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criminalmindzjunkie · 3 years

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The More Loving One

Masterlist

Summary: Professor Reid finds himself falling for a student.

A/N: This fic is based on this request. I changed a few things up, but I hope you like the finished product!

Long time, no see! It seems like forever since I got to sit down and just enjoy writing something. And enjoy this, I did. I approached this one a bit differently than I usually do, but I like how it turned out none the less. I hope you all enjoy my take on the Professor Reid arc. The first poem I use in this fic is titled The More Loving One by W.H. Auden, and the second is from a collection of Perry poetry.

Also, I recently hit 2k followers, which is absolutely unbelievable. I can’t even begin to explain how thankful I am for each and every one of you. This fic is my love letter to you. Thank you all so much.

Pairing: Professor!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: a few swear words maybe?, teacher x student relationship, age gap, exhibitionism (sorta?), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex

Word Count: 4k

For as long as Spencer can remember, he’s always had a predilection for the finer things in life.

Spencer attributes the origin of his preferences to his upbringing. In his childhood, before his mother’s disease got the better of her, she exposed him to all sorts of literature. While he ventured to read all types of writings, he’d always been partial to tales of extravagance. A young Spencer Reid sought refuge in the profligacy of it all, as it was so starkly different from his own reality. Forced to bear the burden of household and a sick mother from an early age, Spencer’s own life left little room for reckless indulgence.

Now, as a single adult male, Spencer makes it a point to give himself up to the finer things as often as he can. Spencer isn’t a rich man, nor is he careless with what hard-earned money he does have. He simply likes to treat himself to the occasional five-star meal, and even more frequently, posh clothing and rare books. Walls lined with hundreds of antiquarian novels and a closet full of Comme Des Garçon cardigans are where the indulgence ends, however, and until recently Spencer was content with this.

But when she strolls into his life on the very first day of his teaching career, Spencer knows that his small luxuries will no longer be enough to keep him satisfied. The part of him that longs to have only the very best roars to life as he takes in every perfect inch of her. She stands before him, the embodiment of divinity and grace, looking like every fantasy he only dares to conjure up in the late hours of the night. A litany of cliches from every piece of romantic literature he’s ever read spring to the forefront of his mind in the instant that her eyes met his, but there is nothing stereotypical about the way her gaze banishes the air from his lungs. It is as jarring as it is intoxicating. He never wants to look away.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t feel the same. With a light flush of her cheeks, she turns away from him, and in an equally unfortunate turn of events, she proceeds to shuffle down the aisle and into the second row of seats to the right of the podium. The realization that washes over him feels like ice water in his veins.

She’s a student. Worse even – she’s his student.

Spencer wrenches his gaze from her as if he’s been burned, and the fiery shame of his embarrassment makes him tug at his collar. As he struggles to stave away the lingering heat in his chest and even more embarrassingly, the tightness in his trousers, Spencer chastises himself. His own carnal urges often go ignored, a fact that is glaringly obvious as he cowers behind his podium in an attempt to hide his arousal. He feels more than a little bit pathetic. No self-respecting thirty-five-year-old man gets hard just from gazing upon a beautiful young woman.

When Spencer pulls himself together enough to start his lecture, he positively forbids himself to look her way. It is hard to fight the urge, but every time he catches his eyes wandering to her, he reminds himself that she is an indulgence he simply cannot partake in. No matter how badly he wants to.

It doesn’t take long for her to notice him noticing her.

In the early days of the semester, she manages to convince herself that the stolen glances are but a figment of her overactive imagination. That, or an unhealthy dose of wishful thinking. But as the semester stretches on and the professor’s eyes linger more and more, wishful thinking gives way to a startling realization that she isn’t alone in her attraction. Professor Reid is, to her complete and utter astonishment, just as taken with her as she is with him.

This is all but confirmed when a slight brushing of the hands during an exchange of papers leaves them both with flushed cheeks and pounding hearts. Both of their heads snap up, two sets of eyes meeting in a prolonged stare that results in an understanding of sorts. It’s mutual, this thing blossoming between them. She can see her own hopes reflected in two velvet pools of brown – can see the longing, the desire that burns within them. Her heart soars, as she imagines his does, and she accepts the papers with a smile.

She also imagines that, if he could, he would tell her to wait for him. He would tell her that, for now, their relationship must stay strictly professional.

This doesn’t stop them from sating their cravings in other ways.

She makes it a point to stop by during office hours at least twice a week. Her visits always fall under the guise of her studies, but within minutes their hushed conversations stray from the professional and towards a more personal nature. She learns of Spencer’s mother and her condition, of his unusual job and his coworkers that were more like family. In return, she tells him about her upbringing in southern California, as well as her dreams of becoming a criminal psychologist. They never go as far as to discuss what will happen when the semester comes to a close. It is an unspoken agreement that the end of the semester will find them in each other’s arms. All they have to do is wait.

