𖠵 SUARCZ: deny a child of love and they will seek violence as comfort, right?
❛ est. 1977 suarcz is an independent writing blog featuring original character 𝒋𝒖𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒖𝒂́𝒓𝒆𝒛 from the criminal minds universe. please refer here for detailed information about the character as well as the author’s guidelines . . . 🕷 carrd . main blog .
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𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 newly acquainted . . . newly re - acquainted . . . no, recently re - acquainted? these things were always so hard to put a finger on, mostly because they never happened. not for juno, not for people like them. she knew the statistics, without proper parental figures in their lives, without STRUCTURE --- they were practically doomed. without a chance, and yet, here they were. not one, but the both of them. again. so, when she does see joe, he’s only a few feet tall and has mud stains on his pants. nervous hands accompanying a shy pout, and yea, it’s just like those good old days. being two kids thrown in a world full of terrible people, adults, who were never meant to be parents. well, world, take a look now! two, fully developed adults who were very well adjusted.
“ the years softened you, old man? ” it had been juno’s idea for them to catch up. to pick up a few drinks, but if she remembered correctly, she’d outpaced him & with a few shaky steps, drawn him all the way out to whatever fitness center she’d found. wiggling a small, old window open because she’d wanted to go for a swim. these were all juno’s ideas, and now that she thought about it, between them, it’d always been her ideas he’d begrudgingly have to follow her through. her mistakes, but this couldn’t be one of them. “ you, ” a finger darting out at him ( er, more likely the streetlight behind him ), “ are no fun. why don’t you keep watch since you want to be such a . . . party pooper, hm? joe schmo? ” snickering at her own jab before hoisting herself up and halfway through the window. sneakers scraping against the rough wall, a very dignified image for a federal agent. a federal agent who hadn’t learned much from her childhood because though she might be stuck, she refuses to admit it, and will continue to break her way in. even if her success means flopping onto the other side, so suddenly, and without grace. one heap of a mess. “ fuck! ”
𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 - 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐲𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 the fabric of their sweater, kept in place by a silver clip. the agent --- even the word itself took some time getting used to, let alone knowing she’d acquired the position --- had received the token just a day prior, having stood so stiff and oh so serious for the camera. [ to think , it would be a picture she would carry with herself for the next fifteen years. ] this would take some getting used to: learning to swallow down the excitement clouding her throat, accepting that she’d pulled herself to this noble position all on HER own endeavors, & that she would be needing to carry this marker for the rest of her days here ( if she wanted to use the elevator, at least ). it was far too good to be true and juno was fighting off the urge to drive back home, to taos, and tell everyone who had ever doubted her --- said she were too damaged to turn out to do anything that mattered --- they'd been fucking wrong.
for now, vengeance and sweet, SWEET karma would have to wait. it’s early in the morning, she has coffee breath, and now knows from the faint tune from the television there would be a . . . a 70% chance of rain today. her dog days were over, she wouldn’t be in the yard tackling some rookie to the ground, or holding her elbow near somebody’s throat. no, things could be very slow paced at the bau as she holds a tan colored folder in between her fingers, walking down a hallway she’s begun to see in her dreams. callahan, daniels, donahue . . . gideon. well, it seems someone has beaten her to it. a silhouette she does not nearly recognize . . . tall, like reach your hand to the doorway tall, ghastly pale, and thin ( though there is an attempt to disguise this by a large sweater, watch notably worn on top of the sleeve, and pants long enough they cover some of his laces ). if she is looking upon the stranger, and she is, it is not discreetly. stepping around him because he’s blocked her way towards the doorknob --- the one you have to wiggle a little before it budges open.
oh. his features are softer than she’d expect from someone wandering these halls ( perhaps someone would say the same about her ) and juno is met with big, round eyes. @dctrreids cannot be more than twenty four, so, is he a trainee? like she had been? finding his way to THE jason gideon’s door. [ what is it that keeps her from inching her gaze downwards, to his pocket, to see he had a badge nearly identical to hers if not for his own picture and name? it must be the gentleness in his stare. a curious fawn. ] “ is his door locked? he usually doesn’t keep it that way, unless he’s on an important phone call, ” and typically it isn’t because he’ll put it on mute and mouth for juno to come in anyway. “ or . . . is there something i can help you with? ” because he appears to be misplaced in this interior, with gloomy walls and morbid pictures. something so . . . untainted and innocent. in the way he carries himself. “ i’m agent suárez, ” and it still sounds so foreign to her. agent. no longer just juno or june. but an agent.
𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 against violent waves because there are many things, sleuths of words she wants to UNLEASH in this moment, but won’t. though able to keep an inimical tongue pressed behind pink lips, she cannot empty the rage consuming her eyes. when she sees dreyman, there is nothing but garnet lining her sight. for what he had done, to her team. having thrown a wrench into their lives, clamoring their peace and trust with an already shaky, but impervious erin strauss. yes, he had put their team on trial and even had enough wind in him to jest: lucky there were no cameras to catch sight of their errors. well, he didn’t know what those errors cost and just how trivial they were compared to the stakes of it all. the risks they endured, the CARNAGE they witnessed.
