#kate has a suitor
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People who truly dislike Edwina Sharma are wild. Heaven forbid an 18 year old be charmed after being almost relentlessly pursued by an older man. Three married women, including her mother, are for the match. THE QUEEN is for the match. The only person saying he isn't right for her is her sister and like I'm sorry but my sister could swear that a man wasn't that into me and I would not listen if he BOUGHT ME A HORSE!???!!?!!
#having a s2 rewatch and truly. that is a teenager who has never been courted before. that's a girl with no experience with this at all.#she's being pursued by a nearly 30 year old man who we know will chase off a young lady's suitors (see The Daphne Debacle)#also we have no clue what kates love life was like or what she may have revealed to edwina so does eddy think#“my sister who has never entertained men or had a serious relationship is giving me courting advice”#and is that supposed to mean more than their mother's blessing and support?#fair enough mary is supposed to be complacent to an unbelievable level in this show but had kate said “mama he truly isnt right for eddy”#would mary just have handwaved it off? is that the deal the show was going for?#people online loooove to talk about how much you wanna hit your sibling for no reason but an acerbic “half-sister” is too far?#if my maid of honour wanted to fuck my future husband i'd hand the priest my earrings tell him to meet me in the confessional and go to tow#i think edwinas explanation of this anger was not well thought out but she was entirely right to be angry.#anyways. eddy darling i will live you until my dying days.#edwina sharma#bridgerton
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Mr. Bridgerton and the Baker
Benedict Bridgerton x Reader
Summary: Covered in flour. It is how she usually spent her days, working hard at her family's bakery. She just hadn't expected to have met him in such a state.
Word Count: 11.8k
Warnings: pining, angst, fluff, a small assault (reader gets hit, not by Benedict!), mention of pregnancy (like, literally a line or two),
A/N: Did I write an entire fic barely based on that one scene in Camp Rock where Mitchie is covered in flour? Yes. Do I regret it? No.
With the melting of snow and the promise of new starts, the social season was nearly upon the ton, nearly upon all the potential suitors and debutantes—all waiting with bated breath to secure a match this year. Of course, those in waiting were of high status, usually tied to the aristocracy or drowning in wealth beyond compare.
The others? The ones not blessed with endless funds or pure luck of royal lineage had the privilege, nay, honor to serve those who would be so fortunate. For the many, it included servicing the estates—butlers, lady’s maids, governesses, home chefs and the like. For the patrons on Tilbury Street, it included the less sought after roles, polishers, cobblers, modistes and bakeries. One bakery in particular was the prime choice for the aristocracy, a diamond in the rough as some may say.
—
“I just simply don’t understand why we cannot have our chefs prepare the pastries for the ball,” Eloise Bridgerton nearly groaned, her arm hooked onto her mother’s. They had been walking up and down Tilbury Street for the better part of twenty minutes, simply enjoying the fresh spring weather. “I’ve never known them to make horrid dishes.”
“It’s the first Bridgerton Ball of the season, Eloise,” the dowager viscountess murmured politely. “Along with it being the first Kate has had the pleasure of hosting, putting an order in here is a fresh foot forward, one that’ll impress our guests.”
Eloise barked back a laugh. “If it is so important, why is Kate not here to make the order herself?”
“That, dear sister, is an excellent point.” Following close behind the two Bridgerton ladies was a rather tall shadow, equally as dashing and nearly as clever—Benedict—the second eldest son of the Bridgerton brood. “Surely Anthony could spare his wife for one afternoon, I can’t imagine it being so difficult to pry them from their bedroom—”
“Benedict Bridgerton!” Violet snapped, turning hot on her heels to face her son. He could only laugh.
“Oh Mother, you must relax,” he said lovingly, patting both hands on her shoulders. “You know better than I that it could have been a far fouler thought—why, I can easily imagine three other ways I could have expressed my way of thinking.”
“Ah, ever the poet, Benedict,” Eloise smiled wryly, pushing her way to the front of their clump. No one had the heart to mention the glaring fact that it was likely she didn’t know the way in which they were headed.
“This bakery,” Violet continued half-heartedly. “Is a prestigious supplier for the ton—you may recall their exquisite cake that we had ordered for Daphne’s wedding.”
Benedict hummed contently. “It was a good cake,” he practically nodded off at the thought. The decadent sponge nearly brought him to tears—of course, it could have very well been the relief from undue stress of Daphne’s season altogether, having nearly lost his older brother to an unnecessary duel.
“I think it was far too sweet,” Eloise said, scrunching her nose in distaste. “I had to drink nearly three cups of tea to clear out the sugar on my tongue.”
“Ah, but what’s life without a little bit of sweetness?” Benedict nearly sang.
“Perfectly fulfilling,” his younger sister quipped back.
The dowager viscountess could only sigh, her eyes reaching up to the clouds above. While she loved nothing more than being the mother of all eight of her perfect children, their endless bickering and bantering grew vexing. It merely took the Bridgerton siblings another minute of arguing before stopping in front of a quaint storefront—the sickeningly sweet aroma filling the street. “We’re here.”
“I could have told you as much,” Benedict mumbled, rubbing his temple lightly. “The scent is… overpowering.” If he were lucky, the headache that was quickly forming would dull fast.