Spencer can’t voice his affections with words, but he more than makes up for this with his actions. Without fail, every Monday following the very first clandestine brushing of hands, lavish bouquets of flowers arrive at her workplace. Each bouquet is always paired with a notecard inscribed with a brief explanation of the meaning behind that week’s flower of choice. Cherry blossoms to pay homage to her beauty, plumeria to symbolize their new beginning, agrimony to convey his thankfulness that she is willing to wait for him.

Her favorite bouquet arrives four weeks before the end of the semester. As she steps through the doors of the bakery, a vase full of nine red roses sits atop the counter. The sight of them nearly takes her breath away. She pauses for a moment and runs her fingertips across the velveteen petals before plucking the notecard from its place.

This week, Spencer chooses to forgo the explanation in favor of a messily scrawled poem;

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well

that, for all they care, I can go to hell,

But on earth indifference is the least

we have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn

with a passion for us we could not return?

If equal affection cannot be,

let the more loving one be me.

That evening, Spencer receives his first bouquet from her. On his desk sits an arrangement of pale pink ambrosia.

The meaning isn’t lost on him, but if it were, the note that sits next to the vase makes her intentions clear.

We never had to force love.

We were drowning in it from the moment we met.

Spencer is horribly frustrated.

A mere twenty feet away from where he stands, the notoriously garish and wholly unprofessional PhD program director is gesticulating wildly to the young woman that stands trapped between him and the hors d’oeuvre table. To find Professor Van Wesep in such a position is not uncommon, due to his penchant for trying to charm (terrorize) the prospective female doctoral candidates. The man is practically a walking harassment complaint waiting to happen. Spencer would abhor Van Wesep even if he weren’t the only thing standing in the way of him and his lover.

At long last, the semester has drawn to a close. The lonely nights spent longing to hold her in his arms are a thing of the past. By the time the sun rises again, Spencer will no longer have to wonder what her body will feel like pressed against his. He’ll be thoroughly acquainted with every inch of her, and she with him. The thought sends a thrilled chill down his spine.

The torturous foreplay they’ve been engaging in for the last four months would have surely broken a lesser man. Spencer would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted on more than one occasion to have her during one of her frequent visits to his office. Some days, when her visits came later in the evenings, just as the sun began to dip low in the sky, her eyes would glisten in such a way that told Spencer her thoughts were none dissimilar to his own. That glimmer of lust had him holding on to his restraint by the skin of his teeth.

And here they were, on the last evening of the semester. Final grades had been submitted and were released hours prior. Spencer would have been content to skip this event altogether, in favor of more… recreational activities, but his lover insisted on attending.

Initially, Spencer assumed her insistence lay in her desire to mingle with her future peers and mentors. Her true intentions come to light when she breezes into the room clad in a pair of sleek, designer pumps. Her lips, painted fire engine red, curl up into a playful smile at the sight of a slack-jawed Spencer Reid. The devious glint in her eye twinkles sinfully in the light.

Tonight isn’t a social call at all. Tonight, she wants to play with him.

And play she has.

From the second she arrives all eyes are fixating on her celestial beauty. Peers and mentors alike trip over themselves in their haste to capture her attention, if only for a fleeting moment. She works the room flawlessly, leaving a trail of smitten men of all ages in her wake.

The most smitten is Spencer himself, because he’s the lone recipient of countless heated glances, as well as more than a few knowing smirks. She well aware of what she’s doing to him, and she takes pleasure in watching him squirm.

Spencer intervenes when Van Wesep makes the ill-advised decision to reach a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. He barely has the time to withdraw his hand before Spencer is upon them.

“I apologize for the interruption,” Spencer casts a faux apologetic glance at his colleague, before settling his gaze on his target. “Ms. Y/L/N, may I speak to you for a moment?”

She looks positively gleeful. Perhaps Spencer should have intervened hours ago.

“Absolutely, Professor Reid.”

The honorific sends a jolt of heat straight to his groin. He definitely should have stolen her away earlier.

The two of them say their goodbyes to a confused Professor Van Wesep, whose imploring eyes follow them as they hurriedly slip from the party and down the hallway.

“Where are we going?”

Spencer leads her down a long corridor, far beyond earshot of the other guests. Pushing her into a dark corner, he positions her between himself and the cold wooden door of an unoccupied office. The only sounds that can be heard are the distant thrum of the music and the eager pants falling from his lover’s lips.

Spencer pulls her into a searing kiss, one hand tangling in her hair and the other finding purchase on her waist. He worries for a moment that he’s being too rough with her, that he should have taken a more careful approach to their first kiss, but she assuages those worries when she kisses him back with equal enthusiasm. Her hand reaches between them and clutches his tie, then she’s pulling him closer and whining wantonly against his lips. Spencer takes this as an invitation to slip his tongue inside and he finds himself letting out a low groan when he tastes a hint of strawberry.

Spencer pulls away to catch his breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Oh, I think I do, Professor,” she laughs, breathless. “Probably just as long as I’ve wanted to do this.”

Spencer jolts forward when her hand slides down to cup him over his trousers.

