Spencer Reid x Reader One-Shots

Professor

Title: Professor?

Word Count: 1000

Summary: Professor!Reid x Student!Reader. This was the only thing specified in the request, but I think it was meant to be written a little different than how I have it. Still, I think this is truer to Spencer's character.

Rating: K

Requested by: @Ticci_Toby14

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Sipping coffee, you turn a page in your book. You are seated in your favorite chair among the shelves at the library. It's soft, the room is pleasantly warm, and you're nearly finished with the story you currently have held in your lap. It's one you've read before, sure, but you still love it. You especially love the epilogue, wherein the heroine finally escapes from her abusive home.

You close the book with finality. No matter how often you read it, it never gets old. Sadly, twice in one day isn't going to happen. With a sigh, you stand, stretching. A yawn escapes your lips.

"More coffee," you murmur to yourself. You're not planning to go home any time soon, and you need a pick-me-up.

The library has a vending machine that dispenses a few different types of coffee. It's actually not half bad, and it beats having to walk from the library to a coffee shop, as you hadn't driven. Thus, you make a beeline for the life-giving machine.

Unfortunately, someone is already there. You decide to wait patiently as you walk up behind the tall man, rather than giving up in the way that your social anxiety tries to make you. No, you will stand behind him and you will wait.

When he turns around, his eyes catch yours. They're the same shade of brown as the coffee you're craving. His slightly long hair is somewhat lighter hue, however. He has nicely full lips, an angular face, and large hands. Your eyes widen a little in surprise. He's good-looking.

His eyes glance down at the books under your arm. "Emily Brontë?" He asks, his voice not as deep as you expected, but definitely not unpleasant.

     You nod slowly, a little freaked. A stranger is talking to you. If it weren't for his completely nonthreatening appearance, you'd be running for the hills. Instead, you're able to answer. "She's my favorite victorian-era author."

     "I'd say the same if it weren't for Charles Dickens." He replies, grinning.

     "You read Dickens?" You ask, brows furrowing. While he was obviously very intelligent, you hadn't met a lot of people who had read Charles Dickens.

     "I read everything. Oliver Twist has to be my favorite book of his." He says with a returning nod.

     "I could never pick a favorite, to be honest." You hold out your hand, "Oh, I'm (Y/N), by the way."

     "Spencer," he replies, taking your hand in his. The contact lasts for a little longer than it should, and eye contact that is almost intense is maintain throughout the duration of it.

     You pull away, and he clears his throat. "So, other favorite authors?"

     "Hm... I like Jane Austen, a little Thomas Merton-" You begin to tick things off on your fingers.

     "Woah, you like Merton?" He cuts in, warm eyes widening.

      "I like everything." You echo his earlier response, making him let out a small laugh. Somehow, the two of you begin to walk away from the machine, your coffee forgotten in favor of talking to the adorable genius.

      A few hours later, you're still with Spencer. The two of you had struck up conversation about a variety of things. You found him to be a complete genius, loving how knowledgable he was about practically everything. He felt the same. You laughed and smiled throughout the entirety of your time together, relishing your common interests. Unfortunately, all good things come to an end.

     "...so she- oh, god, look at the time." He said, interrupting himself. You glanced up. Okay, it had been hours since the two of you had met up at the coffee machine, but you were quite enthralled with the man with the coffee brown eyes.

      "Shit, somewhere to be?" You ask, quietly disappointed.

     "Yeah, I'm sorry, (Y/N)." He said regretfully.

     "Well... I think we might have to continue this debate over Carl Sagan later, then, Spencer. How does coffee sound?" You ask with a smile.

     "Perfect. Saturday?"

     "Does nine work?"

     "It's a date." He says, then pauses.

     "It's a date." You confirm.

~~<3~~

     The next day, you wake up to the shrieking of your alarm.

     You groan, blinking your eyes open. It's the first day of your second semester, which means new classes, places, and people. Needless to say, start of semester is one of your least favorite times of the year.

     You lie in bed a little while longer, arm thrown over your eyes to block the light. You know there's no point to lying there, but some mornings (this one in particular) want to make you drop out of school and become a stripper.

      Why I ever thought college was going to be fun is beyond me, you think.

     Still, you get up, shower, dress, and get going. You're not going to be late to your first class of the day, no matter how much you hate it. Besides, the upcoming coffee date with Spencer looms on the horizon, brightening things up. You have something to look forward to.

     While you know you're not late, you still rush into the lecture hall when you arrive. You don't want to risk it, even though you've got ten minutes to spare.

     You snag a front seat quickly in the amphitheater-like room. There are plenty of people there already, but you just keep your head down, scrolling through your phone. You don't want to socialize.

     The room slowly fills up. It's nearly full by the time the clock strikes seven. Popular class.

     Just as the minute hand hits the twelve on the clock, your professor walks in. You inhale sharply at the sight of him.

     "Spencer?"