“ i will not be humoring whatever this is, sir. ” pushing several inches of space between them because a rocky fist has never done juno any favors. “ what do i owe this displeasure to? ”
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" hey , " she murmurs , giving the other a light nudge .
it was a tough case , and they're all reeling . the jet is eerily silent , as
it usually is at times like this .
𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫 quiet demeanor, when it does everything but reassure them that she is alright ( as she has clarified several times ). there are some cases that live with you forever, they chip into your shoulder & you carry it along with you such as a photograph in your wallet. gideon had imposed this revelation on her long ago, when she was still getting used to pinning her badge to her shirt. there are some people you CANNOT forget, and why, juno does not want to begin to understand. [ if she spent the time, thinking about it, she’d realize she’d seen herself in those kids. clinging onto each other. having their innocence ripped from them as if it weren’t all they had. children were so precious, so pure. it never got easier. of course, of course she saw herself and the others in their faces. ]
“ i don’t know, ” juno sighs, more than welcome to the idea of a conversation inveighing the scenarios inside her head. what she could have done differently, what could have been, if it were always meant to happen this way, and all the other things her mentor had warned against dwelling upon. she had been so lost in the unyielding cruelty of her thoughts, there were prints engrained in her cheek from knuckles digging deep into her skin. “ i have a duty of care. that’s all i’m responsible for, what i was MEANT to do. ” who am i if i can’t do that? biting the words until there is copper in her mouth. “ sometimes, i just think, does it really matter? are we just pouring more pain into their lives? ”
𝐚 𝐣𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐲, 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 her is as rare a sight as any. cutting carefully with silverware she’d assumed was foreign, engrained with floral decorations and luminescent underneath the light. “ oh? ” chewing into her salad first, because the natural colors have always caught her eye. she’ll save a bite for the main course, regardless of if it’s improper manners, for last. “ i highly doubt that. are you trying to make me feel better? ” and it was rather difficult to obtain a genuine quip from doctor hannibal lecter. if there were one thing she DESPISED about their dynamic it was that she regularly seemed to be toeing the line between falling apart & having a decent day for once. he seemed to be catching her at her worst moments far more frequently. “ i’m not sure it’s working, ” a smile for him from across the table.
penelope loves finding new places to party at ; it feels like part of her job, to alleviate whatever horrors they have witnessed during the day by bringing them to a small, yet colorful, piece of heaven located between two narrow streets on the fourth avenue. she had picked up the girls in her old cherry cabriolet, outfit as flashy as the car & glasses obviously matching with the rest. as for her boys, she had taken half a second while juno got in the car to text derek with a single location, soon followed by a kiss emoji. she knew he’d know to take reid with him : morgan had become rather effective at kidnapping him without raising any suspicion. the boy was either too focused on street patterns to notice, or he genuinely liked being included against his will. that, garcia couldn’t tell.
for a while, it is just them girls, a drink in each right hand, only for them to rotate like horses on a carousel ; tasting each with a severe expression, as if appointed mistresses of cocktails, only to give the drink back with a compliment and a print of lipstick. once they have gone from sober to tipsy, the group has moved on to the dance floor where space is offered to them in the form of amused customers watching as jj & juno wash over the old parquet. penelope is in the business of getting them refills when derek passes the door. it’s a strange feeling, the way she immediately knows when he has entered the door ; how her eyes fall on his body with a conviction she so rarely encounters, like, yes, here you are, i was waiting for you. even though she isn’t always aware that he is about to walk through the threshold. call it her spidey senses, rather than a stupid crush.
derek’s already dancing by the time she has taken him to the middle of the circle, and she has to admit he is as incredible here as he is out of such a place. whatever his mother put in his bottle as a child, it worked out perfectly, because that boy is lighting the dancefloor on fire & all garcia wants is to become part of the barbecue. so, for lack of a better word, that’s where we lose her : she’s stolen by the spectacle of morgan & has no more thoughts to be observed. at least none that don’t reach a too-high number of decibels.
the same cannot be said about spencer reid, who’s still standing at a certain distance from the group. he doesn’t have the same confidence as derek and he certainly does not possess the same skills. so he’s sitting, and waiting, and perhaps hoping that time will pass and they will get so intoxicated they will not see him slipping out to go read his book outside. it’s not as if he can leave : they took derek’s car.
however, that strategy of waiting it out didn’t take into account juno’s interest in him, which takes the form of loud & heartfelt pleading, something that he wasn’t prepared for and is completely infatuated by. her hands capture his & the boy finds himself following, after a moment of refusing to budge. he fears that if he had tried for longer, she would have gone for a firefighter hold in order to get him where she wants him. juno is not a woman you want to cross ; especially not if she’s as tipsy as she appears to be right now.