“Could’ve done that a lot earlier if you hadn’t insisted on teasing me for the entire night,” Spencer growls through gritted teeth. He’s more than a little proud of his ability to string together a sentence with her hand working him over with slow, steady strokes.

He trails a line of kisses across the underside of her jaw, before taking her earlobe and nipping it lightly with his canine. Spencer’s actions are rewarded with a full body shudder. He dips his tongue in the hollow at the base of her throat and her hands ball into fists against his dress shirt.

“Spencer, please.”

Spencer hums and pulls back to look at her. The hand in her hair lowers, and he trails a thumb across where her nipples are hard against the fabric of her dress.

“Yes, my love?”

Her eyes flutter against the weight of her arousal, and Spencer twitches in his pants. The sight of her with her hair disheveled and her lipstick smeared on account of him is a heavenly thing. He doesn’t know how he ever deprived himself of such a splendor.

“I want you. Right now.” She punctuates her words by pulling him down into a frenzied kiss. One of her hands tangles itself in the hair at the nape of his neck while the other busies with tugging his shirt out of his pants.

“Right now?” Spencer taunts, mouth against mouth. His hand trails down the side of her breast, caressing her rib cage and her hip before stopping at her upper thigh. Spencer’s fingertips toy with the tops of her lace thigh highs. “But anyone could walk by and see us.”

“I don’t care,” she argues, fumbling clumsily as she struggles to undo his belt buckle.

Spencer’s wandering hand dips below the hem of her dress to explore the silky-smooth skin of her inner thigh. She’s soft here, too, he thinks to himself as his hand travels up, up, up. He stops just short of where she wants him most and she lets out a despairing cry.

“You wouldn’t mind someone walking by and seeing you with your pretty legs spread wide for your professor?”

Spencer brings life to his words by lifting her leg up, hitching her thigh around his hip and pressing into her. The silk fabric of her dress rustles as he pushes it up and out of the way.

A breathy moan tumbles from her lips as he rocks against her, dragging his arousal up and down the front of her lace panties. The friction is maddening in that it provides only the smallest bit of relief. It’s not enough for Spencer, and judging by the way she desperately pushes down the fabric of his pants, it’s not enough for his partner, either.

“Need to get these off now,” she murmurs against Spencer’s mouth. An eager hand tugs at the elastic band of his underwear.

Spencer places his hand on hers, stilling her movements. “Not so fast, baby. Gotta make sure you’re ready for me first.”

Her fingers clamp down on Spencer’s wrist, guiding him to the sodden lace between her thighs.

“Don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” she whimpers as Spencer’s fingers take appraisal of the drenched cloth. “In fact, I think four months of foreplay is sufficient enough. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Maybe so,” Spencer muses, voice muffled as he sucks at the skin of her neck. “But I’m not willing to chance hurting you our first time together. You’re entirely too precious to me.”

Spencer captures her lips in a kiss so sweet it has her sighing into his mouth. When he pulls away, he fixes her with a smile.

“You’re not particularly fond of these panties, are you?”

Her eyebrows pull together. “No, why?”

Spencer pulls at the flimsy fabric harshly and it gives way under the force of it. He reaches back to stuff the thong in his back pocket.

“That’s why.”

Spencer’s lips come down against hers at the same time his middle and index fingers drag across her slickness. His foresight pays off when his mouth muffles the sound of her cries. As confident he is that they won’t be found, a cry like that would certainly have drawn unwanted attention.

The swipe of his thumb across her crest paired with the gentle pressure of his fingers dipping into her heat is enough to make her legs buckle. Had it not been for Spencer pressing her against the wall, she surely would have fallen to the ground in a trembling heap.

“I could get lost in you for hours,” Spencer groans, curling his fingers inside her in such a way that makes her clutch desperately to his shirt.

“Spencer, oh my God,” she keens. “I need you, please.”

“You have me, my love,” Spencer whispers the promise against her parted lips. “You’ve had me since the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

Spencer speeds up the onslaught of his fingers until the telltale tightening of her heat warns him of her impending climax. He has to bite down on his lower lip to regain his own composure. The feeling of her tight and wet around his fingers is almost too good.

“Spencer, I’m getting close,” she whimpers.

Spencer continues until she’s on the cusp of tumbling over the edge, until one more pass of his fingers against her crest would surely seal the deal, and then he’s removing his hand and taking a step back.

“Spencer, what the fu-,” she pauses when he promptly shoves his pants and underwear just enough to free himself from their painful confines. “Oh.”

A dazed smile makes its way to her face as Spencer presses himself against her once more. He sweeps her up into a kiss comprised of pure, unadulterated desire, before pulling away and smirking deviously at her.

“Jump.”

It takes a moment for her pleasure fogged brain to make sense of the request, but as soon as it does, she complies without question.

Spencer’s hands grip her thighs firmly and in one swift thrust he sheaths himself into her fully – an indulgence so grand that all others dull in comparison. Now that he’s had the finest, felt it wrapped around him like warm velvet, he can’t imagine a world in which he must live without it.

