May 20
it's not a "hear me out" IT'S A HOLD ME BACK.
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it's not a "hear me out" IT'S A HOLD ME BACK.
MAGA keeps writing the ads for the Democrats.
Send MAGA to prison or they will keep committing crimes worthy of prison.
{🐇byong!🥕}
There was a knock at the door. It should not be possible for a knock to sound surreptitious, yet this knock achieved it. It had harmonics. They told the hindbrain: the person knocking will, if no one eventually answers, open the door anyway and sidle in, whereupon he will certainly nick any smokes that are lying around, read any correspondence that catches his eye, open a few drawers, take a nip out of such bottles of alcohol as are discovered, but stop short of major crime because he is not criminal in the sense of making a moral decision but in the sense that a weasel is evil--it is built into his very shape. It was a knock with a lot to say for itself.
"Come in, Nobby," said Vimes, wearily.
Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay
all this baiting and I’m still not chained up in someone’s basement
In His Calculations
Warnings: case violence themes (non-graphic), emotional tension, slow burn, kissing.
Word count: 1.1k
When you walked into the BAU for the first time, Spencer Reid didn’t look up.
He was mid-sentence.
“…statistically speaking, geographical profiling in densely populated urban areas has a twenty-three percent margin of error if the offender is operating outside established comfort zones—”
Hotch cut in calmly. “Reid.”
Spencer blinked like he’d just returned from another dimension.
“Oh.”
That’s when he noticed you.
And then he kept noticing you.
Which was the problem.
Because Spencer Reid was good at noticing things.
He just wasn’t good at knowing what to do with them.
⸻
You had been transferred in as a junior profiler, fresh from behavioral sciences and field training. Morgan had already decided you were “cool,” which meant teasing you immediately.
“So you survived Quantico and still look calm?” Morgan said, leaning on your desk. “Impressive.”
You smiled slightly. “I compartmentalize.”
Reid’s head snapped up at that.
“You compartmentalize?” he echoed.
You looked over at him.
“Yes.”
“How?”
You tilted your head. “By compartmentalizing.”
Morgan snorted.
Spencer stared at you like you’d just handed him a math problem with no solution.
He didn’t like unsolved things.
And suddenly, you were one.
⸻
It wasn’t that Spencer didn’t talk to you.
He did.
He just… malfunctioned a little.
The first time you rode together to a case, he info-dumped for fifteen straight minutes about the statistical likelihood of recidivism in arsonists.
You listened.
Really listened.
And when he paused for breath, you asked a question.
Not a polite one.
A real one.
His eyes lit up.
“Exactly,” he said, leaning forward. “Because if the stressor is recent trauma rather than chronic behavior, then the escalation curve would be steeper, but shorter—”
You nodded slowly. “So we’re not looking for a lifelong offender. We’re looking for someone who snapped.”
Spencer stared at you.
Then blinked.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “Yes, exactly.”
Morgan looked between you both in the rearview mirror.
“Oh,” he muttered under his breath.
⸻
Spencer didn’t realize when it happened.
The shift.
The way he started sitting next to you at briefings instead of across the table.
The way he’d glance at you first after delivering a theory.
The way he’d hesitate slightly before speaking, like he was gauging your reaction.
He trusted you faster than he trusted most people.
And that scared him.
⸻
The first time he got protective, it wasn’t dramatic.
It was subtle.
You were interviewing a suspect alone.
A volatile one.
Spencer was behind the glass, arms crossed too tightly.
The man inside the room leaned forward aggressively at one point, raising his voice.
You didn’t flinch.
You held eye contact.
Controlled.
Steady.
But Spencer’s pulse spiked anyway.
The moment the interview ended, he was at your side.
“You shouldn’t have stayed in there that long,” he said, too fast.
“I was fine.”
“He was escalating.”
“I noticed.”
“You could have signaled.”
You looked at him carefully.
“Spencer.”
He stilled at the tone of his name.