safe hands, she says, probably a countermeasure to calm down the erratic beatings of his heart & the terrified look on his face. “twenty percent of emergency room visits are tied to nightclub injuries” he tells her, words fumbling over each other, “and most of these occur when patrons are dancing. so this is not what i call safe.” but there’s no point in arguing with her : she’s barely staying on her feet, and he fears that if he doesn’t follow her through the crowd she’ll fall on her face and disappear under the stomping.
after they are found facing each other, he calculates his options & realizes there is little he can do to get out of it ; juno needs to lose interest for that, and she is not one to stop biting as long as her prey is still struggling. so his hands fall from her shoulders to her hips, a form of surrender, and he steps slightly closer. his steps are not in rhythm, and he’s probably sticking out even more here than he did at his table, but juno’s praise gets a small, shy smile upon his lips as he tries, as best as he can, to follow her steps. “you’re good at this.” he murmurs, but realizing she can’t hear him, he leans toward her right ear, her hair tickling his cheek as he repeats himself. “where did you learn to dance like that?” talking is most certainly not good club appropriate behaviour, but reid is still reid, and whatever piece of information he can collect, he will grab with excitement.
𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐞 & 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, but have not spoken aloud to each other, it's their schoolgirl-esque crushes on the bau’s finest. finest of men. everyone thinks the banter, the antics, the smiles shared between derek and penelope are all in good fun. the purest of friendships. comradery you would walk the ends of the earth to find, a once in a lifetime click between two people, and nothing more. if you pulled the curtains aside, if you gave the two another moment of your time, you would have nothing left but the obvious conclusion that there was certainly something more than platonic love between the two.
say now, for instance, when derek is the centerpiece of the dance floor and encouraging emily’s hooting ‘n hollering, along the inching footsteps of others around them. women with dangling earrings, glittery eyeshadow, and colorful dresses --- and he only needs ONE woman with all this glamor [ you can see it in his eyes ]. when he shimmies over to penelope’s side and takes her hands into his, twirling her until her blouse is pressed against his chest and he wears the brightest of smiles. sure, if juno were lucid and in their line of sight, and if she cared in this second, that wicked brain of hers might have caught onto the way derek morgan holds penelope garcia so gently despite the thrashing and jumping their music requires. she’s in her own world now, a lost cause to many because it’s quite interesting what kind of person juno can become in doctor reid’s presence. she can let her guard down, can unclench her jaw, and smooth out the tensed nerves in her muscles. finding the courage to smile & laugh, to indulge in trivial matters like discussions surrounding the paleolithic age and just how many people live in a rural town in utah. or, and this is where she really changes, how excited and floundered she becomes when mentioning classic literature --- amazed that there is someone else who appreciates steinbeck as much as she does. juno should’ve taken gideon’s word when he had FIRST reassured her, that they shared more than a badge pinned to their breast.
she would never underestimate spencer again, but he continuously proved to her that he did not feel the same. when juno tells him she can look after him, like she has before, and he responds in the natural way of his. with another stat. “ you don’t trust me? ” and where there should be a pout, there’s a cherry red smile; because there’s quite a lot the man, this scholarly man, does not know. for one, juno loves her glasses of strawberry vodka because of the pink it draws onto the apples of her cheek, the way it pushes her through lively steps, and how it lights a spirited beat from her heart --- er, no. the latter didn’t have to be the effect of an alcoholic drink, but instead, the relaxing smile capturing reid’s lips. she might be fizzing out into someone else, but she could be agent suárez if she needed to be. if someone glanced at them, or HIM, in an unpleasant way, she could still leap into action [ a little uncoordinated, but still ]. juno would destroy anything that could slightly present itself as a threat. something that could ruin their fun, his fun.
“ what was that? you like the way i dance? ” forgetting how to breathe because he is so close to her, she might be able to feel the way his mouth moves to pronounce each syllable. had she seen that? how just a second ago, spencer seemed to want nothing more than to escape from sight, but now, was he enjoying her company? if she weren’t colored a rosy hue from the heat of the arena, the many drinks, or her movements, she certainly was BEAMING now. “ i had a lot of time to myself growing up, reid. ” yelling back at him, wincing a little, and plucking off a piece of lint from his shirt. wishing he wasn’t as endearing or pleasing to the eye as he routinely was, thinking it might be easier to make a fool of herself if he wasn’t … him. that was the problem though, wasn’t it? whatever she denied when he would walk by every morning. juno did not, could not, like doctor reid in the way that defied platonic boundaries. it was strictly off the table.
without much of a reasoning she takes his hand and spins him around, giggling at his awkward steps before tugging him back into her arguably-safe embrace. there’s lean muscle curving underneath the palm of her hand, they’ve never been so close before and she doesn’t think she’s ever touched him so carefully. he is hiding things from the rest of them. his fingers had burned holes into her waist, her hips, and it was a guilty feeling, wanting him the way she did. hoping they could dance, even if they were a spectacle to some, as if it was just the two of them.