“Spencer!”

Spencer swears he’s never heard a sweeter sound than her crying out his name as their bodies come together for the first time. It’s synonymous with a siren call, he thinks, because in that moment she could lure him to certain death and he knows he would go with a smile.

His lips seek purchase on the exposed skin of her chest as he buries himself in her paradise again and again. The sharp sting of her heels digging into his back with every thrust brings out a sort of primal urge in him, spurring him to rut up into her like a man possessed.

“You feel perfect,” Spencer groans out against the flushed skin of her neck. He presses a soft kiss to where her pulse bounds just beneath the skin before pulling away and locking eyes with her. “When I’m old and gray and can remember nothing else, I’ll remember this. I’ll remember how it felt to kiss you for the first time – how it felt to touch you. How it felt to worship you and make love to your body.”

Spencer’s voices catches, thick and overwhelmed with emotion.

“I’ll remember how it feels to love you.”

Her breath catches in her throat and sharp pang of panic burns hot in his chest. Had he misinterpreted her affections? Did she not burn for him in the same way? Perhaps the ambrosia meant nothing. Spencer’s movements falter, and for several torturous seconds he’s nearly paralyzed with fear.

She silences those fears with a kiss.

“Oh, Spencer,” she sighs as she presses her forehead against his. “I love you, too. More than you could ever comprehend.”

Spencer resumes moving in and out of her, but the frenzied feeling from before is replaced with something else now. Something softer, but no less passionate.

“Yeah?” he inquires, searching her eyes for any trace of insincerity. He finds none, and it’s a relief. Any hint of falseness in her claim would surely lead to a heartbreak he could never recover from.

“Yes.” The word trails off into a moan. “I love you, Spencer Reid. I don’t imagine I’ll ever stop.”

Spencer’s heart jolts and he whines pathetically against her mouth. “I’m counting on that.”

“I’m close, Spencer,” she pants, her breath hitting his face in warm puffs. “Don’t think I can last much longer.”

“Me, too.” Spencer nudges her nose with his own. “Reach between us and touch yourself, my love. I want us to cum together. Can you do that for me?”

She nods, and the hand that clung to his right shoulder dips in between them to rub tight circles against her crest. Spencer doubles his efforts when he sees her eyelids flutter closed, and the resulting tightening of her core leaves him panting hard.

“Spencer, I-” her breath catches in her throat as Spencer delivers a particularly strong thrust. Her head falls against his shoulder, her soft moans of his name like heaven to his ears.

“Cum with me, baby,” Spencer grunts out desperately. He needs it like he needs air to breath and water to drink. And once he has it, he knows he’ll need it again and again.

She gives it to him with a muffled cry of his name and he’s instantly swept away, drowning in the blissful way her body sings for him. His body follows her lead, shattering completely under her fingertips.

While he’s been through similar acts with previous partners, those instances always felt impersonal and clinical. The caresses and whispered words were all a means to an end, an end that usually left him feeling lonelier and emptier than when he started. But right now, as he feels the beat of her heart pressed against his own, he swears he couldn’t feel fuller - full of adoration, full of affection, full of love. It’s beautiful and overwhelming and everything Spencer didn’t know he was looking for.

A raucous round of applause erupts from the direction of the party, startling the two of them. Spencer feels her laugh against his neck.

“It’s almost as if they were applauding us for a job well done.”

Spencer presses a chaste kiss to the crown of her head.

“As they should. That was sensational.”

Spencer carefully pulls out and lowers her to the floor. He wastes no time in tilting her chin up and capturing her lips in a reverent kiss. Spencer hopes his lips convey his gratitude.

The two of them pull apart and set to making themselves presentable. Their efforts prove to be in vain when Spencer points out a dark purple love bite nestled into the crook of her neck. She counters this by taking note of the smudge of red lipstick on his collar.

“What an adulterous pair we make, Professor.”

Spencer rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m not your professor anymore.” He bends down and places a kiss to her lips before taking her hand in his.

“I suppose you’re not,” she muses as they meander down the corridor. “Whatever shall we do now?”

As the two of them step out of the dark hallway and reenter the party, Spencer smiles to himself. Visions of wedding rings flit through his mind. Spencer supposes he’ll have to take a break from the posh clothing and rare books in favor of saving his money. He’ll buy only the finest ring for his future wife, after all.

“I have a few ideas.”

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melissalfinch · 4 years

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Crushed Falcon by Melissa L. Finch Prologue Elusive Comprehension

An excerpt from my historical/fantasy fiction novel in progress

The carriage creaked and jostled when it met each bump on the road. It had been assigned to deliver myself, my five trunks of belongings and the two gritty-faced men I had hired for help from the train station in Portland, Maine to my new inherited home on Pine Street which I had inherited from my grandmother upon her recent passing. The year was 1909. It was the end of August. William Howard Taft was elected as our nation’s 27th President earlier that year. The weather was heavy with humidity from the low gray clouds that blanketed the sky, bringing on a mild heat, around 77 degrees Fahrenheit. It was in the late afternoon. The sun would not set until around 7:30pm that evening. There was a relieving cool breeze that stirred the leaves of the trees that surrounded the neighborhood. I do not think I could ever forget this day. So clear is it, yet only like a vivid dream.