“But Benedict,” Eloise turned hot on her heels. “What’s life without a bit of sweetness?”
Violet Bridgerton was quick to catch her second eldest's hand before it met the back of Eloise’s head. “If it’s too much for you, dear,” she released her grip. “Please feel free to wait for us out here. It should only take a moment.”
“Like a ‘moment’ at the modiste?” Benedict crossed his arms, his brow nearly touching his hairline. “If I recall, the last time I accompanied you to the dressmaker, I spent over an hour basking in the summer sun.”
“Nothing logical stopped you from coming in,” Eloise drawled. “Of course, if you wanted to managed to stay pleasant with the seamstress, one should have kept it in his trousers—”
“We’ll only be a moment,” Violet hushed Eloise quickly, grasping the top of her arm firmly. “There seems to be little wait. We’ll be on our way shortly.”
He huffed towards the sun—while there had been little heat near the start of the English spring, the sun was warm against his skin. Benedict enjoyed being outdoors more often than not, it was usually the reason he accompanied his mother on their errands nearly every other day of the season. That, of course, and the fact it got his worrying mama off of his back to be wed. With Anthony finally securing a match, it was only fitting for Violet Bridgerton to be working her way down her list of endless children—having only two of eight married off. “It should only be a moment,” Benedict reassured himself, watching various other families and couples walk by.
That is, until he heard a rather loud bang coming from the alley beside him. He should have known better—he was taught better—than to investigate outlandish sounds, especially in town, but Benedict Bridgerton was nothing if not curious. He peeked around the corner, holding his breath, preparing to be met with a wild animal of some kind. His view was shaky at best, hardly could see a thing around the bricks. If he wanted a better look, he’d have to take a few steps towards the unusual noise.
A large white cloud had enveloped the small alley, it was difficult to even see a few meters ahead, let alone what could have caused the loud commotion. Benedict waved his hand through the mysterious fog, trying to clear some air. “Hello?” He heard a soft squeak. An animal, it had to have been, Benedict was sure of it now. “Is anyone there?”
A cough rang through the alley, startling him more than rogue vermin could have. The cloud had begun to dissipate, the white settling on the stone street below. Flour, if he had to guess, given the location.
“I’m alright,” a voice murmured quietly, another soft cough following quickly after. The shape of a person came into view, the air finally clearing enough for him to make sense of the scene he came upon. It was one of a woman now covered head to toe in the white powder—she had no distinguishable features, the flour was caking every bit of her body and dress. Just striking eyes that made Benedict’s heart jump to his throat. “Just… made a mess.”
“So it seems,” Benedict hummed, stepping over a pile of powder to get closer. “Do you require any help?”
“No, no,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to get dirty. I fear I’ve got quite enough of that for the both of us.”
“I don’t mind getting dirty,” Benedict said quickly, his tongue moving faster than his brain. “But… yes, I suppose it’d be for the best if I refrained from getting any flour on me. May I ask how…?”
“Clumsy,” she uttered simply, the shrug of her shoulders speaking nothing but truth. “I must have the slipperiest fingers in town—I wish I could say this was the first time…”
“Manage to cover yourself in flour often?” Benedict’s lips pulled into a jesting smirk.
“Nearly every other day,” the woman sighed. “We’ve grown accustomed to purchasing an extra sack or two just for situations like these."
“I hardly doubt you could be that clumsy,” Benedict laughed, leaning against the stone wall. “But, I am painting quite the image in my head.”
“Oh I do hope I’m decent in that image, Mr. Bridgerton,” she giggled, curtsying in a near-mocking manner.
“How do you know—”
“Everyone knows your family, Mr. Bridgerton, I’d be a fool to admit I don’t know who you are—though you and your brothers all blur together, so I am merely taking a shot in the dark in which of the four you are.”
“Oh?”
She nodded once, a flurry of powder falling from her hair. A muffled shout from the back door startled her, grabbing her attention. “Ah,” the woman waved the air in front of her face, “I suppose I should take my leave—get cleaned up.”
“Of course,” Benedict said simply. “I won’t keep you.” In nearly an instant, the mysterious dusted lady disappeared from view, diving into the back door. He was taken aback by her candidness—having addressed him so forwardly without the pleasantries of a name exchange. “Damn,” he mumbled to himself, kicking residual flour off of his polished shoe, “I never asked for her name.” Would it be too forward to knock on the back door to ask for her? Benedict Bridgerton couldn’t wrap his head around the interaction—she nearly sent him into a tizzy.
“Brother?”
Eloise stood at the end of the alley, clutch in hand, face pinched in confusion.
“Ah, I suppose you’re finished?”
“Hardly,” Eloise scoffed, “Mother insisted on doubling the initial order ‘just to be safe’. She’ll be out in a moment.”
“Perhaps I should go inside to accompany her—”
“And leave your unwed sister unchaperoned in this part of town?” Eloise pressed a hand to her brother’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. His eyes danced quickly to the street in the distance, clearly not paying any attention to his sister. “Benedict?”