“ do you trust me? ” fighting against the loud music with whatever strength is tucked between her ribs. she might be facing him with a mysterious air in her eyes; his, underneath blues and purples, are still so pretty. round, wide eyes [ are they wider than usual? ] , kind eyes she hoped would SEE her. sort of in the way she denied seeing him. “ here, ” taking him by his fingers, she holds his arms over her head and helps him through five or six steps. hips following along to the rhythm until it’s her turn to spin. now, this was her penelope moment. if their friends weren’t being swallowed by newfound attention, if juno was in their line of sight, they would catch how she intentionally misplaces her foot. shifts her weight back onto it more than she should. forcing a misstep that would, and it does, cause her to fall back against him. she doesn’t gasp or apologize because juno knew what she was doing. she had an inkling she’d fit into him too well, but above all else, she knew he would catch her. “ see? i trust you. ” because i like you, juno bites the inside of her cheek, cranium resting back on his shoulder. while she feels safe, she can’t say her heart doesn’t feel like it’s about to pulse out from her chest. pressing his hands, which notably branch over her like she’s nothing, onto the jut of her hips. asking him in her own way to take the lead; move her in the way he wants. if he’ll have her, of course.
𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 phone booth, rain trickling down onto the slope of her nose and falling onto her coat. hands turning pink from gripping the phone tightly, fingers swaying over the numbers she’d memorized so delicately. at first, the woman thought it an insult to be assigned a psychiatrist 〔 and someone so specifically at strauss’ request 〕 after the orchestrated death of their colleague --- one that felt very real and abominable. GRIEF, she knew like the back of her hand, it was debilitating. it got in the way of her performance, her duty, so it did seem like an insult. having to share her problems, her psyche, with someone she did not know. she should, though. she’d read a plethora of psychology papers and had glanced over his name as if it were nothing. gazing upon him with antipathy, taking her endless rage out onto him. how funny, this thing called life is. how someone can gain importance.
“ i . . . i don’t know, ” brushing the droplets from her brow and circling a window with her palm into the foggy glass. she can piece together bold letters on the street sign, lit up by the neon traffic lights. the name leaves her mouth cluelessly, she isn’t sure if this is where she really is. isn’t sure if this is all real because juno was sleepwalking again. she would not put it past herself to have CONJURED this all in her dreams: trudging through turbid rain, this phone call, the sound of doctor lecter’s voice so lucid in her ear. “ i’m sorry, you don’t have to come. i know you’re probably busy. ” the nail of her thumb slipping between her teeth and another molecule plops onto her hair, running over her scalp. “ i just . . . i was afraid to call anyone else. you’re the only one who knows. ” these sleep abnormalities were enfeebling. juno could not bring herself to fall asleep on the jet, in the presence of her colleagues. possessed by trepidation, evading sleep altogether. in hotel rooms, cowering on the couch with a loud television. envisioning the solicitous stares of her colleagues if she were to wander from her room like a ghost. “ can you . . . though? come? if you’re not busy. it’d be nice to see you. ” with the simple drum of rain against this tiny box, she’s become a child again. just needing to be seen or wanted and yet, fearful of being an inconvenience.
JUNO SUAREZ: YOU'RE A BIT DIFFERENT THEN HOW THEY DESCRIBED YOU. people talk. charlie was well aware of that. even 20 years after her father and mother tried to kill her, and successfully killing her brother ( 20 years after she killed her father for taking her brother from her... ), people still talked. it turned out that someone could not live down their parents's legacies, especially not when one of them was still alive and institutionalized. even still, charlie can't help but to wince, though she tries to hide it. most times, the agent wanted to sink into the floor, or blend into the wall, and forget that she was a person at all. instead, there was a spotlight constantly following her around the world's stage. 'sorry if i didn't live up to your expectations,' charlie finally replies, occupying her hands and mouth with her cup of coffee, taking a drink and swallowing it down despite it still being too hot to consume. she allows the molten liquid to descend her gullet before she says, 'i usually don't, so,' @suarcz.
𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬; she’d known the color in the deepest state of slumber. this place had turned into home, the one you can’t escape. the one that has chained your ankle to the floor. so, when there are visitors in their home, juno must get to know them. inside - out, secrets out in the open, hanging out to dry like soft laundry. everyone knew what JUNO was: they knew her scars, her fears, and though she was older, she still felt vulnerable. weaker. irreparable. upon seeing the twitch of pain on the other’s face, juno retreats. “ oh, no. that’s --- not what i meant. i thought you’d be taller. ” mug of coffee tipping in the air before taking an anxious sip. this was going great.
nervous fingers brush her hair out of her face, hoping there is a scenario where she can salvage this first impression. “ if it makes you feel better, they say the same thing about me. being taller, i mean. i guess they talk like i’m goliath or something, ” and she desperately tries, like she’s in school again trying to make friends; only, she’s comfortable in her own skin. “ i heard you’re a good shot, is that true? we don’t have a lot of those here. ” yes, there were a few among them 〔 just the one, really. 〕 who continued to aim & fire with eyes squeezed shut.