I do not recall the names of the two men who accompanied me, but our encounter is not very relevant. I recall feeling very stiff with nerves during our 45 minute travel sitting so close together. Their smirks delivered the message to me that they knew of my uneasiness and it brought them some kind of amusement. They had most likely been drinking whiskey the night before because I could smell it on their pungent breaths. As I was jostled about and pushed too closely beside them, feeling the sides of my legs pressed against theirs, I felt like a fool for agreeing to hire these men, who most likely engaged in gambling and various forms of bootlegging. Besides help was probably already out in the front yard waiting for my arrival. I tried my best to look out the window and not think of the likely predicament I had put myself in of being robbed, beaten or something else unmentionable.

I had not been to the house since I was a small child visiting my grandmother, who it had recently belonged to. I had very few memories of it, but the few I had, were recalled with warmth and comfort. I think I remember the kitchen most of all. My grandmother loved to bake me oatmeal raisin cookies. I usually only ate hers. All the other oatmeal raisin cookies I tried always caused me great disappointment. After my family and I moved from Portland, Maine to Boston, Massachusetts when I was 5, Grandmother would often mail those cookies to me. I loved them even though my father insisted they were too dry and hard due to their travel. Sadly we stopped seeing her as often once we moved. Grandmother had passed away just 6 months prior to my inheritance. She had left me her beautiful home and grateful housekeeper Jeanette Kingsley. Jeanette had been with my grandmother nearly their whole lives. She had been my grandmothers maidservant as a teenager, being about ten years younger than my grandmother. Jeanette was there for my grandmother when my grandfather passed away in 1898 and she was there beside my grandmother when she breathed her last breath. I knew that the housekeeper would hate to leave the big beautiful house she had spent so much time in. Jeanette was well into her 50s when I moved in and I knew how hard it would be for her to start over and find work in another household. I knew Jeanette could be just as stubborn and fussy as my grandmother; hence their great friendship. In addition. I didn’t like the idea of living there all alone, so I welcomed her company.

Jeanette Kingsley came out to greet me with enthusiasm. She was a short round Negro woman that smelled like honey and peaches. I wasn’t sure if she had just finished baking peach pies for the whole town or if it was a permanent fragrance that emanated from her pores from spending so many years in various kitchens. She wore a simple dark brown dress with a white apron with yellowing eyelet trim, her hair pulled back in a country patterned kerchief. She gave me a big tight hug. “There you are Miss Sylvia! Oh it’s been too long!” she was breathless with affection. “And I’m so glad you hired some help.” She smiled gratefully at my two hooligan escorts. “My cousin Sammy was gonna come over with Ralph but Sammy’s wife went into labor this morning and Ralph gone done and got himself a real bad cough again. Poor Judy’s gotta take care of him and their four brats now! Oh! But never you mind them. I forgot you don’t know one of these damn fools I’m talkin’ about!” She let out a cheerful melodic chuckle that could only belong to the voice of a regular Sunday church singer like herself. I really couldn’t recall the last time I even saw Jeanette. It had to be over 15 years. The last time I had seen Grandmother was when I was a child. I was 27 when I moved into her home.

My moving men kept their good manners to the best of their ability. Tipping their hats to me after I paid them what we agreed upon at the train station, they went on their way after unloading my four trunks containing my belongings. As they rode off in the hired carriage I couldn’t help but feel ashamed of myself for assuming the worst of them, and suspecting their intentions, when they honestly just wanted to make a little extra living after they saw me disembark from the train, alone and flustered in the big bustling station, struggling to get the attendants to be careful with my trunks which held my clothing, a small amount of jewelry and books, photos and a few other heirlooms. The one with a golden-colored mustache even briefly leaned out the window of the carriage and waved back at me. I could hear them laughing a little as they rode off, most likely making fun of me and my suspicions.

Jeanette broke my distracted fixation on the carriage as it drove off with a loving nudge of her elbow. “Don’t you wanna go take a peak inside? I know ya gotta be itching to run up that staircase.” I gave her a smile, feeling a surge of relief and excitement.

My father and other remaining relatives of course thought I should be getting married and have a husband to buy me a home, a much grander home than this one, no doubt, but after I reached 25 with too many courtships having ended sourly, too many accounts of tender affection and romantic words mistaken for something that would last longer than whenever the next new young lady came of age or entered our social circle, or when my young gentlemen suitors grew perplexed by my opinions and too many words. I would hear the household and other relatives gossip bitterly about me becoming a spinster. It was a very sad and tearful day when Grandmother passed, but when I found out she had willed me her house, a spark went off in my mind and heart. I could get out of Boston and it’s disappointments and heartbreaks. I could get out of the house I grew up in and away from my mother’s ghost who haunted me since I lost her when I was seven years old. Grandmother kept in touch with me as I grew up without a mother. She was really one of the only relatives I was close to on my mom’s side. I often wondered how different my life would have been if she had raised me, feeling some kind of debt to my mother, her daughter, who we lost to a bad flu epidemic. Grandmother would often write letters to me when I was heartbroken over another failed courting, “With every end, is a new beginning,” she would write in her pretty cursive.

