#he calls her in a panic one day bc matt came home with his arm all bandaged and unconcerned

[thinkinem]

seeing discussion of lgbtq+ representation in one chicago on the dash so I’m taking this as my opportunity to float my overindulgent head canon* that Matt Casey is one superbly repressed queer.

*this quickly got out of hand and is likely well into au territory, but if I have to think about-- it as incoherent as it is--then you do too!

The reason he botched his moment with Sylvie so hard was that when things slowed down and Sylvie asked her Gabby question, Matt got majorly overwhelmed by the reality that he was about to jump into another relationship with a woman that already has all these ideas about who he is as a man and as a boyfriend. 

Usually he can ignore the dull feeling of disconnect that always comes when he’s first intimate with a woman. But dammit, he really thought Sylvie could be The One. He really thought this time those feelings of affection and aesthetic appreciation that he could conjure when he pressed himself to meant something. He was so sure that he was going to feel that spark people write songs about with Sylvie. That it was going to redeem him for all the ways he couldn’t be enough for Gabby, for all the times he looked Hallie in the face and wasn’t truthful.

But that spark, swoop, tingle, whatever it’s supposed to be, it isn’t there. Sure, he’s got the motions down, a smooth execution of the classic moves, and he likes feeling strong and needed and scooping Sylvie up without hesitation does that for him. But it’s not the aha moment he was expecting. The moments they’d shared over the past two years, the little glimpses of a future with this woman in his arms turn stale just like they always do when he goes to seal the deal. 

When Sylvie pulls back, Matt’s heart stops. He’s sure this is it, that if anyone is going to finally see through him it’s going to be Sylvie Brett. And in a lot of ways he’s relieved. Sylvie is a safe space, a trusted confidante, he knows she won’t mock or laugh. But also the idea of putting words to the way he feels scares the life out of him, to say it out loud would make his Otherness too real. (Even when he and Kelly were in the middle of whatever it was they had, Matt could never fully admit to it out loud, not even just as a whisper in the dark to the man that had already seen all of him and stayed close anyway). 

But Sylvie doesn’t see through him. Or she thinks she does, but really she couldn’t be farther from the truth. So when she asks if he’d go with Gabby, it feels easiest to say he doesn’t know. 

But his “I don’t know” was less about going with Gabby as an individual, and more about the idea of committing himself to another/any woman again. The divorce gutted him. It forced up a lot of thoughts and feelings that he was relying on that relationship to keep a lid on. But also, it felt a lot like checking off a task from a to do list: he did his due diligence as a man to have a wife and attempt a classic version of a family just like he was always expected to do (and in a lot of ways it felt like a big fuck you to his father and every one of his sneering insults).

The thing is, Matt knows in his bones that he wants someone like Sylvie Brett by his side for the rest of his life; she’s amazing, loyal, funny, understanding, everything he’d want in a partner. But in that moment Matt decides he cannot go down this road again. Sylvie is all those wonderful things and more, and she deserves a guy who wants all of her, not just the idea of her. 

For a moment he thinks it’s going to work out. He gets out the cliched “it’s complicated” and is almost ready to do it, ready to own who he is right there. But the words get a little stuck and then Sylvie is filling in the blanks with all the wrong colors (and, Jesus, isn’t that familiar). Then the next thing he knows, he’s breaking Sylvie Brett’s heart exactly the way he vowed to never do. The moment is quick and messy and feels terrifyingly unsalvageable, but it’s happening, then it happened, and there’s nothing he can do about it. (He sleeps with Sydney because that’s what he does when a relationship ends: he sleeps with a stranger, always female, and does everything opposite what he did in the relationship, just to double test the theory that it really is something in him and not just around him. Sydney: sexy and funny and charming; The Theory: confirmed)

And suddenly Matt is exhausted. He’s got decades of built up secret and accumulated grief on his shoulders and he can’t move with it all weighing him down. So he just sort of stops fighting it. He puts up the token efforts with Sylvie, tells her he doesn’t regret it, that she’s still very important to him, then lets her walk away when she informs him that it can never happen again, that he is a man still in love with his ex wife. On net, she’s actually kinda half right, and he lets himself have a quiet, sardonic chuckle at that.

Matt’s got the job, his rank, his men, the city. They’re more than enough to live for, to love, to give his all. They’ve got expectations of him too, and they’re ones he can meet with an ease that doesn’t exist anywhere else in his life.

Five weeks after Matt decides he’s really only meant to be Captain Casey, he wakes up on Christie’s couch with the mother of all hangovers. He gets a solid five minutes of laying awake, nauseous and self-loathing before his older sister comes in with a steaming cup of coffee and smile more gentle than he’s ever seen her wear. She digs her hand into his shoulder and tells him about coming home from her freshman year of college for Thanksgiving. 