“Hm?” He glanced down. “Ah, maybe we should both go back inside—”
“You’re…” she pushed on him harder, nearly sending him backwards. “Acting strange. Not terribly long ago you wanted nothing to do with this place and now, you’re dying to jump into the building that brought you so much strife?” Eloise removed her hand from him, settling it down by her side as she glanced at him up and down. The blues of his outfit were covered slightly in a white power—not enough to really notice, but enough to give the appearance of filth. “And you’re covered in… flour?”
“I don’t wish to share every moment of my day with you, dear Sister,” Benedict said simply, sighing contently. “My business is my business.”
“Business,” Eloise parroted. “Sure.”
Violet Bridgerton had finished the order quickly, mumbling something about the higher prices this time of year—she had gotten a good deal regardless. Benedict was hardly listening, for he was already planning his next trip to this very bakery, hoping to meet the girl in flour once more.
He never did get the chance, to go back to town. His studies took up most of his free time, any other moment he had was spent with his ever-growing family. Just recently, his sister Daphne brought over her newest addition—another daughter named Belinda—who happened to be yet another spitting image of her mother. Benedict had a theory that every new Bridgerton baby will simply just inherit all the Bridgerton features, so far he had been proven correct.
“Damn,” Benedict mumbled, violently dabbing a paint brush into his water cup, the colors swirling from the end.
He had been in his studio for the last few hours, mixing endless pigments and oils together, trying to concoct the color in his mind’s eye. It was impossible, he theorized, to create the exact shades and hues of her eyes. It was the most striking thing he remembered about her appearance—save for the copious amount of white flour caking her form—and Benedict Bridgerton had come to the conclusion that her eyes were simply forged by God Himself, a color not meant for mortal recreation.
“Why can I not…” He sighed, slumping back in his stool, paintbrush nearly hitting his trousers. “This is impossible.”
The grand clock beside the door chimed out. It was nearly time to get ready for Anthony and Kate’s ball—an occasion he was most dreading, save for enjoying the few pastries that came from the quaint bakery down in town. Reluctantly, he began to pry himself from his studio and made his way to the washroom, preparing to soak away any remnants of her.
—
“Mother,” (Y/N) chimed out, tying the serving apron to her waist, “I don’t see the reason for my attendance this evening. Surely the hosts of the event will have their own serving staff?”
“(Y/N),” her mother exasperated, throwing a towel down. “Your brothers are ill and bedridden and have been the last few days. Your father and I are counting on you to help fulfill the order, my back isn’t what it used to be, if you recall.”
The girl sighed, her eyes rolling right up to the cracking ceiling. “How funny, it seems your back flares up nearly in time for deliveries to be made,” the girl mumbled.
“What was that?” Her mother turned quickly towards her only daughter. “I’m sure I misheard you.”
“You must have,” (Y/N) sang. “For I said I’m willing to help with the delivery, mother.”
The older woman narrowed her brow. “Never do I hear such sass from the boys… Perhaps a bit of manual labor will refocus your priorities.”
“I already agreed,” (Y/N) reiterated. “As if I had terribly too much of a choice…”
“No,” her mother clicked, slapping the a rather large ball of dough that resided on the floured surface. “You do not. Now come, help your mother roll this out.”
She had gotten ready for the ball in record time—seeing as how she’s never gotten ready for one. (Y/N) dug through her mother’s wardrobe, finding an old and somewhat outdated green dress to wear, but it did the trick just fine. It was far nicer than the frocks she had owned anyhow, a light embroidery laced the edges and was sure to be run over by her fingertips endlessly throughout the evening.
“The carriage is here!” Her father couldn’t have shouted louder throughout the small flat. Their home resided above the bakery, a quaint little thing with only two bedrooms—(Y/N) had the pleasure of sleeping in a rather over-glorified closet. If she reached her arms out, she’d be able to touch two of the walls easily, but like everything in her life, she made do. Unexpected child? Unexpected room.
“I’ll be right there,” (Y/N) said, tying the now-cleaned apron around her waist, checking herself in the reflection of her water pitcher. “Damned hair,” her fingers moved to tuck a loose ringlet back into position—she had spent the better part of the evening trying to style it.
“We need to load the carriage and make way to Bridgerton House,” her father repeated, smoothing his formalwear out. He hardly had the chance to wear it, seeing as situations like this happen only once in a while. “We must make a good impression, perhaps we’ll find more business this evening.”
“That’ll be a blessing,” her mother agreed, heading down the stairs to the bakery. “We could always use more business and the dowager viscountess is well liked around the ton, surely she’ll have pleasant things to say about our work.”
“I thought we let the pastries ‘speak for themselves’,” (Y/N) chimed in, carefully picking up a parcel. Her parents simply glared at her, allowing their daughter to silently move along with the loading process.
The silence continued throughout the lengthy ride to Bridgerton House—the bakers not uttering a word until disembarking to unload all of the sweets. True to her original thought, the Bridgertons had their staff do the bulk of the unloading, carrying each parcel and box into the grand room that was to be the heart of the ball, all that was left to move was the elegant cake specially ordered by the dowager viscountess.
“Do you need a hand?”