My father was not happy when I moved back to my birthplace in Maine, even though I tried to explain that it would be a fresh new start and I would find some way of making him proud. I assured him that my childhood ballet classes would not go to waste and that I would try to seek a career teaching ballet. It was only natural of me to desire a career in which my talents would be used. I had always loved music and the performing arts so much.

When I did leave, many other relatives, including my Aunt Agatha, a nanny, Ms Goviard, along with several maids which included Emma and Tabitha who would tease me profoundly, were all disgusted, especially that I left shortly after my father developed a suspicious cough. Aunt Agatha, Father’s sister would say how I would feel so awful later if something happened to him without me being there to care for him, and that it was completely disrespectful to him, after all he had done for me. I wasn’t sure if such words came out of his mouth or not, nor did I care much. Yes, it can be interpreted as being rather cold, I’ll admit, but my father and I were never close. We had our differences and could very seldom, if at all, compromise. Often I think he didn’t care what I did, just as long as it didn’t weigh down on his name. He was clearly upset that I was the only child being a girl. He wanted the Monbrook name to long outlive him, but he would most likely be very disappointed.

Besides, my father’s house was filled with help, who could provide better care than I was qualified to give. That’s how it always was. Without a wife and mother, my father hired all of the help he could get. I was raised by maids, nannies and housekeepers. I think they were all in a tiff because they just didn’t want be left alone with his grumbling old self.

My grandmother’s large spacious, two story house with an attic and a small basement had five small bedrooms upstairs. The place was still completely furnished from my grandparents life together. Jeanette directed me to the room she thought I’d like the most. It didn’t belong to my grandmother. That was the room, Jeanette stayed in. This one was kept for my cousin Olivia who lived there for a long time before disembarking to London with her wealthy business husband Ryan. All of this Jeannette filled me in on with scandalous excitement. My new bedroom had a great big four poster dark wooden bed with light blue bedding. A large armoire stood against the wall across from the bed near the door. A dainty ivory colored crochet doily covered the top. An inviting rocking chair was situated beneath a tall open window with thin white curtains billowing from the breeze. I stood before the window to catch the view. I looked to my left to see a smaller more simple house with an unkept yard and in desperate need of a paint job. I looked to the right to see another house a bit further away painted a dark brick red color. Most of the houses in the neighborhood on Pine street were built fairly close together. I hoped my privacy would be insured but that my neighbors were courteous and welcoming at the same time. The curtains from the window in clearest view, quickly flashed close. I thought I caught a glimpse of a blur of a redhead escape exposure. Apparently my new neighbors were just as curious of me as I was with them.

For my first night Jeanette made me a fantastic dinner of grilled chicken, green beans and mashed potatoes. I insisted that she did not have to do all the cooking. I would help out, too. We ate together and she busied herself talking about the gossip in her family and how she disapproved of this and that. I could tell it had been a while since she had had anyone to talk to and she was very happy to have me there. I also enjoyed her good-spirited chat.

I think I completely forgot where I was when I first woke up the following day. After all, I had spent the same 22 years of my life in the same house. I could hear Jeanette humming in the kitchen, most likely cooking some breakfast. I spent the afternoon unpacking and getting organized as I did with the next two weeks. I wanted to be respectful to my grandmother’s home and keep some things as they were, but Jeanette kept saying, “This is your house now. You do as best you see fit.” The first thing I wanted to do was get new bedding for my bedroom. As pretty as the blue was, I always fancied having peach and lavender accents.

It must have been the middle of the second week living on Pine Street when I awoke from my deep sleep to the sound of a child's screams and primordial wails. I sat up in a flash, jumping out of bed to find out where these cries were coming from. It was very late at night. I was home alone that day. Jeanette had warned me that she most likely would not be home until possibly the next morning because she had been hired on as extra help at the Andrews dinner gala. The Andrews were a family I was very well acquainted with. I had not been invited to the affair even though they knew I had recently moved into town. I shall explain my estranged relationship with them later.

A loud crash followed these cries and then there was no more. Only faint feminine sobs could be heard. Then there was silence. I was briefly tempted to call out for Jeanette, hoping I had slept through her return home, hoping she would quickly apologize for dropping something in the bathroom to wake me, but that still, dull silence confirmed I was indeed completely alone in the house, and that disturbing noise had come from outside, from one of the neighboring houses.

For half an hour I sat in my rocking chair under the window, ignoring the chill of the merciless long past midnight breeze. By now we had entered September. Autumn was drawing near. The moon hung high and bright in a clear sky, bright enough to shine light down on the brick red colored house to the right of me. There was a dim orange colored glow from an old kerosene lamp lighting up one of the windows. After 30 minutes or so, it was snuffed out and then the house was still and quiet. The same house whose curtains stirred from the redhead watching me the first day I moved in.