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it takes all of you to bite back the morbid response that so quickly formulates in your mind: we could die, any of us, all of us. you could die again ( the first death, although not one including the cessation of your mortal life, was death none the less- & prior to that you felt the sharp sting of a knife threaten to take even the simplest thing from you: breath / death is simply your friend, waiting ). instead, you laugh. it's not a full laugh, nor one that reveals a whole smile, but something short & bitter. you're playing a part, you need to maintain face as you turn your brown gaze up to @suarcz.
" i'm pretty sure there's a lot that can happen to any of us that hasn't happened yet. " one leg is crossed over the other, sitting in the bau conference room. you find it more calming than your desk: it's the privacy of it all. should someone walk in the door that you have no desire to see ( & you know that the chances are not zero ), there's an escape plan, you would not be in their line of sight. " that's kinda one of the stipulations of this job: expect the unexpected, & what not. " you close the folder you were perusing on the rounded desk, & give her the smallest of smiles. " is this you telling me that this case is about to be risky? did you talk to hotch about it? "
𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤 like a friend kissing either cheek. juno twirls the wooden pencil she’d swiped from one of their desks in between her fingers, leaping over and under each knuckle like she’s threading yarn. now, she doesn’t know allison all that well 〔 guiltily, profiling her in the QUIETER moments of the bureau when no one is looking 〕 but juno would be lying if she said the way they spoke to each other wasn’t all that familiar. as if they were picking up a conversation they’d left open, however long ago. allison was smart, determined --- all integral qualities for someone who desired to make it in this arena. they were only a few years apart in age, but already, juno felt a binding responsibility to her: to look after her. “ hey, that’s awful cynical of you. ” the pink end of the pencil tapping against the ledge of the table.
a questioning brow rising, because juno did not kiss & tell. “ there’s little that surprises me, these days. ” inspecting the tip of her nails as if there are tiny secrets to be hidden underneath them and she must decode them before time slips from her. “ NO, not hotch. i caught a peak at the file on jj’s desk and well . . . ” nothing was certain, not in this moment, and surely, it is just one file out of a million juno had caught sight of. she shrugs, mouthing the possibility anyway, “ we might have another cult on our hands. ”
“i will”, he murmurs against her throat, along the line of her jaw, directly into her mouth, a whisper that becomes prayer, and then, surprise! the way the syllables turn themselves into some kind of divine order ; how the boy went from believer to god in rapid, cruel snaps of his hips. “teach you.” the soft press of his tongue against her lower lip, a kiss to her chin, the sloppiness of being unmade by pleasure & still wishing to speak, “i’ll show you.” and maybe he’s delirious, maybe the softness of her body & the warmth that engulfs him are enough to wreck him entirely, but here he is, words left on a trail of kisses all over her face, “anything you want.” there is no doubt whatsoever that she holds the power to make him dance, cry & scream. but in this moment of utter fragility, with both of them coming undone at the seams, it does not appear to be such a problem: let her have power over him. let her. he trusts her to know what to do with it.
and isn’t trust just another word for love? her kiss is slow & meaningful. it does not beckon teeth or tongue. it’s just them sharing a kiss in the same way they would exchange a book, a quote underlined, attention in the tiniest details as an act of love. it is important to note that he kisses her back, that he follows her rhythm & his answer is just as tender, just as sweet, just as soft and fragile and uniquely romantic. contrary to popular belief, reid is quite just that : a romantic. perhaps not as much in the vulgar sense of the termas the literary one. yes, surprisingly ; one would expect the doctor to follow precepts of order, idealization & rationality. and yet! when he thinks of love he thinks of something so irrational he cannot find any image to describe it – it is all emotional, transcendental. it is pure exaltation of the emotions one gives birth to, it is the supremacy of the senses over the intellect. when juno touches him, his skin lights on fire ; isn’t that being a romantic?
wordsworth was right : she gave him eyes & she gave him ears; (has the world always been this beautiful? have moans always been meant to make him tremble in such a way?) and humble cares, and delicate fears (will she smile when he draws the magic card, will she reject his explanation of the athenian political system in the third century before j.c). a heart, the fountain of sweet tears; and love, and thought, and joy – and as she spells out whatever made her fall down the rabbit hole of whatever this is, all he knows to do is let his fingers play with her hair, only to repeat it, “plantae”, with a smile, a small one, like a secret has been exchanged.
“we have time”, he murmurs easily, because there is no doubt in his mind at this exact moment that tomorrow will be filled of moments like this, and the day after that. hesitation will not come with the first rays of sunshine either ; oh no, it will wear juno’s blank face, and it will not greet him when he comes back with too many offerings for what he will then perceive to be a cruel goddess.
he, too, needs time : he might be young, he still needs a moment to catch his breath. that is, if she stops teasing him. an eyebrow raised as he watches, enraptured by the picture she paints. lean curves, golden skin, beautiful. and that exasperated moan, is she trying to kill him? he does not consider it at first, but comes the nickname, and the question, and spencer reid’s open mouth in shock, because what does one reply to such an interrogation? he has to wet his lips a few times, mouth mostly agape for a moment or two, before he finally catches a thought coherent enough to be spoken out loud.