“Oh, that would be—” (Y/N) turned around to the mysterious voice, only to find the same Bridgerton boy from earlier in the week standing behind her. “I—Mr. Bridgerton, I’m sure I can find my father to assist, you really don’t need to—”
“I insist,” Benedict held up his hand, effectively cutting her off. “I shouldn’t allow a lady to carry such a thing on her own, it would be most improper.”
“I’m certainly no lady,” she scoffed, readjusting her apron. “I’m not a part of your ‘season’ or whatever it is you lot do during the spring and summer months.”
Benedict barked out a laugh. “Debuted into the Marriage Mart or not, you’re still a lady and I am ever the gentleman, so please, indulge me.”
A blinding heat flushed across her cheeks—she was sure it was visible from down the street. (Y/N) stepped to the side to allow Benedict to grab ahold of one side of the tray, her hands curling around the other. “Thank you… for your help.”
“It’s no bother,” Benedict said truthfully. “I’ve been practically bored out of my skull all afternoon, this is truly the highlight of my evening.”
“Helping me carry a cake?” She asked, turning a corner carefully.
“Seeing you again,” he hummed unabashedly, noting the way her grip stiffened. “Though I must say, I think I prefer you without the flour.”
“How do you know that girl was me? I was covered head to toe.”
“Your eyes,” Benedict said simply. “They’re the most expressive and exquisite eyes I’ve had the pleasure of viewing.”
Benedict Bridgerton. The man who made her speechless.
“That, and I made a bold assumption when I saw you and the pastries arrive this evening.” He laughed lightly, afraid to drop the masterpiece. “I assumed correctly, no?”
“You,” (Y/N) tried to allow her cheeks to cool before continuing.“Would be correct. Very wise you are, Mr. Bridgerton.”
“Benedict.”
“Benedict,” she repeated softly, twisting herself to set the cake down on the table. “My apologies.”
The ballroom was grand—much nicer than any place she’d dream of residing in—delicate decorations hung from the sconces, flowers covered nearly every inch of the free space. It was, in every meaning, elegant. “This is… where you live?”
“Ah,” Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. “My brother has been kind to allow me to stay here since he married, seeing as I only have my own property in the country. But yes, this is one of the homes I grew up in.”
“One of the homes,” she repeated back to him. “And here I thought I was spoiled with my broom closet.”
He turned a vibrant shade of red. “Oh! I didn't mean to—”
Her laughter filled the ballroom, the lightness practically lifting Benedict upwards. “I was merely teasing. I’m well aware of your status and wealth, Mr. Bridgerton—”
“Benedict.”
“Ah! Sorry,” (Y/N) felt the twinge of shame hit her chest, it was small but enough to keep her in line to avoid making the mistake again. “I meant it in jest.”
“Funny girl,” Benedict clicked, waving his finger lightly. “You’ve got quite a sense of humor.”
“Growing up with nothing more than sacks of flour and parcels of sugar allows one to get creative with her jokes,” she explained carefully, treading lightly as to not make it sound completely miserable. “Though, I think they were a better audience anyhow…”
“You wound me,” a hand grabbed his heart, knees buckling towards the ground. “Oh how the lady wounds me.”
“I believe I told you, Benedict, I certainly am no lady.”
“Well, the lady has neglected to give me her name,” he peeked up from the floor—having found quite a cozy position. “So how else should I address such a fair maiden?”
“Fair maiden,” she scoffed playfully, voice barely above a whisper. “Certainly am nothing close to a maiden… but, if you must know,” she paused, “my name is (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”
“(Y/N)…” Benedict repeated it, mostly to himself. He rose from the floor, eyes not leaving her own. “What a beautiful name.”
“I—thank you. I suppose you should give my parents such a compliment, though. I am simply the recipient of such a gift.”
“Well, when I ask your parents for permission to court their daughter, I’ll pass the message along.”
She froze.
“Ah, what was that?”
“I hate to be so bold,” Benedict sighed, shoving a hand into his pocket. “But I feel the need to let you know of my intentions—my interest in you.”
“Oh you must be mistaken,” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d want nothing to do with a girl like me. Surely there are other women in the ton who strike your fancy?”
“Nope,” he said simply. “Not a one. You, on the other hand, with your striking eyes and seemingly endless beauty, piqued my interest. If I may be honest, I haven’t stopped thinking about our encounter in the alley—it’s been on the forefront of my mind for days.”
She blinked, the gears in her head trying to keep up with the words Benedict was speaking. “But I am not from your world, Benedict. Even if I was interested in pursuing a courtship—”
“Are you not?” His eyes struck wide open. “I’m quite the catch, you see. Well-bred, scholarly and, if I might say so myself, I’m quite the talented artist. Easy on the eyes, too.”
“Benedict.” He stopped and looked at the woman. She was practically glowing in the candlelight. “While I’m not saying I’m… not interested, I can’t help but feel like you are infatuated with the idea of me and not… me.”
“How do you mean?”
She laughed humorlessly. “You don’t know me, truly. My likes, dislikes, how I take my tea, what weather I fancy—”
“See,” Benedict grabbed her hand, “I wish to know those things. Is that not the purpose of a courtship?”
“I am not from your world, Benedict. I have priorities, a duty to my family and our business—I can’t spend a moment thinking of the frivolity of a courtship with a man of your status.”