#fiction #fantasy #publishedauthor #historicalfiction #novel #newauthor #firstpersonnarrative #victorianfiction #supernaturalfiction

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ncttoday · 6 years

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GINNY BRIGHTON - SERPENT - 19 - BISEXUAL

ginny is a very solitary person. she wasn’t always. growing up, ginny had a mother, at the very least. her father disappeared before she was born and her mother died when she was 10. with no brothers, no siblings and nowhere to go, ginny was alone on the streets. she found herself little hidey holes, mostly by breaking and entering. despite being small and relatively shy on a face to face basis, ginny is tough. she was very young when she became a serpent, but she’s brave as hell in any bad situation. she had a best friend whom she dated for quite a few years, but was friends with since they were in kindergarten. he died the year before all this started and ginny has been relatively isolated since, though she did rekindle her friendship with kitty as a result. ginny is finally getting to the point of wanting people in her life again.

A FEW WANTED CONNECTIONS: a best friend (probably also would’ve known her boyfriend who died), neighbours, roommate, someone she briefly lived with on the streets.

EVIE PARRISH - GHOULIE SECOND-IN-COMMAND - 19 - BISEXUAL

evie grew up in an orphanage with only her older brother. they were taken from their parents at a young age on abuse charges, but they don’t know much more about their parents than that. parrish was a name given to them by the state, as far as she knows. evie has a lot of anger issues. she works as an EMT and is very intelligent, but also incredibly reckless. she’s known for rocking up with a black eye and a cut lip, laughing about a fight she got into. despite the long blonde hair and small frame, evie is anything but weak. she’s very brave and struggles to let people in. velvet is her ride or die best friend and evie would do anything in the world for her. evie has never had a partner and struggles to imagine anyone ever wanting her in that way.

A FEW WANTED CONNECTIONS: ex-hook up (evie has never had a partner, but she’s never been one to be left behind on anything physical), friend from the orphanage, BROTHER (v v wanted), friends in general.

FREYA MASON - SOUTH SIDER - 20 - BISEXUAL

freya is someone who grew up on the north side. she was never much good at north sider things, never the type to want to sit around and brag about wealth with her rich parents. when her parents lost all their money (after it coming out her father had been embezzling from his company), they decided to leave town. freya didn’t want to go with anyway, which worked out fine, because they up and left one day while freya was at school. she moved to the south side and spent a fair bit of her time crashing in abandoned places or trailers. she’s spent a lot of her life as a con-artist or a thief, taking what she needed to take to survive. heather is her ride or die and freya considers her her only real family.

A FEW WANTED CONNECTIONS: ex-boyfriend (north side preferably), hook up (past or present), friends, former friends from the north side.

RORY DALLAS - SERPENT KING - 30 - BISEXUAL

rory is a legacy serpent, with a father and grandfather in the serpents before him. he’s loyal to a T and the type to give up anything he has for a person in need. he has a bit of a hero complex, something which has led him to be a fairly lonely person in life. between being a fairly high brow lawyer (putting himself through law school on three jobs) and the serpent king, rory has very little time for friends or family and very little time for himself. his last relationship ended because of this, his complete inability to detach himself from his responsibilities. rory genuinely loves the serpents and believes in ushering them into a new phase of the serpents, one where women are more accepted and the old ways aren’t. rory’s best friend is his second, silas.

A FEW WANTED CONNECTIONS: ex girlfriend (broke up because he’s a highkey workaholic), childhood best friends, neighbour, colleague at work, someone rory represented and helped (ideally someone he’d be close with)

ALFIE LEWIS - SERPENT - 20 - BISEXUAL

alfie doesn’t have very much family around him. he has parents, but they’re not in town anymore and he’s not overly close to them. he’s not particularly fixated on it though, quite happy to be independent. alfie has never been the most outgoing person in the world. despite how he might look, alfie is a big sweetheart. most often, he’s used for intimidating purposes in the serpents. standing at 6′5, alfie appears like a brick shithouse, the type of person most people wouldn’t want to take on in a fight. mostly he isn’t violent, though he does what he has to do for the serpents. currently dating velvet (though has been too shy to ask her to make it official). best friend of gunnar.

A FEW WANTED CONNECTIONS: a cousin would be cool, since he’s pretty distant from most family. other close or best friends. a first love (would’ve broken up on good terms, the only other person he’s been with except velvet). childhood friends/best friend.

LUCY FITZGERALD - SERPENT - 20 - BISEXUAL

lucy is about the epitome of someone who’s only a serpent because of family ties. she followed her brother charlie, desperate to be with him, since he’s someone she idolises and adores. lucy was previously in a physically abusive relationship, wherein which she pressed charges. as the result of this, though, lucy struggles with speaking up and being confident. her fear of that person has warped her personality in such a way that she’s afraid of ever speaking up or being around people alone sometimes. lucy is desperately trying to repair herself, tired of being afraid and struggling. she’s enlisted kitty to help her figure out how to move forward from this point and become someone stronger and not so led by her fears.