“felatio…” he tries, clears his throat, tries again, “used to be banned in medieval europe. they believed it was unnatural because it could not lead to procreation – which isn’t completely true, because while it does not make a woman turn pregnant, ingesting semen can help preventing the woman’s body from seeing it as a foreign substance, which then leads to higher fertility rates. those found guilty of committing fellatio were given five years of penance for their sin.” he pauses then starts talking again, a frown between his brows, “actually, it was still considered a felony in almost every state until 1950. and multiple states still have anti-fellation laws on the books. which is strange considering it’s a very natural way of giving & receiving pleasure. after all, humans aren’t the only species to perform oral sex: chinese fruit bats, cheetahs, bonobo chimpanzees, tigers & black bears all engage in such activities.” he does not dare asking why she requested for him to develop on that particular subject. just the idea of it has his torso turning an horrid shade of crimson.
𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠? 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈, she does not answer as much as she wants to. it couldn’t have been more clear, those years ago, just how much juno envied his ability to learn, to read, to understand everything so effortlessly [ regardless of him refuting this ]. the way gideon would MARVEL at him like a prized possession, like his own son, always so proud when the young man could stun a room into silence with his incredible knowledge. yes, juno had been jealous of the boy genius [ she’d felt other emotions pass in his presence, but he didn’t seem to notice any of them ] and juno remained envious until she saw how it was his very own weakness. his mind, the greatest gift yet the heaviest burden. how he carried these details, pieces he’d picked up from here and there like broken gifts, keeping them to himself. knowing, and still, refusing to burden anyone else with it. her envy had warped into reverence, and then, without much warning, adoration. she would let him mar her hands.
where she is not satisfied, because she is convinced she does not have him entirely to herself and herself only, gratification lulls in. a face she thought was saved for the evidence board until it meets her physique and she saves it for herself, in a space lodged not far from reach. it’s all too good, when spencer is speechless and rummaging inside his head for something. anything. god, forgive her, but how does teasing him into a stupor turn her on? licking her lips when anyone else would have been surprised, maybe even slightly disturbed, by his choice of words. not juno, no. she’s always been the last person to walk away from his self indulging monologues, how is this time any different?
“ see, how do you know all that? ” not even the slightest bit discouraged, even if spencer had not given her the answer she’d wanted to hear [ but one she’d expected to receive, so does this solidify her theory? is she so in love with him? ]. shifting closer to the outline of himself he’s created in wrinkled sheets, leg brushing aside his.
she imagines him, fingers poking at a keyboard, blue light warming his face and peering at sordid images. were it for mere research purposes or pure enjoyment? either seemed likely. there was this blurry, scandalous picture of him, pleasuring himself, among the presence of these facts, she couldn’t quite wave away. “ do you look up felacio when you’re home alone or are you just continuing your expertise on … everything? ” he’s already red, and she’s so mean, with tentative fingers creating shapes onto his stomach. her eyes, a little hazy, but still, so wide and ready to take him all in. even places of his skin he tries to hide from her attention. “ don’t get me wrong, i love the idea of my curious doctor reid. but don’t you get tired of it? ” moving carefully, much like a creature stalking its prey, but with a careful chin pressing onto their abdomen. “ you’re so inquisitive, don’t you want to experience why they must’ve thought it to be such a controversial thing? ” now, her fingers are learning the shape of his hips, caressing the bone until she has it memorized into her palm. “ plus, you’re so pretty from here, ” and she’s already sitting between his legs.
𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧? 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠, wholeheartedly, it was a smart decision to come to this space she’d recognized in pitch blackness. a place she dreams of, in fact. recalling the many days, even the first, when she would sink into the cold leather chair and let him indulge in her trainwreck of thoughts. when she’d been bitter and would answer him in short statements or sounds. days where it wasn’t so much about herself but what was keeping her awake; doctor lecter knew about every single possibility keeping her awake. he knew her so well, better than her own team did, and this was terrifying. he could recognize her in DARKNESS and she knew nothing about him. except that he’d been there. when people did not believe in her and shook their heads in dispiritedness: oh that poor thing. what she could have been was no question to him because he knew what she was.
juno knew @consumare to some extent. how could she not recognize him in tiny bits of life? a painting standing across from her, a meal she knew he could prepare in a more sophisticated manner, an entry she’d read, and recognizing what words he would say if he were standing over her shoulder. weak shoulders, desperately trying to carry her head into his office. she knew hannibal because she knew, even if it were late, he would stay behind in his office sorting through papers. his notes. is there a place for her in these notes? he had to know, she needed him to shoulder oncoming storms. it had been years now, when she’d been promoted from patient to friend and he’d been transformed from psychiatrist to guardian. a word she dare not use carelessly.