“But if I were, say, the butcher’s son it would be different?”
“Yes,” she removed her hand from his. “Of course it would be. I’m surprised you haven’t thought this through.”
“I have been thinking it through since we’ve met,” Benedict nearly spat, feeling anger bubble up in his chest. “I am not the type of man who wishes to court just anyone, you know.”
“So you wish to court me just because you can? Because how ever could I say no?”
“I—of course not!”
“We’re perfect strangers who shared a moment—albeit an endearing one—out in the middle of an alley. We both cleaned up and went about our lives,” she shook her head. “Nothing cosmic or magical about it.”
“I did not expect you to be so against the idea, unless… there’s another man of your affections?”
She groaned, pinching her nose. “No. No other man. Has a woman ever said no to you before, Mr. Bridgerton?”
He paused, clearly taken aback.
“Well,” she smoothed the tablecloth, the wrinkle in the bottom corner was annoying her, “let me be the first, then. No, I am not interested in a courtship, nor do I think I have any interest in a courtship—with you or anyone—so do not take it terribly too personally.”
“Never? Don’t you plan to have a family of your own?”
“I already have a family,” she said simply. “I have no time for foolish ideas of having an adoring husband, three beautiful babies and a peaceful life out in the country.”
“That seems awfully specific—”
“No matter,” she waved. “Thank you for your interest, Mr. Bridgerton, I am flattered, truly.”
She walked away, hoping to hide in the carriage the rest of the night. Was she a fool? To turn down a courtship from such a sophisticated and notable man of the ton?
Benedict seemed to think so. True to her comment, he couldn’t recall a time in which a woman had rejected his advances—never in the name of a courtship, this would be his first—so to watch her walk away stung deeply, like a thorn to his heart. He was genuinely interested in the girl, he knew it. He just needed to prove it to her.
—
Days had passed since the Bridgerton ball and (Y/N) had successfully faked a stomach ache and ‘rested’ in the carriage until the night was over and done with. She was busy in the kitchen, working hard on a batch of fresh loaves for the storefront. Flour dusted her apron—the humor not lost on her—as she thought more and more about Benedict’s proposal.
The bell to the shop rang out, her brother’s voice gave a muffled greeting, nothing out of the ordinary for a regular day at the bakery. It was calming, to work with the dough, taking virtually nothing and creating something delicious was soothing to her soul. She continued to knead the dough, working it like clay against her palms before the door to the back swung wide open.
“(Y/N), I do believe you have a visitor,” Harry, her second eldest brother smirked. He had finally recovered enough to help around the shop again, much to their mother’s delight. “One of the gentlemen variety, if you must know.”
She stopped dead in her tracks.
“Did he give you a name?”
“Only asked for you,” Harry shrugged. “I figured you must’ve been expecting him,” he walked closer to her, taking over the kneading, “brought you flowers and looks rather fancy.”
She wiped her hands off on the already soiled apron, clapping her hands once for good measure. “Don’t over-work those, I’ll shove your face into the oven.”
Harry’s laugh rang out through the kitchen as she braved the door to the store. She knew it was inevitable, to expect him to come and try to woo her again, though she wasn’t expecting it so soon. The door felt rough against her palms, swinging wide open to the storefront. Sure enough, a one Benedict Bridgerton was standing by the counter, eyeing the various loaves on display.
“Ah, Miss. (Y/L/N),” Benedict said, almost bowing. “I’m delighted you could join me.”
“Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) smiled sickeningly sweet, forced beyond all measure. “What a… surprise.”
“A wonderful one, I presume?” He jested. Her eyes found the colorful bouquet quickly, she was trying her hardest to not make eye contact. It was ornate—fancy, just like her brother said—decked out in a healthy mix of wild blooms and expensive looking flowers. “Ah! My apologies, these are for you,” Benedict said, lifting the bouquet across the counter.
She reluctantly took them, cradling the bunch as if it were a newborn babe. “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”
He swallowed thickly at the formality of his name, but bit his tongue. “I must say, you looked exquisite at the ball, but I think your natural element suits you more favorably, why, you’re practically glowing.” Benedict pointed to her floured apron and messy frock, having been in the kitchen all morning. “Less flour than the first time.”
Her grip tightened around the bouquet. “Is there anything I can help you with? Perhaps another order for your mother?”
The man shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, no order. I just wished to see you.” The bluntness of his answer nearly shocked her, but the effect wore quickly.
“Perhaps I wished the opposite?”
“Oh, my dear,” Benedict practically mewled. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have come out here in the first place, now would you?”
Like a gaping trout, she had no reply. Perhaps he was right. She didn’t have to come out to the front of the store, the gnawing curiosity got the better of her and practically pulled her through that door.
“If you are here to try to get me to change my mind—”
“I wish to spend the afternoon with you.”
She blinked.
“Just one afternoon, allow me to try and prove how serious I am about courting you,” Benedict said earnestly. “After that, if you are still of the same mind, I will never bother you again. You have my word.”
Hesitantly, she lowered the bouquet, her shoulders slumping. She was thinking so hard about his offer, Benedict swore he could see steam rising from her ears. “I… cannot just leave the bakery, it’s my family’s livelihood—”
“I’ll buy the lot,” Benedict said, pressing a handful of coins onto the counter top. “Sell me whatever it is you make in a day—a small price to pay for a moment of your time.”
