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jen |🛞| early 20s | multi-fandom | ♉️ | intj | classic lit reader + smut fics enjoyer

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hotchnerss

But it's better if you do

Well, I'm afraid that Well, I may have faked it And I wouldn't be caught dead De-dead, de-dead, de-dead in this place

pairing: professor!Spencer x college student!reader

summary: Ever since your last meeting, Spencer couldn't get you out of his head. He finally makes his move, but then more things come to light and nothing is simple ever again.

tags: toxic-ish behaviours and thinking, age gap, guilt, self hatred, male masturbation, spencer is weird and perverted, he feels bad about it tho, i try to make the reader as neutral as possible and stray from describing appearance/too detailed personality (they do have hair and friends so I'm sorry if you're bald reading this), smut etc etc

w/c: 3,1k

a/n: sorry for a very slow upload i was struggling against the heatwave lol!! i hope you enjoy & consider liking and reblogging it does a lot to spread the fic and motivate!!<3

taglist: @urfavlocalgenius @tulipsxbooks thank you so much for ur support (feel free to ask to be added for next parts!) also tysm to @reidloverr and @tthedriversseat for checking it as usual!

2 part of The Hours Between (a fever you can't sweat out)

masterlist

Spencer turned around in bed every few minutes, restless and unable to put his mind to rest. He couldn't stop thinking about your conversation a few days ago. Ever since he actually got to talk to you, he was lost. Even more so than before. His heart ached with guilt - yes, you said you didn't find him weird but if you knew the whole story? That'd be different.

He spent nearly every free moment playing with the slip of paper you gave him. Your number. Monday, he repeatedly folded the paper into quarters and unfolded it until it was crumpled up beyond recognition.

Tuesday, he memorized your number. He repeated it in his head relentlessly. Wednesday, he deleted a draft message twelve times.

Thursday, he convinced himself he'd already crossed enough lines and locked the paper inside a drawer (he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away).

Fifteen minutes later he opened the drawer again just to make sure it was still there.

Of course, the little numbers written in your pretty handwriting were in fact still there, taunting him. He swore to himself that as tempting as it was, he wouldn't give in. He already was bad enough.

But he did give in. An agonizing week after, he finally decided to send you a text: nothing big, just a small “Hello. Its Spencer.” After a while he added: “From the train station.” In case you didn't remember him.

He remembered you very well - your brows furrowing when someone pushed you on your way out of the train. The exact shade of your hair color. The nail polish, almost never perfect and often chipped with your fingernails bitten short. Your demeanor on your good and bad days until all it took was one glance at you for him to know how you were feeling. But he still didn't know if you noticed him nearly as much.

It was late into the night so he didn't expect a reply just yet. He found out, however, that reaching out to you in any way gave him the peace of mind he needed to be able to fall asleep.

God knew how much he needed it. Tomorrow was his first day at his new job as a math professor and he felt nowhere near ready. But even as an FBI profiler he didn't make a lot of money and all savings run out eventually, contrary to many people's wishful thinking. He couldn't afford to be weak, physically or emotionally. He wanted to move on. It was the perfect time to make actual efforts towards that goal.

He went over his preparations for the last time, checking if he had necessary textbooks and if every item was in its own place. He liked being neat and organized - it was one of the few things he had actual control over, it soothed his weary soul and chaotic mind - filled to the brim with knowledge and experiences.

In his mind, everything had its assigned place somewhere. He chose to believe he'd also find his own, eventually.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

The last notification you expected to wake up to was his text. It's been a week and by now you were pretty sure he wasn't interested and you started feeling bad about nagging him back at the station. And, well, you couldn't reach out first because he never shared his number. You figured that's why.

But he proved you wrong and you couldn't help but almost visibly vibrate from excitement. You hopped out of your bed much easier than usual - you struggled with it every single morning. But well, you didn't have a handsome, intelligent guy texting you every morning. You bit your lip to keep yourself from grinning even more foolishly than you already were.

In light steps you went to the bathroom to start your morning routine. With a toothbrush in your mouth and a phone in your hands you tried to come up with a good response that wouldn't throw him off or, god forbid, deter him from further conversation.

However, you were out of the game for a long time and everything you typed out felt weird. Stiff. You sighed loudly in frustration and dropped the phone onto the bathroom counter, leaving it for later. You suddenly thought you're glad you live alone.

You had a long day ahead of you but for the first time in a while it felt like more than a chore. Your classes were starting early so you rushed your preparations and soon you were jogging down the stairs of your apartment building and bursted out onto the street, determined to make as much out of the day as possible.

You lived very close to the campus so five minutes later you were already by the gate, covering your eyes from the sunlight with your palm as you looked around for your friends. You waved them over when you finally found them and they approached you.

You weren't a very outgoing person so they were the only two people you hung out with regularly; Your best friend, Lia, whom you knew since you were at least twelve and Sam who joined you two in the first year of college.

“You have no idea what I'm about to tell you” you excitedly said to them, wrapping your arms around Lia’s neck first, greeting her before doing the same to Sam.