“I can handle myself.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “I just— statistically speaking, proximity increases risk, and you were within arm’s reach and—”
You softened slightly.
“Were you worried about the statistics,” you asked gently, “or about me?”
That shut him up instantly.
His ears turned pink.
“I— well— the data suggests—”
You smiled faintly.
He swallowed.
“Both,” he admitted quietly.
And something warm unfolded in your chest.
⸻
The tension grew in the quiet spaces.
Late nights on the jet.
Your shoulder brushing his accidentally.
The way he’d fall asleep mid-sentence sometimes, head tipping toward you.
The way you’d gently nudge him awake before landing.
“You drool when you sleep,” you teased once.
His eyes widened in horror. “I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
“That’s biologically unlikely unless—”
You laughed.
He froze.
Because that sound did something to him.
Something dangerous.
⸻
Spencer had never been good with feelings.
He understood trauma responses. Attachment theory. Neurological pathways of love.
But actually feeling it?
That was different.
He started noticing details.
The way you tapped your pen when you were thinking.
The way your voice lowered when you were analyzing something serious.
The way you never interrupted him when he rambled.
The way you defended him once when a local detective dismissed his age.
“He has three PhDs,” you said evenly. “How many do you have?”
Spencer had blinked at you then.
Because no one had ever done that so calmly.
So naturally.
Like it wasn’t even a question.
⸻
The breaking point came during a hostage situation.
You were inside.
He was outside.
And Spencer hated not being able to calculate your safety.
Every variable felt wrong.
Every second stretched too long.
“Reid,” Morgan said quietly. “She’s good.”
“I know,” Spencer replied instantly.
But his hands were shaking.
When you finally walked out unharmed, Spencer didn’t move at first.
He just stared at you.
Making sure.
Confirming.
Alive.
Whole.
Then he crossed the distance between you faster than usual.
“You’re okay,” he said, voice barely controlled.
“I told you I could handle myself.”
“Yes, but statistically—”
You stepped closer.
“Spencer.”
He stopped.
“I’m okay.”
His jaw tightened.
“You could have been hurt.”
“You could have been hurt,” you countered.
Silence.
His breath was uneven.
“I don’t like not being able to protect you,” he admitted quietly.
Your heart skipped.
“I don’t need protecting.”
“I know.”
“But?”
He hesitated.
Then softer, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard him:
“I want to.”
The world felt very small suddenly.
Very quiet.
You stepped closer.
“Why?”
He swallowed.
“Because you matter to me.”
There it was.
Not polished.
Not rehearsed.
Just honest.
You searched his face.
“Spencer…”
“I don’t expect you to— I mean, I understand if— emotionally complex situations can compromise team dynamics and I would never want to—”
You kissed him.
Just to make him stop spiraling.
Soft.
Gentle.
Certain.
He froze.
For half a second.
Then his hands lifted hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you.
You leaned into him slightly.
That was all the permission he needed.
He kissed you back carefully.
Like you were something precious.
When you pulled back, his brain clearly short-circuited.
“You— I— that was—”
“You talk too much,” you whispered.
He blinked.
Then gave a small, stunned smile.
“I’ve been told that.”
You rested your forehead against his.
“You don’t have to protect me all the time.”
He nodded.
“But I can stand beside you?”
You smiled.
“Yes.”
His shoulders relaxed fully for the first time all day.
“I’ve never been very good at this,” he admitted quietly.
“At what?”
“Letting someone close.”
You reached for his hand.
“You’re doing fine.”
He squeezed your fingers gently.
“Good,” he said softly. “Because I don’t intend to let you go.”
And for once, Spencer Reid didn’t analyze the feeling.
He just let himself have it.
Hope you enjoyed!