“ i didn’t know where else to go, ” standing in the doorway, eyes worn out from another seemingly reckless, endless day and bloody nose dripping onto her sweater. the room is flooded with MOONLIGHT and deep ocean colored walls, she remembers the name to every book in every shelf, and which pieces of furniture were fixed where. her nails cut deep into her palms when she realizes a book is missing. an empty place sitting on this shelf [ how does he keep everything so clean? ] and coming across a stupid conclusion: how fast things can lose their place, how quickly one can be replaced. she’s delusional. the room is slipping out from underneath and maybe they are underwater. when he speaks, his words echo. some are muffled. you are my responsibility and i intend to take care of you. legs locking and tipping over, but her fingers latch onto the sleeves of a polished suit. had she heard him? yes, why else is she crying like a child? choking on her apology, insisting she were never this weak.
𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 of the bureau could handle their own. whenever they flew to a location ── maybe one flocked by pine trees, eroding mountains, or maybe prickly cacti ── it was only a matter of time until they were face to face with a snappish officer, or a local official, who believed themselves to be righteous and holier than thou when it came to the case they’d been invited to investigate. it was never a good look, not for them, the local department, and unquestionably, it was a terrible image for the victim’s families. so, when an officer is testing hotch’s cool exterior, hoping to crack the ice with these childish, passive aggressive comments, juno is more than capable of stepping in. can i get your opinion on something, please? watching over her shoulder as the chagrin vanishes from the officer’s face. “ that guy was really breathing down your neck. are you happy i came to save you? ” following his steps into their conference room, habitually taken by the aroma of coffee and decades worth of paper trails. “ you can thank me later. ”
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in his mind thousands of scenarios rattle against each other in a violent capharnaum that makes him crave the quiet that dilaudid provided while poisoning his bloodstream. in one of them juno takes her hand away and the rejection tastes exactly as his father’s love did. in another, she grabs his wrist and wrangles with it in order to get him away from her, and in her eyes he sees whatever phantom used to take over his mother when her meds weren’t taken on time. in this life, though, juno’s acceptance is a quiet, small victory. it does not remind him of anything ; the ouroboros of his memory is broken, and for once it is just a snake, undulating around their touching hands. it cannot hurt itself. it does not wish to bite a tail that looks awfully like its next mistake.
“how can i not ask?” his smile is bitter, and it stains his face in the same way as pain did, only it is not distorded by an old camera & a screen. no static to make him appear like a faraway object. “you saw everything.” there are a thousand scenarios playing through his mind and in each one he explains it differently. in some, he tells her that he was whimpering long before the needle touched his skin. so for a few moments of desperate bliss, he was thankful for the drugs, thankful for the silence and the calm and that, when it came to leave, he knew he had to take some home with him. in others, he simply stares at her until she quietly wriggles out of her seat, apologizing and telling him that she’ll give him the time he needs. in that life, he knows, things do not end well for him. drugs swell his veins while his mouth remains stubbornly closed, and when hotch’s severe gaze falls upon him, it is not tainted with sadness, only disappointment. as for gideon, he is not there at all, he has already moved on : his shiny boy-shaped toy is no longer working the way it was meant to, and so it is deemed useless. what is a soldier if it cannot fight in the war, etc etc.
in some scenarios, though, it is through sobs that he explains it all : how he dug a grave for a man who had not lived at all, how he buried a needle in his forearm to quiet a mind that never genuinely spoke of what it longed for, and so all he faced at the end of that night was his own failure at being alive. and how, while everyone else thought he had clung to life, it was the other way around : life had held him. life had not let go. and spencer wanted to honour it, he really wanted to, but on days like this, with trembling fingers and restless knees, he understood that life was something one was meant to bite into ; not something to cherish through the pages of a book. he was not up for the task. even given a second chance, he was going to fail.
which leads us back here, where he looks at juno – the embodiment of the life he wishes he could live & yet cannot imagine for himself. her reassuring smile is a small, sad bird that will not take flight. spencer understands: even for profilers, it is sometimes hard to lie through your teeth. “it’s fine.” he says, and the subject is immediately dropped, abandoned & discarded. spencer’s hand slowly abandons juno’s, perhaps the only proof of the chasm being dug between them.
“penelope would listen.” he replies immediately, as matter-of-fact as he usually is, only there is no spark behind his words. whatever amusement and levity juno is chasing after, spencer cannot find it in himself. and he cannot be bothered to look for it either. instead, he moves on his seat, settles a bit lower so that his knee won’t pound against the small table while it keeps bouncing, only actual clue that his admissions weren’t a pipe dream. after a moment of awkward silence, which juno is confronted with because spencer refuses to develop his reply, he finally adds, not quite a concession, “what did you do last weekend?” he questions, uncomfortable & stilted, while he purposefully avoids her eyes. but the words are offered all the same, and while they’re not followed with a curious smile, they are still pregnant with interest.
𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 the earth splitting in two, creating a rift that is exactly the size of the table between them and then some. a rift that, in a way, should parallel the one she’d carved from her flesh to comfort him ── but juno had lost herself in self pity and instead of it being thrown in her face, it’d been tossed into spencer’s lap. it’s fine, but it really isn’t. a weight drops in her gut, tearing her from the inside. discomposed, CONFUSED, humiliated, yes. fine? no.
juno clears her throat, sinking back into her seat in an attempt to comfort herself. it does her no favors and neither does pressing her fingers, ones he’d discarded, to her mouth. when her composure could crumble in the face of a simple gesture, there might as well be no hope for her. this place ── no, it was him. spencer had made her into a sentimental fool. thinking he trusted her ( and she was naive for this ). enough to entertain this moment between them. if you could call it that. a colloquial conversation, more likely.
what to do? to sell the picture of your indifference. your immovable nature he’d snaked his way through. hand in unlovable hand. what an idiot, thinking they fit so perfectly in this fissure. knowing, knowing he was struggling. in some way, an answer she dare not rest her finger on for the fear of losing him entirely. perhaps it were not true at all, just something she’d made up in her head, and he was fine. he didn’t want HER help, this was true. still … something does not sit right. it pokes and prods her shoulders. spencer reid, ever the person to give you his courtesy and attention, didn’t he deserve the same care?
she will excuse herself. walk to the bathroom ── that is a blatantly obvious maneuver for someone admitting defeat. instead, her hand searches and clasps onto the book she should have paid more mind to. kafka and his worn out looking glass, foggy from all its preconceived notions. of people, passersby. some observations astute, others not so much. juno may have been wrong about doctor reid ( he wasn’t spencer anymore, not with this distance between them. she, was now agent suárez ) and he did not trust her. does she have the right to take offense? when she’d promised herself, a promise she’d readily broken, that these people would REMAIN her colleagues. what an idiot, throwing it away for a magic trick that’d destroyed her propensity for professionalism. the first success at a sensational smile. the looking glass did her no favors.
“ hm? ” looking up from a book she is only half reading. she is beyond the reach of saving, eager for something between them. another conversation. even if it’s small talk; even if she were cursing herself for being so undeniably HER and disappointing him still. a ruthless cycle of thinking. always ending with: why do you care? “ this last weekend. what did i do? ” her book does not have the answer, yet she continues skimming the words. “ there’s this place they opened up near my apartment. horrible cocktails, but the music is great. ” she folds the corner of her page. “ i don’t take it you’re one for dancing, ” derek has told her stories, “ but you should come next time. maybe i can teach you a thing or two. ” if there were something wrong, as she suspected, maybe a distraction could help him.
@violenthunt: ❝ sometimes, i just need the world to be beautiful. i know how dark and ugly it can be but i just want to see something good and focus only on it for a few minutes. ❞
penelope garcia is one thing and the rest of the world is another. where there are rotting limbs and ruthless killers, there are candy apples and a larger than life smile on the other side. where there are bags of bloodied evidence, seemingly unrelated bits of information scattered in their office, she has calico critters surrounding hers and flamingo pens. penelope is a breath of fresh air, one they all desperately need. their anchor, their glue. when they are drowning in cynicism and thinking the world is so barbaric and treacherous, garcia is on the other side of the phone, and all juno has to do is envision her pastel glasses, her decorated earrings, and this weight ( even a small smidge of it ) is lifted from her shoulders. so, no one can blame her or anyone for lingering in the woman’s office longer than is needed. when juno asks for a favor, which she will happily return for the blond if she simply contemplated it, she makes sure it is worthwhile because poor penelope is constantly busy. they forget how SECLUDING it can be, far from them, in her designated corner of the bau. face to face with sealed histories, nightmare inducing images.
when juno is about to leave with the gifted copies in her hand, having expressed her thanks by pressing a hard kiss against penelope’s rosy cheeks ── penelope calls out to her. her feet stop her from getting past the doorway, turning back to the woman who dawns on a baby blue dress today. she is always so gorgeous. their ray of light in a pit of never-ending twilight. “ pen? ” like calling out for a friend in a perilous moment, wanting it to comfort the terror freezing your bones, but it makes you all the more vulnerable. all the more afraid. and juno is afraid. when penelope might be hurting, the whole world will CRUMBLE. if not, she will see to it.
“ pen, what’s wrong? ” hurrying back to her side, tossing papers onto penelope’s already cluttered desk ( unlike theirs, it is lined with tiny figurines and stickers ). juno leans back onto her desk, standing across from the blond, knees bumping against each other, and her scraped fingers sweep up penelope’s newly painted ones. juno holds onto her, tightly, sacrificing herself entirely to her gaze. “ what’s wrong, baby? ” she asks, again, if not more insistent to figure out what has made her profess this to her. she must trust her and juno will bring the heavens to the feet of her loved ones. if only she knew where to begin, where to look, who had put penelope in this place. “ did something happen? with derek? did he say something? i’ll show him. just say the word, yea? ”