Lia raised her perfectly shaped eyebrow. “I don't, but colour me intrigued. You're not this excited everyday.” Sam nodded.

“Weeeell” you chirped happily, heading to the lecture hall. “Guess who texted me.”

“No clue. No one really texts you.”

“Hey!”

“What? It's true! The only messages you get are the weather alerts, not counting me and Sammy.”

“Fair enough” you grumbled but couldn't stay focused on being offended too long. “Fine. The pretty train station man texted me. I saw it this morning.”

That caught their attention.

Sam spoke up first. “What did you text back?”

“Nothing yet.” You admitted. In the meantime you arrived at your seats. You put your bag down by your usual spot and sat down, with Sam to your right and Lia to your left. Who just now groaned. “Seriously?!”

“I was busy, okay? And maybe a little stressed. As you nicely pointed out earlier, it doesn't happen often.” You couldn't hold back the little jab, although half-heartedly. She always meant well, even if she was pretty straightforward and direct. It was one of the things you grew to love about your friend. Around you the students started flowing in and taking their seats. “I'll have to show y'all his picture if I get one. He's gorgeous, and-”

You didn't get to finish because right then he walked in. Now dressed more formally than when you last saw him - in a fitted suit, his hair just a little less messy. Your mouth went dry.

Well, at least you wouldn't need a picture.

You knew your class would get a new professor, and you did see him for the first time not that long ago… but you'd never expect this. Just your luck. The first man that showed you an ounce of interest in… forever! Would now surely be off limits.

He didn't notice you yet, busy with setting up his desk and getting ready for the lecture but you knew it'd happen soon and then it'd be over.

You still clinged to a piece of hope. Maybe it's just a really similar guy. Same hair, same face. It's not impossible, right? He was gorgeous but not very specific looking. There's a bunch of Spencer Reid's lookalikes walking the world and maybe it was just one of them.

Then he started writing his introduction on the chalk board. Doctor Spencer Reid. You winced internally. Maybe it was his twin brother with the same name. For some reason. Maybe their mother was just really dedicated to it.

But deep down you knew that wasn't the case. You were just terribly, terribly unlucky. Using the fact the class hadn't started yet, you excused yourself quietly to your friends and left. You needed a moment to think.

You headed to the nearest bathroom, making sure all the stalls were empty before going inside one. You sat down on trembling legs, suddenly anxious about how the first lecture would go. Would he recognize you? Would he acknowledge that he'd seen you before? Or just block you and never mention it again? You didn't know what option would be best or worst.

You tugged at your hair in frustration, letting out deep breaths. You needed to make sure it was really him. But how? You couldn't just ask him.

You sat there in silence, biting your nails (a nervous habit of yours) before you remembered you didn't text him back yet. Bingo. That was your chance. You took a few more seconds to compose yourself.

You left the stall, fixed your hair in the mirror to trick yourself into being much more confident than you currently felt and went back to class, quietly taking your place and waving off your friends' glances.

You took out your phone, as silently as you could and opened his message. You hesitated, your fingers hovering above the keyboard before typing a simple “hi”. After a whole minute you hit send and immediately put your phone back in your bag. You knew it would happen but your heart still dropped to the ground when a ping of a notification could be heard from the professor’s desk. You shut your eyes closed, trying to calm yourself down, mumbling under your nose. Okay. You surely can do this. It was a problem for later. You didn’t even really know the guy. Yet, your heart clenched at the thought of this weird connection between you ending. You talked once, not long ago, but he became a constant in your life even before that. You watched out for him, learned to recognize him and remember his facial expressions. The more days of those quiet exchanges and looks, the more you attached yourself to him without realizing it. He was the only one who somehow stayed in your life. And you weren’t ready to see him leave, even if he’d still be there physically. You couldn’t explain it, or the turmoil currently present in your heart. Spencer didn’t reach for his phone, but now his gaze was drilling into you from the other end of the room. It’s like he already knew. He noticed you. noticed your recognition. You braced yourself for confrontation, staring right back at him, but eventually he averted his gaze, moving it back to the book on his desk, seemingly getting ready for the lecture. You hummed, relieved but just as much disappointed. Goddamn the little thrill in your gut. Being under his watchful gaze was enough to make you feel. When the lecture started, you tried your absolute best to focus and remember the information rather than your professor’s face or hands. Which was difficult. You forced yourself to keep your gaze on your notebook, praying for the hour to end. Unfortunately time doesn't change just because people have the worst day in their lives.

Lia nudged you with her elbow and leaned in to whisper: “He's fine, isn't he?” Your mood got even more sour at her little comment, which you weren't sure was possible before.

“I guess so.” You mumbled, eyes firmly in your scribbled half heartedly notes. Lia shot you a questioning look. You ignored it and she didn't press yet.

You had to admit Spencer was good at his job. People seemed to get drawn in because of his soothing voice and calm demeanor. Nobody liked obnoxious, loud professors so he was a nice change of pace. And his looks certainly helped with that - a lot of the usual troublemakers stayed unusually quiet and blushing. He didn't seem to notice the attention he got, focused on the topic which he seemed really into.