ANYWAYS
BYEEEEEE💕🌸🎀💗💗🎀🌸💕
thinking abouuuuuut somno w needy! toji
but needy! toji specifically in the middle of the night and like he’s so tiiiired and desperate and ugh. I have a thing for needy, desperate, tired men pls lay off of me. Inspired by @theobsidianempress
needy! toji who wakes up hard behind you in your oh so tiny pajama shorts, warm legs tangled in his as you subconsciously push your hips further into him.
needy! toji who seemed to wake up most nights around this time, almost like his body was on an internal clock set to go off when you looked your best, all tired and a peaceful as you dream your night away.
needy! toji who never wore anything to bed besides a chain and his ring, which made your cute shuffling in the bed a problem for his now half-hard cock.
needy! toji who had fucked you once twice today, once in the morning before he left for work and once after dinner. but his appetite was never satiated when it came to you.
needy! toji who wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he grabs a handful of your tit, kneading it as he grinds into your ass.
needy! toji who was now going to take full advantage of this ‘free use’ bullshit you mentioned to him a few days back.
needy! toji who tries to be gentle, tries to keep you asleep as he satisfies you. his large, rough hands rub circles on your clit as you shift in bed, breathing heavy - unbeknownst to you.
needy! toji who dares to see how far he can take things before you wake, playfully biting your shoulder, sucking on the soft skin as he chuckles to himself when you let a quiet whine slip.
needy! toji who pulls your left leg up over his, up and out of the way so he can fish his big hands down the back of your shorts like the nasty bastard he was - shoving two of his thick fingers into your already soaked pussy from behind as soon as he finds your entrance.
needy! toji who debates finger fucking you until you wake up, deciding against it so he can hear your sweet, muffled noises when he finally pushes his throbbing cock inside of you.
needy! toji who lets a whine slip with the knowledge that you’re still asleep, so beautifully stimulated by your tight, gummy walls. needy! toji who doesn’t understand how you’re still so tight after being fucked twice already today. needy! toji who doesn’t understand how you’re still asleep.
needy! toji who didn’t realize you’ve been awake since his hands snuck under your waistband.
needy! toji who gets three full thrusts in before you’re pushing back into him with a giggle as he fills you sooo snug to the brim.
needy! toji who pushes you roughly onto your stomach once he realizes your little trick, trapping both of your legs tightly between his so he can fuck you mean like he’s wanted to all day.
needy! toji who had to be gentle this morning because you were ‘tiiiiired’ and needy! toji who let you ride him until he was spraying your insides white after dinner. needy! toji who hasn’t had the chance all day to take you like he needs, letting you get your way two too many times.
needy! toji who shoves your head into your pillow, ruffling your hair up purposefully because he’s such a meanie. “been waiting - hah.. for this, little girl” he says, the sharp jabs of his hips bringing you close to your orgasm already.
needy! toji who can’t believe how wrapped around your finger he is, can’t believe he let you fuck him how you wanted earlier today. needy! toji who can’t believe he even had any resolve to stop himself from fucking you how you deserved earlier. “been.. so.. fuckin’.. nice.. all.. goddamn.. day” he spits, each word punctuated by an aggressive, deep, slow thrust that left you breathless.
needy! toji who can’t believe how close he is already, thinking he’d be good to go for hours with how much he’s cum already today. “fuck you y/n.. your stupid.. perfect pussy’s gonna make me bust too quick,”
needy! toji who bucks into you faster now, staring at how the fat of your ass jiggles and bounces with each thrust as you yelp into your pillow. “yeah - that’s it. cum on me, squeeze me.. milk me, ma,” he begs, forcing the words out as he feels you clamp down on his length.
needy! toji who’s mad at how tight you get, mad at how dripping wet you are, mad at how incredible you look, mad at the cute noises you make, mad at how you have him so vulnerable in the moment.
needy! toji who’s mad because he knows - gun to his head, he couldn’t pull out. knife to his neck even, it’d take an act of god to pull him from your precious cunt.
needy! toji whose voice pitches up an octave or two as he cums, bearing his full body weight on your back, pumping so rough into you as you milk him dry.
needy! toji who tells you to use your shirt to clean up as he rolls back over, already snoring before you’ve got up to use the restroom.