She tells him about letting herself be dragged back to the high school stadium by friends she hadn’t quite lost touch with yet for the annual cross-town rival Turkey Bowl football game. She tells him about not watching a single moment of the game, about missing the moment when Star Quarterback John Murphy’s collar bone snapped. She tells him about becoming the most committed high school football fan in the five minutes after the ATs got John Murphy off the field, and the coach decided that what the hell, they’d finish the game anyway, that scrawny freshman Matt Casey would finally get some playing time after a whole season of sitting the bench. She tells him about flying off her seat, about going hoarse the next day from telling everyone in the stadium “that was my brother, Matt Casey, the kid who made the final point, that’s my brother.”

Matt, sitting up now, gives Christie a soft smile and mumbles that it was fluke really, that he didn’t see a second of playing time again until his junior year, that he was always more of a hockey guy. Christie reaches across him again digging her nails into his shoulders, says with the mean kind of love only older sisters are capable of, “Matthew Michael, you are not a fluke.”

A week after Matt pulls himself off Christie’s couch Sylvie tells him she is done needing space, that she misses her friend. He’s grateful for that and does his best to not be annoyed when she starts looking surprised that he isn’t ‘fighting’ for her or doing whatever charming manly bullshit he would’ve done even just a few months ago. But Matt is done fighting for things he doesn’t really want, is done fighting himself at every turn and is ready to start fighting for himself. He isn’t a fluke and one of these days he’s going to prove it. 

In fact, he proves it when he goes to dinner at Stella and Kelly’s new place on a warm fall night just under a year since he was standing in the hallway of Sylvie’s apartment exhausted of himself. It’s him, Stella and Kelly of course, Sylvie but not her boyfriend, and Sam Kidd, Stella’s older brother who just moved to Chicago and is “desperate enough for friends that I’m hanging around my baby sister, I know it’s--ow, Steve, don’t hit me!”

Sam Kidd is funny and charming and tells terrific stories about a precocious preteen Stella. And after dinner when he and Matt end up alone in the kitchen having volunteered for clean up duty, Sam puts a firm hand on Matt’s shoulder and says he appreciates how Matt has looked out for his baby sister these past years, that he was skeptical of the stories Stella told him about her Captain right up until he shook Matt’s hand earlier that night. Sam readily agrees when Matt insists that Stella has never needed any looking after but his hand lingers in an appreciative squeeze on his shoulder anyway. 

They walk down the block toward their cars together after seeing Sylvie safely to her Uber. When they get to Sam’s sleek black sports car (he’s in marketing and apparently very good at it), Matt is less surprised than he thought he would be when Sam crowds him against the passenger side door and sweetly asks “would it be alright if I kissed you?” (Matt says yes, to the kiss and a date, as well as a second date and third one too).

They don’t make a big announcement or anything, but they also don’t hide it. When Stella and Kelly get married in the Spring, Sam pulls Matt out onto the dance floor and holds him close right in front of everyone. For the first time in his life, Matt doesn’t mind the attention a single bit because he’s finally where he fits.

When Matt is all danced out, and Sam is cutting in to dance with his sister, Matt finds himself in the little anteroom straightening out gift bags and taking a moment to feel quietly pleased with himself. Sylvie comes in then, eyes shining to compliment the new ring on her left hand. For a moment Matt worries she’s upset with him, but then her face breaks into a soft grin and he barely catches her “oh, Matt” before he’s catching her. When they pull away from each other Matt gives her a grin of his own, one that he hopes says I’m sorry I hurt you, I’m sorry it all got so messy but I can’t be sorry for who I am. Sylvie must understand him because she’s still grinning as she says, “you’re happy.” It’s not a question, but Matt nods anyway because finally, after years and years, it’s fully and all the way true. He’s happy.

[criminalmindsdrabbles]

TITLE: Lover of Mine [10:58 pm, 11/08/20]

AUTHOR: criminalmindsdrabbles

RATING:  T-T+

RELATIONSHIPS: Spencer Reid x Reader

PROMPT/SUMMARY: @candice-wayland requested in 2018, (Jesus I’m so sorry for logging out bc that’s why it’s taking two years as I forgot my password!): can you do one where the reader is traumatised and she refuses to cry, even though she needs to, and Spencer helps her??

WORD COUNT: N/A (I’m on notes so I can’t tell, I’m so sorry!)

TRIGGER WARNING: talks about a gun to someone’s head and deep cuts? If there’s anything else let me know!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: so I’m pretty sure my last one was in like?? 2017?? Holy shit but um. Yeah. Here you go? Another Spencer Reid one because who can say no to Spencer Reid?

MULTI-CHAPTERS: it can be, if people want it!

She’d been fine on the flight back. Normal, even. She’d laughed and joked with JJ, and teased Matt and Luke relentlessly like she did her own brothers. She had sat with Dave and done her paperwork so she didn’t have to do it at two in the morning (something she was prone to doing.) She had been fine.