All the stares bothered you. And the fact that they did, bothered you even more.

You gripped your pen hard enough for it to break, the only thing saving it was the bell ringing just in time. You never packed and left a hall this fast before. You didn't miss the group of students coming up to his desk afterwards to ask additional questions, either.

You wanted to get away as fast as possible. You knew he couldn't possibly follow you around campus without making people suspicious. He was smarter than that and you needed space. To think, to try and give the events an order and reasoning in your head that'd make sense. And to decide what to do next. You were torn with contradicting feelings.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

Spencer wasn't even half as conflicted as you were, surprisingly. Or so he thought, because the second he saw you in his class, a few rows away from his desk, he knew it had to stop immediately.

He considered himself a proper citizen. And proper citizens don't go after people half his age, especially with positions that guaranteed power imbalances, risks of getting caught and everything else that was absolutely and utterly wrong about the idea.

He averted his gaze from you before thinking it's suspicious and then again paying you more attention than what would be considered normal and acceptable. He swallowed and the motion of his Adams apple moving brought attention of the nearest students which he paid no mind to.

He kept his gaze on the book, rereading the same line over and over while trying to look composed. He felt like he was caught red handed, but doing what, exactly? He hasn't done anything inappropriate yet. Right? He shook his head, frustrated with himself.

You were just another student he once talked to on neutral ground and walked home for safety. That's all it was.

That's all it was, and there wasn't another option.

Throughout the lecture he stayed focused, with his mind set on one thought: to finish the day and end it as soon as he gets home. Establish boundaries and tell you to block his number. That was the right thing to do and he was a good person. He'd do the right thing.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

He was really gonna stick to it. Really. He was ready to swear on God.

That was until he actually got home and it was time to do it.

He played with his phone, turning it off and on again, rereading the text you sent him in class and hearing his heart thumping loudly in his chest. His hands trembled as they hovered about the letters on the phone's digital keyboard.

His thoughts wandered back to the time he saw you walking into the room today. The way your hair flowed smoothly, framing your perfect face. Your hips swaying in those fitted jeans. And the shirt that was his biggest enemy and distraction. Even the initial shock of your appearance couldn't make him get the image out of his head.

Nearly without realising it, one of his hands lost its grip on the phone and went down his chest to his belt. His breathing got heavy and ragged and he felt himself sweating.

He was still looking at the phone where he should be typing his very clear and professional boundaries right now, but his gaze went right through it, lost in his thoughts of you. Your eyelashes fluttering as you talked to your friends. He noticed your lips going slightly agape at?the exact moment you recognized him.

He palmed his rock hard cock through his own pants, unable to keep himself back. It was intoxicating. He knew it was wrong but he'd be lying if he said it wasn't turning him on more. He should feel ashamed but right now he was more focused on the lovely ache in his gut, along with the heat consuming him entirely.

He wasn't a good person. He'd love to have you on him right now. He imagined himself putting you on his lap while nibbling on your neck and hearing your soft gasps. An innocent thing for him to taste, corrupt, and break for anyone else.

He thought about showing you things you never got to see, to teach you everything you deserved to know and feel. His hands would slide up your sides, feeling your soft skin just to help you unclasp your bra the moment after.

He'd cherish your body like you deserved, tasting every inch of you until he was full of it, which he was sure would never happen. He'd be content to stay with you in one moment forever.

He’d have you here, in his apartment, or maybe even in class after hours.

He let out a hiss through his clenched teeth, gripping himself by the base tightly. He was already warm and slick with pre-cum. He wasn't with anyone in a long time, so he knew it wouldn't last long.

He tried to recall a perfect image of your face (which wasn't hard due to his eidetic memory) - reconstructing it in his mind into expressions of pleasure and adoration he longed to see in your face for a while now. His eyes darkened for a split second. His cock twitched in his hand deliciously.

He’d treat you so good if you gave him a chance. He could do that for you, he was sure of it. He would make sure there's no one else on your mind, that no one else could ever match up to him.

His pace picked up, he pumped himself with his fist vigorously. His finger gathered the drop of ejaculate from his tip and spread it for better friction. A minute later, he groaned and spilled into his hand, his thighs twitching and trembling when he was coming down from the post orgasm-high.

He looked down at his phone still in his other hand, forgotten until now. Now guilt hit him twice as hard compared to before. He was disgusting, he knew it and never hated himself more. That was the last push he needed to end it before it had a chance to start.

He wiped the sticky substance off of everything, took the time to clean himself and sat down to type with trembling fingers:

“I know you've noticed. From now on we need to stop talking outside of lectures. I hope you're well. Please, delete this number. If you need anything class related, contact me on my work email.”

It sounded cold, detached and indifferent. Everything the opposite to what he was currently feeling but he knew it was for the best. He closed the messages, not trusting himself not to take it back.

He threw his phone to the side and hid his face in his hands.

#I command you to read dat series #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #🛞’s rec

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the driver’s seat.