“You cannot simply throw your money at things and expect it to always work out for you, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said sternly, eyeing the sack of coins longingly. She would be kidding herself if the offer didn’t sound appealing. “I am no woman on the corner, you cannot buy my time.”
“Then consider it a tip,” Benedict hummed, pushing the bag closer to her. “For your excellent service at the Bridgerton ball. Nothing nefarious, nothing expected of you. Just a man buying some bread.”
“Loads of bread,” (Y/N) mumbled, quickly calculating how many loaves he truly was willing to walk out with. The amount of money was unclear, but if she had to wager, he practically bought out the whole storefront. Her parents would be thrilled—they could even take a rare day off, just because their daughter spent the afternoon with a practical stranger. “Fine. One afternoon.”
The glee that washed across his body did not go unnoticed, he practically lit up the room with his joy.
“You won’t regret this,” he said seriously. “Trust that my intentions are pure and—”
“—honest and true,” she droned, finishing his thought. “Yes, yes, I understand.”
Benedict nodded. “Right. Well, shall we?”
“Will you allow me a moment to change? I do not think you wish to spend your day with a girl caked in flour.”
“Funny enough, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he grinned. She was unamused. “But, if you insist.”
It didn’t take long for her to clean up, a change in her frock and a readjustment to her hair was all that was needed. She found herself staring in her mirror a bit longer than usual, taking in her features. Could he really be interested in her? He seemed so taken by her looks when she herself considered them… so plain. She shook her head, effectively jumping out of her haze and proceeded to head back downstairs to meet her suitor for the afternoon.
“Perhaps you were right,” Benedict said softly. “This may be your best look to date.”
A heat warmed her cheeks and it wasn’t the summer sun. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Bridgerton—”
“Ah!” Benedict waved a finger. “If we are to spend the afternoon together, I insist you call me by my given name.”
Her lips pressed together in protest. “If you insist—”
“Oh and I do, my darling,” Benedict nearly sang.
“Benedict,” she corrected. “What sorts of plans do you have for this afternoon? Surely you did not produce such a grand gesture only to leave our day up to chance.”
“I am feeling quite parched,” Benedict said, almost ignoring her comment. “Care for a spot of tea?” In their walk down the street, he had managed to stop right in front of a quaint little tea shop. She hardly noticed.
“And if I do not care for tea?”
“I hear they have excellent scones and biscuits,” Benedict countered. “Surely not sweeter than you, but delicious all the same.”
“Sweeter than my scones, you mean?”
Benedict raised a brow, puckering his lips lightly. She heard him correctly the first time. “So. Tea?”
They sat at a small table near the back of the shop, a hot pot of herbal tea sat between them. It looked entirely domestic, a pot of tea shared between lovers, any onlooker could have deduced as much.
“Pass the honey?” (Y/N) pointed to the small jar next to Benedict’s hand. He nodded and pushed it closer to her.
“You take your tea with honey?” He probed.
“Herbal tea, yes,” she confirmed, stirring a spoonful into her cup. “If it is black tea, a healthy amount of milk is entirely welcomed in my drink, no sugar.”
“Interesting,” Benedict said, watching her intently stir the honey until it dissolved into the hot liquid. “I prefer plain black tea myself, though occasionally my brother Colin will bring exquisite teas from his travels across the seas.”
“And Colin is which brother?” The question slipped out quickly, she hardly noticed she had asked.
“One of my two younger brothers,” Benedict smiled gently. “Not much younger than I, but I do have a few years on him, not as many as I have on Gregory, of course. He’s practically the babe of the family—save for sweet Hyacinth.”
“Eight children…” She thought aloud. “Were your parents working towards a record number?”
“I always jest that they wished to complete the entire alphabet,” Benedict mused. “But, alas, twenty six seems a bit much.” He took a sip of his tea, enjoying the lingering aroma. “So, you know there are eight of us?”
“Everyone knows your family,” she said simply. “Do not flatter yourself.”
“Of course,” he hummed into his cup, a smile brewing from his lips. “You have siblings, yes? I believe I met your brother earlier.”
“Two older brothers,” (Y/N) groaned lightly. “Jack and Harry, the latter being the one you met. They are… oh how do I put this? Exceptionally irritating.”
Benedict laughed into his drink. “Sounds quite a lot like my siblings.”
“My parents expect Jack to take over the bakery,” she explained quietly, her voice lowering. “But he has no desire to bake whatsoever. He can hardly make a sponge cake.”
“And a sponge cake is…?”
“One of the most basic cake recipes a baker can learn,” she continued. “I usually end up being the one who pulls the slack Jack creates.”
“And Harry?”
“When he isn’t galavanting across town with the ladies of the night, he is holed up in his room doing Lord knows what. Certainly nothing that helps the family business.”
“You care a lot about your family and the business,” Benedict said, stating what is clearly the obvious. “Surely your parents see it too?”
“Oh no,” she shook her head wildly. “That is the most asinine part of the ordeal! They simply do not see me as an asset to the bakery—something that should rightfully be mine should the time come.” She sighed, throwing her head into her hands. “But, I am expected to keep my head down and decorate cakes like a good girl.”