And then she’d got back to her flat, saying goodnight to luke who was a couple of doors down, and shut the door.

And then there was silence.

And that... was more difficult to deal with. But still. She’d put her go bag outfits in the wash, watched a tv programme without watching it whilst it dried, ironed it and folded it back up for the inevitable call.

And once she was in bed, restless from the start, she remembered.

-

“Any last words, Agent Y/L/N?,” the unsub taunted you. Jacob Mikaelson. A 21 year old who had snapped when a girl had rejected him after years of pent up feelings. You had a half mind to tell him to go suck your dick because it’d be bigger but had a feeling, considering the gun pointed in the middle of your forehead, that that’d be an unwise choice.

“Just one thing,” you were proud of yourself, and the ability to keep your voice calm and devoid of the panic you felt rising in you. He gave you a lecherous smirk and you swallowed down the bile. Not the time.

“She won’t love you.” He flinched, minutely, but still flinched nevertheless. And then cocked the gun. Well, fuck, you lamented in your head, forcing yourself to roll your eyes as if you were bored and not terrified.

“No matter how many people you kill, Jacob, she will never love you. She never has and she never will. Not now that you’ve gone down this route,” he looked like she was hitting him and she supposed she was with the words.

It had always been something she had been good at.

“She’s already engaged Jacob. And she’s pregnant,” this, you considered, was not entirely true. She was pregnant but only you and Spencer had figured that out. “She will never love you. All you’ll be to her is a monster.” He pushed the gun to your head and you kept your eyes on him, wanting to stare him down as he took your life if nothing else, and forced a smile onto your face. “Last words spoken,” you taunted, and just as he got ready to shoot you, to end your life, your team came bursting in, someone having kicked the door down.

-

It was safe to say you hadn’t had any sleep. You had tried. But every time you closed your eyes, your mind replayed the sound of the gun against your temple and you were wide awake. You put your hair in a low bun, foregoing makeup, knowing that the team would probably see through it anyway, and put a pair of black jeans on and a pale blue jumper that was oversized. Walking in, Luke raised and eyebrow at your state of attire, knowing that it was unlike you. You gave him a smile, as if nothing was wrong, and he gave you an easy smile in return. “Late night,” he teased you and you felt a smile tug at your lips, and laughed softly, shaking your head, walking with him to where your group was, in a rare moment, chilling at one of the tables. You sat down, kicking your legs up and leant back, relaxing a bit. It was sad, but true, that you never felt more at home than when you were in work.

“Nah. My boyfriend broke up with me a couple of months ago,” you said, shrugging, ignoring the stinging in your chest at the reminder, “didn’t like that I had a job that wasn’t nine to five,” you added, rolling your eyes and smirking, the girls chuckling, whilst the men looked shocked.

“We thought you were together still,” Spencer exclaimed and you nodded, not surprised in the least, seeing as that was what you wanted. You said as much.

“I wanted that, honestly. It was no big issue compared to that case we had going on and I had foreseen it coming for a while. We didn’t want the same things anymore, and I wasn’t willing to leave the job I love for a guy who I knew wasn’t going to stay faithful,” Spencer’s face flickered with something indescribable before he nodded.

“Well, if you ever want anyone to be set up with, I know a couple of guys who are good,” you gave Matt a smile, thankful for the gesture.

“Thank you, although at the moment, I’m more than content to just feed the stray cat that keeps coming to my flat,” Matt and Luke laughed.

“I though she was actually yours,” Luke exclaimed and you laughed, shaking your head,

“No, god no,” you laughed, “my sister would have a fit, seeing as she hates cats,” seeing the questioning look, you laughed, grateful no one had mentioned your state,

“I have four brothers and one sister. The brothers are all older,” your lips twitched, remembering the threats that had slipped from their mouths when they found out about your breakup, and a look of understanding crossed Matt’s face. Right, he had kids. They’d probably have similar relationships with each other. “So my brothers are complete twats,” you said, laughing, and Matt chuckled, Dave, who was the only one who had met them, joining in, “and when we were little, my sister was obsessed with wanting a cat. Like,” you leaned forward, not noticing Spencer staring at you, completely enraptured, “she put up a petition on the fridge and basically blackmailed my brothers and I into signing it,” you laughed, remembering your tall, teenage, football playing brothers being cowed into signing a sheet of paper by an eight year old.

“And so, as retaliation, they got the stray cat, fuck knows how, into our garden and basically presented him to her as a ‘gift’,” you put quotation marks around the last word and by now they were all listening, “anyway, she went to pet him and pick him up but he’s a stray and really fucking defensive so she got scratched on the arms,” here you grimaced, not having quite forgotten that scream, and seeing the blood, and the pure pain on her face.