A FEW WANTED CONNECTIONS: a best friend (a pure ride or die who’s been with lucy through everything and seen how badly it’s affected her), friends, first love (probably ended on good terms with lucy being so sweet), co-workers (lucy is a mechanic).

SAMMY WEST - GHOULIE - 21 - BISEXUAL

sammy is really just a big bean. he grew up in the foster system and moved from place to place a lot. he has very little to do with any of that now. he was led to the ghoulies by his ability to hack and to be of use in that department. truthfully, sammy doesn’t know why or how he wound up there, but feels like he sort of stumbles awkwardly through most of life. he has pretty severe self worth issues that don’t seem to be improving all that much. he’s only recently begun dating pixie, but he would do anything in the world for her. he’s very good friends with ace and feels a lot of loyalty to her as well. he’s currently got his best friend brooks living with him. luna is his sister figure from foster care and someone he loves dearly. sammy isn’t really the most intimidating, but he would fight for her.

A FEW WANTED CONNECTIONS: ghoulie friends... idk, anything really. he’s such a bean, i think he’d mostly had friends or people he’s mildly afraid of.

HARLEY POND-RADCLIFFE - GHOULIE - 20 - BISEXUAL (DEAD MAYOR’S DAUGHTER)

harley’s father was the first victim of the grudge, but harley didn’t feel grief the way most people did. her father was a cruel and abusive man and harley jumped ship when she was old enough to realise how fucked up her life had become. harley lived on the streets of the north side for a significant period of time, unsure of what else to do with herself. no one trusted her and once she jumped ship, her father had slandered her to anyone who would listen as a drug user (despite her very young age). it was pixie who eventually led harley to the ghoulies and convinced the leader to let her in. harley goes to great lengths to try to show people she’s loyal, afraid to be distrusted.

A FEW WANTED CONNECTIONS: ride or die best friend aka the dream plot. a love interest would be awesome, maybe someone who talks to her about her parents or even who knew her back then? some close friends within the ghoulies. someone she was friends with when she was a north sider. someone she considers like a sibling.

BABY PELETIER - SOUTH SIDE - 21 - BISEXUAL

baby is only in riverdale by chance, really. her mother was a north sider who was knocked up by a serpent. her mother, whose parents had been abusive towards her, just left town, with nothing but her and her daughter. she never told her father. because of her relationship with her parents, baby’s mother got baby very into self defence from a young age, teaching her to be proficient in almost every weapon, as well as martial arts, something baby rarely talks about. a year or so back, a robbery gone wrong resulted in baby witnessing her mother dying. having believed her father had abandoned her, baby received a letter from her mother’s estate admitting her father’s name and that he didn’t know about her. baby moved to riverdale to find him, but found out he had been killed in a gang related incident. now she’s in riverdale with absolutely no one in the world, trying desperately to find people and things worth staying for.

A FEW WANTED CONNECTIONS: a new best friend (she hasn’t been there long), maybe a half sibling? a sibling of her deceased father, friends of any kind, a roommate would also be awesome.

HOLLY WINCHESTER - NORTH SIDER - 21 - BISEXUAL

holly grew up in riverdale and lived there full time until she was 13. at that time, holly’s father (whom she is very close to), took her to new york to pursue her dream of theatre. despite seeming to be very shy, holly comes alive on stage, bright and engaging. she grew up on stage, having been very lucky to get that chance as a child. holly would come back for at least a few months every year. recently her mother fell ill and had to stay long term in hospital. holly and her father have come home for her mother and 3 other siblings. holly likes being back, but feels a bit out of step with the rest of riverdale. she is best friends with cindy.

A FEW WANTED CONNECTIONS: friends, for sure. a neighbour. THREE SIBLINGS, ANY AGE/GENDER. a love interest would be super awesome; i’d love a slow burn friends to lovers type of deal for her!

RILEY DANIELS - NORTH SIDER - 26 - BISEXUAL

riley is a v big bean. no mean bone in his body. growing up, he was the golden boy, popular, outgoing, athletic. he and his girlfriend started dating when he was 13. they were together until 23, when he asked her to marry him. they were engaged when she was killed. it was only in the autopsy report that riley found out his fiance had been pregnant. he was absolutely wrecked, but pulled away from everyone else, having absolutely no idea how to operate without his other half. riley obsesses over helping others, sometimes to the point of ignoring his own needs or his own feelings. he goes out of his way to help anyone he comes across, but is also struggling with his own mental health. it’s been about two years since his fiance died, and he hasn’t dated since, mostly out of guilt. he doesn’t feel like one person can get that lucky twice. older brother to lavinia.

A FEW WANTED CONNECTIONS: a best friend, friends, love interest, anything like that would be chill. really he needs anything at all!

#bios #about #dear god kill me #the connections are just suggestions #if anything pops to mind #pls pls pls pls tell me #i love any ideas at all

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