“You say that as if you are their pet,” Benedict scoffed lightly. “Do they truly expect such obedience from you?”
“I wasn’t wanted,” she said simply. “My parents merely wanted a son to take over the business—Jack, he’s the oldest. Good for nothing, as it turns out. Harry was to have an extra set of hands around the bakery, but now he’s their prodigal child. Me? I was shacked with an over glorified closet for a room because there truly was no space for me.” She sniffled. “At least they got a decorator out of it.”
Benedict tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re more than a decorator. Surely your parents see that too?”
“They’ll see some use of me when I get home,” she said into her cup. “Seeing as you bought out our store just to spend a measly few hours with me. I’m sure that in of itself is worth having an accidental daughter.”
Benedict all but scoffed at this. “You cannot be serious.”
“Not everyone comes from loving families that wish to do nothing more than pop out babies left and right,” (Y/N) deadpanned, placing her cup back on the table. “If it were truly up to my parents, they would’ve stopped after Jack. But, much like the society you come from, an heir and a spare, I suppose.”
“And you?” Benedict almost felt afraid to ask.
“It’s like you said,” she finished her cup of tea. “I am simply a pet.”
Benedict was never one for fights, but he suddenly had the urge to put his fist through a handful of faces in that moment. “That’s awful.” It was all he could say.
“That’s life,” she shrugged, picking up a biscuit and examining it closely. Her nose scrunched. “If you were trying to gain my favor, perhaps you should’ve taken me somewhere with better biscuits. It’s insulting to a baker to see such poorly made ones, especially in a place like this.”
He knew she was trying to change the subject. “I shall do better next time.”
“Yes, I suppose you—” she stopped. “That was a rotten trick and you know it.”
“I am certainly no magician, (Y/N),” Benedict finished his tea, hiding the most devilish of smiles from behind the cup. “But seeing as we’re finished with our pot, perhaps we can take a turn about the park?”
“You’d risk public outcry and a scandal for being seen with a commoner in the park?” (Y/N) asked, pulling herself from her seat. “What would Lady Whistledown say?”
“You know of Lady Whistledown?”
“Everyone knows of Lady Whistledown,” she scoffs. “I may not have the pleasure to afford her column every time she publishes, but occasionally our regulars will leave their pamphlet for me once they’re finished.”
“Only read the good bits, I take it?”
“As much as I don’t understand the world you come from, Benedict, reading Whistledown helps me fill the gaps I am so obviously lacking. Truly, even if I did grow up in your society, I doubt I’d be able to understand much more than I do now anyway.”
“I reckon you’re right,” Benedict said, a laugh escaping through his nose. “I’m not one for society anyway—never cared much for it.”
“Surely news of this would cause a scandal, though?”
“News that I am simply walking in the park with a friend? Oh how the newsboys will have trouble selling that story,” Benedict mused, leaning down towards the lady. “Perhaps if we were seen doing something less proper, I suppose. Do you wish to be doing something less proper, (Y/N)?”
She didn’t dignify his question with a response, though, the rouge on her cheeks was answer enough.
—
It only took a handful of minutes to walk to the park, the tea shop was so close already. How convenient.
The other ladies in the park, the ones of a more genteel breeding, they were dressed finer than anything (Y/N) could have put on. She felt out of place. She usually did, of course, but something about her outdated frock in contrast to how striking Benedict looked and dressed? It felt rather foolish.
Perhaps it was the notoriety of the Bridgerton walking beside her, or the self consciousness of being underdressed enough to catch the eyes of anyone walking past, but it felt like she was a spectacle—something in a museum or on display. She was holding bright light, nearly shouting at everyone that she was not enough, not worthy to be in this park, let alone with this man.
“I am tired of walking,” (Y/N) said suddenly.
“We have only just begun,” he laughed. “But if you require a respite—”
“Let’s sit,” (Y/N) said just as quickly, practically running to the edge of the pond. Perfectly out of sight to everyone.
“How secluded,” Benedict mused. “I daresay, I never thought you’d be so agreeable—”
“Hush,” (Y/N) admonished, holding a finger up. “I am simply in need of a break—away from prying eyes.”
Benedict nodded, not daring to pry further. He watched her slump to the ground, her dress skirt billowing around her like a cloud before settling to the gravity. He continued to stand. “I rather like this park.”
“A park is a park.”
“Have you been before?”
“Here?” She shook her head. “Obviously not.”
“My family, we would come to London during the social season,” Benedict explained. “Our usual residence is out in Kent—anyhow, my father had this spectacular notion to come to the park every week as a family. Looking back, it was probably to save face and show a united Bridgerton front.”
She looked up at Benedict, who was currently plucking a few leaves off of the low hanging branches of the tree. “Sounds wise.”
“He was the wisest,” Benedict agreed. “Keeping the ever-growing number of Bridgerton children entertained became a sport. Anthony, Colin and I were always squabbling, drove my mother rightfully insane, so, my father had a bright idea.”
“Paste your lips together?” She offered.
Benedict knelt down, close to the edge of the water. “No, but I do not doubt that idea crossed their minds,” he laughed, bringing the leaves in his hands to view, “my father suggested racing.”
