned off up until she saw him, which she felt crazy for thinking. She'd just met the man. Yet how does she look away now that she's seen him?
And oh, did he notice her too.
At first, it was just another class to him, another set of students. He didn't particularly like any of them, found no reason to. Yet somehow, his eyes locked with the girl sitting in the last row. He looked at her and light went all through him. He almost stumbled over his words, bewildered at the sudden strange feeling going through him.
It was brief—so brief most of the class didn’t notice it. A pause in the middle of a sentence, a fraction of a second where his train of thought slipped from his grasp. Spencer recovered quickly, of course. He always did. Years of lecturing, profiling, and speaking under pressure had made him excellent at that.
Still, the feeling lingered.
Because when he looked at her again, she was still staring.
She didn't look at him with the boredom or curiosity the rest of them did, it was different. Her eyes so sad, and intimately kind. He felt as if though he could read her like a book, but also not truly know who she was behind those eyes. She was like art, not perfect, but beautiful enough to write poetry in your bones.
When that class ended, and they were both in their own homes, in the dark of night, their thoughts trailed to the other. Different fantasies cooking up in their heads. What if he asked her to stay after class? What if she goes up to him and pulls him into the quiet of another room? Was it stupid to be thinking like this? He's not the type of man to meddle in the life of someone in a position below him. She's not the type of woman to chase after a man she's seeing for the first time. Yet in the quiet of her room, she can't help but let a lone hand travel down her body, tracing a path of desire on her skin, that small moment being the most she's felt in a long time.
And he doesn't stop the thoughts of memorizing every single part of her, inside and out.
With each passing day, her obsession with him grows. With every lesson she becomes bolder, raising her hand more, giving him soft looks she can't control, and every time his eyes flick to her all he can notice is the way her soft lips look biting on her pen when she gets too focused.
He likes that she challenges him, he wasn't used to it. No one ever questioned him deeper, always agreeing with what he says. And here she was, soft, seeming deeper than anyone around her emotionally.
She knew that provoking him was wrong, daydreaming about being trapped between her professor and his desk, surrounded by his rough tenderness, was unethical. He was her shame. Still, all she wanted was to fill her mouth with his name.
It takes a person a lot of strength to resist something they really want. She wasn't a strong person. Her heads too up in the clouds, she doesn't fit in. So, when she couldn't prevent her path from veering towards him after everyone has left, the taut wire being pulled between them in the empty room, she isn't surprised.
“I… I have questions,” she murmured, though the words felt hollow even to her own ears. Questions about the lecture, yes, but not the kind that could be answered with statistics or case studies.
The moment he hears her voice something in him shifts. He's suddenly much more vigilant and as he looks at her, he fights the urge to break every rule he's set for himself. She was his idea of an angel.
“I’ve noticed,” he said carefully, almost a whisper. “You ask a lot of questions.”
Her heart thumped. It wasn’t the words themselves—it was the way he said them, as if he was studying her with every syllable, memorizing the subtle shifts in her expression, tracking the tiny movements that betrayed her composure.
“Just… trying to understand,” she breathed, voice trembling despite herself.
She stepped closer without thinking. Just a small movement, almost imperceptible, but enough for him to notice. His gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest fraction of a second, enough to set something alight in her chest that had been smoldering since the first lecture.
The room was empty. The lecture hall silent. Only their breathing and the faint rustle of papers on his desk filled the space.
But neither of them gave in, not tonight. It was almost as if the tension and waiting was just as, if not more arousing, than the thought of their limbs tangled together.
She asked questions related to the lesson and he answered every last one of them. Her body sometimes leaned towards him, his voice slowing down, looking at each other with an undeniable fire in both of their gazes.
When she left, he couldn't ignore the lust growing deep inside him. It was all he could focus on and it disturbed him how he wasn't opposed to throwing away all the morals he's stood for his whole life.
She was no different. Maybe she was always destined to fall for an older man, searching for the love she never got from her father. She felt special whenever he paid her attention, like she was worth more than what her mind had labeled her as.
That wasn't the last time she stayed after class. It became an almost daily routine, the only part of school either of them grew to look forward to. The questions continued, though slowly they grew more and more personal, and he entertained her.
He was always the person to ramble on about a topic, but when it came to her, all he wanted to do was listen. He listened as she talked and talked, half listening and half letting his eyes trail her while he imagines every possible way he can take her in that very room, or every way he’d let her unravel him, piece by piece, until nothing of the careful, controlled man remained.
She didn’t realize the effect she had on him. How the soft brush of her hand as she flipped pages made his chest tighten. How the quick intake of breath she didn’t notice made his pulse spike. How the scent of her shampoo, faint but intoxicating, lingered on her neck and pulled at a part of him he’d never admit existed.
And she, in turn, could feel it—the way he watched her, the subtle shift in his posture when she leaned closer, the almost imperceptible tension in his hands as he scribbled notes or adjusted his glasses. It wasn’t just admiration; it wasn’t just curiosity—it was need. Raw, consuming need, and it terrified her, thrilled her, and made her ache in places she had never admitted to aching before.
Sometimes, she caught herself imagining his lips against hers, the heat of his hands tracing her body as he pressed her against the edge of his desk, whispering her name like a prayer. Sometimes, she imagined him softer, tender, tracing the contours of her face with the same care he gave his lectures, memorizing her in ways that went beyond words or numbers.
There wasn't any turning back now, he understood her. To be understood was her desire and he gave that to her.
A day came where he wasn't able to stay long after class has ended. The room emptied, everyone filing out. Everyone but her. She was still sitting at her usual place, not making a move to head out. He walked up to her, stared at her long and hard before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
His voice was rough when he spoke "I can't stay today," was all he said before leaving, not sticking around long enough to hear a response.
She was frozen, the place where his fingers lightly brushed against her cheek immediately feeling cold.
Every nerve in her body was screaming for him—screaming for the touch, the attention, the dangerous pull that had been building between them since the first day of class. But he was gone, and the empty lecture hall felt impossibly vast, a cruel reminder of everything they were denying themselves.
And after Spencer left? He decided on something dangerous. Something that would change everything. But his mind was made up. He couldn't bear anymore resisting. They wouldn't be good together, but they're worse apart. He was going to make it up to her the next time.
And when that day came, when she walked up to his desk ready with a new set of questions, she felt the air shift. She knew something was different, a different type of electricity lingering between the two of them.
Just as she opened her mouth to talk, he was on her. And she knows, she has never felt this good before. The aching, dark delight of embracing a sin. His mouth all-consuming on hers, tongue exploring every inch as if this was the last time, and he must memorize every part of her.
Her hands tangle in his hair, and everything else is forgotten. All they could focus on is each other in the haze of limbs. They slowly revealed every inch of themselves; nothing left to the unknown. Her bare back pressed against the cold wooden desk as he lingered above her, putting exceptional care into worshipping every part of her body in every way he can.
And after? He doesn't leave her in the cold room, alone and reeling. She doesn't deserve that; she deserves everything and more than what he could give her. He could take apart his very essence and hand it to her on a silver platter, yet it still would not be enough.
He takes her to his home and repeats it all again and again until he isn't sure where he ends and she begins.
All her blood is aflame with passion.
Even when it's all done and she's laying on his bed in the dead of night, he never leaves the home he's built for himself in her mind.
Does this make them lovers?
It's something tender, like a bruise.
No matter how many days pass, the desire never subsides. Possibly it's the thrill of sneaking around, or just maybe it's because this is the most both of them have ever felt. They deepen the red of each other's blood.