“Anyway, she had to get a shit ton of stitches and ever since she’s kept a very wide berth of cats. She has a literal phobia of them, something we use as guilt trip ammunition when we need something,” you admitted and they laughed.

“So yeah. The cat isn’t mine, but I do love going out and sitting on the balcony and having a cup of coffee,” Garcia laughed quietly at the coffee and muttered something about ‘glorified sugar’, earning a middle finger in return, “with the cat laid on me. And I alway leave some food out for it too,” you added. They all looked amused and you raised an eyebrow.

“It’s totes yours,” Garcia said gleefully, and you shook your head, ready to deny it some more when Spencer laughed and you turned, your breath hitching slightly, and cursing yourself for the stupid crush you had on your co worker. You could see JJ smirk at your reaction and discreetly flipped her off.

“Cats typically don’t bond with just anyone, especially stray cats, and so when they do, it’s typically someone they consider ‘theirs’,” you felt your eyes go wide slightly and the team laughed.

“I was just feeding it!” You defended yourself, and he nodded, not phased,

“It probably began to trust you as a result and then saw you as theirs.” You groaned and the team laughed once more.

“Great,” you grumbled, “now I need to shop for cat supplies,” you weren’t actually put out as you knew your sister would come round eventually and you liked the cat, but still. It felt nice to be able to joke with the team.

-

On the way back, you laid your head on the plane window and sighed. The past few days had been tiring as it was, but paired with no sleep you were exhausted and you knew it was beginning to show. Someone slid into the seat opposite you and you looked up to see Spencer. You gave him a tired smile, something he returned and he looked out the window with you.

“You okay?” You looked at him and wondered if you could say yes, but realised that it was Spencer and that he, more than anyone, would see right through you, so you settled for a shrug,

“Just tired. The case was pretty heavy,” you admitted, hating that you felt like that, but he nodded.

“We saved her,” he pointed it out, gentle and soothing, something you knew was true. But still.

“Did we?” You murmured, “she’s gonna remember that growing up. She’s going to remember being tied down for some sick assholes pleasure and not being able to do anything about it. She was a kid,” your voice hitched slightly, and you saw Matt look over briefly before going back to talking to his wife.

“I know.” You looked at him then, and truly noticed for the first time the bags under his eyes and the way his hair was unkempt and fuck if it didn’t make your stomach flutter. “But she’s got her mum and dad and her brothers,” the last part, you realised was not meant for the kid, but for you and you nodded.

You did have your brothers. But you couldn’t talk to them about this. They hadn’t wanted you to join in the first place and had only just started coming round to your way of thinking, but you nodded nevertheless.

-

Walking in the next day, Spencer met you at the door and inclined his head in a way you knew meant that he wanted to talk. You wordlessly went with him, the two of you automatically going to the office Emily had got for you when the office got too much for your senses.

Once you were in you locked the door and went to get a drink for the both of you, not bothering to speak first, knowing he’d probably already known what he wanted to say.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Your gaze snapped to his and he remained calm, and continued, “whatever it is that’s making it so you aren’t sleeping?” You felt your throat close up, suddenly dry and forced the lump that had appeared there down.

“It’s nothing,” you murmured, knowing it was silly. But still, he gave you one of his earnest looks and you felt your lips move on their own accord. Stupid crush, “I’ve just been having nightmares for a couple of nights from our previous case,” he looked like he was correct (something you didn’t doubt) and nodded.

“The one which ended with the gun to your head right?” You tried to speak but found your throat had closed up and nodded. He sighed. “It isn’t your fault and you had no way of knowing he’d do that,” you found yourself shaking your head.

“I should have seen the signs, I should have been able to talk him down, I should have,” your voice broke and you found, to your growing horror, that you were crying. His eyes filled with understanding and he nodded, and wordlessly opened his arms. Normally you wouldn’t have entertained the idea but you didn’t hesitate to rush into them, sinking into the embrace and breaking dow, feeling as if you were letting out a tidal wave of emotions that had been being bottled up.

After what felt like an endless amount of time, you got your bearing and realised you were curled on Spencer, your head on his shoulder, and that at some point you’d been put on the sofa. Oh god, you thought, horrified, he’d just seen you when you were weak.

“You weren’t weak.” You didn’t dare lift your head up even at his words because of course he’d say that, “in fact, it’s stronger of you to show your emotions like that than not showing them,” his voice held certainty. You pulled away slightly and winced.

“I ruined your suit,” you mumbled, and he chuckled,

“I think, in the grand scheme of things, that you making my suit damp is the least of my worries,” he teased you and you laughed without meaning to, and felt him relax at the sound.

“Thank you,” you murmured and he nodded, his hair tickling you and you felt your lips twitch at the sensation,

“Well, in that case, is now a good time to tell you I reciprocate your feelings then?”