“Horse racing?”
He shook his head. “We’d each pick a leaf and follow it to the other edge of the pond—kept us entertained for hours, running back and forth to reset our leaves and chase them down.”
“Smart man,” she hummed, genuinely impressed by the late viscount’s cleverness.
“So, pick your contender,” Benedict said softly, displaying the spare leaves like cards in a deck.
“You are serious?”
“Dead serious, I’m afraid,” Benedict clicked, pushing his hand a bit closer to her. “Come on, humor me.”
She looked down at the leaves and back up at Benedict, his blue eyes rivaling the color of the pond. Taking an interest in the middle leaf—it was the longest and skinniest—she plucked it from his fingers. “This one.”
“Excellent choice,” Benedict said cheerily, dropping the other leaves. “I am more inclined to a smaller one—seems they move faster down the shore.”
“Size isn’t everything, Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) crossed her arms, resting them on her knees. She would never dare to admit it out loud, but she was having a bit of fun.
“Ah, perhaps not,” Benedict jested with her, her jab not even shocking him in the slightest. “But, I reckon it will be a close match regardless.”
After insuring that the lovely lady in his company was watching his movements closely, he set the leaves down on the surface of the water. “Finish line is by that tree over there,” he pointed, finally letting go with his other hand.
“May the best leaf win,” she giggled. Giggled? Good Lord. A crooked grin cracked on his face, focused too intently at the company rather than the match at hand. “Are you not going to chase them?”
“And leave you?” He scoffed. “Perish the thought.”
“I just thought,” her gaze was caught on the leaves, still floating down the edge of the pond—slower than she anticipated, “well, I suppose I wanted to get the whole picture of your family tradition.”
“Shall I run along the coast, then?” Benedict asked playfully, rising back to his feet, thumb pushed towards the water.
“Only to humor me,” she shrugged, not even fighting the smile on her face.
“Well, in that case,” Benedict began to remove his jacket, throwing it beside her. With a light jog he caught up to the leaves, they hadn’t gone very far anyway, perhaps if it were a windier day he’d have a faster time to keep up with. “You are in the lead!” He called out.
“Brilliant!” Her hands were clasped around her mouth, a cone to help amplify her shout. His smile was like the sun, warm and inviting—she wished she could spend the day in such a warmth. Benedict practically jumped for joy when the leaves made it to the final stretch, crossing to the rocks on the shore. Nearly falling into the water, he managed to scoop the leaves up and jog back to the woman in the grass. “Well?”
“Well, what?” He asked, nearly out of breath, smile still pulling his lips upward.
“The winner?”
“Ah,” he fell to the ground, sitting comfortably next to the baker’s daughter, pocketing the leaves. “A secret.”
“So you lost?”
“Oh, I assure you, if you won I would be celebrating you until the end of our time together,” Benedict sang. “However…”
“I lost?” She scoffed.
“A gentleman is humble in his successes,” he explained carefully. “We could go again?”
“No,” she said, humor in her voice. “I think that was more than enough excitement for one afternoon.”
“For once, we agree,” he said. “May I…? Could I ask you a question?”
“If you are proposing marriage, I am afraid I’ll have to decline—”
“No, no,” he laughed heartily. “Nothing of that sort.”
“I suppose I could find it in myself to answer a different question, then.”
“You were cold to me this morning,” Benedict noted, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. “But not on the day we met. What changed?”
She sighed, pulling her knees to her chest, gaze locked out on the now setting sun. “I… am not entirely sure.”
“Surely it was not the leaves—”
“The leaves may have helped,” she admitted. “Humanized you, in a way.”
“Was I inhuman before?”
“Naturally,” she retorted. “I mean, is it not obvious?”
“You were protecting your feelings,” Benedict finally realized. “All this time. You did not wish to be hurt—truly afraid I was merely stringing you along as an elaborate prank or ruse? Is that right?”
“How could someone like you ever have an interest in a pauper like me? The baker’s daughter and the son of a viscount?” Tears dotted her eyes, threatening to fall. How she came so close to crying was beyond her. “It seems implausible.”
Benedict dropped the grass, fully looking at the lady beside him. She had made herself nearly as small as she felt. He had hit the nail on the head. A gust of wind blew by, bringing leaves down from the tree above.
“I do not think less of you because of whose daughter you are,” Benedict said softly, removing a stray leaf from her hair. His fingers guided her head towards him, begging for her to look his way. “I care only about you. Getting to know you. Frankly, your father seems like a mostly alright man, but I do not wish to know him the way I wish to know you.”
“You may wish for that,” she sniffled. “But what would the rest of your world think? You, trying to court a woman below your status—”
“The only people who should be caring so deeply about my potential courtship are my intended and me,” Benedict said sharply. “The rest of the ton can frankly kiss my rear end.”
This raised a laugh out of her. It was bubbly and pure, almost like the one of a child. “You truly don’t care what people think about you?”
“No,” he shook his head. “I do not.”
“How freeing that must be,” she said.
“Being the second son has its perks,” Benedict looked at her, really looked at her. “No one expects me to be proper all the time. I am given the freedom—financially and otherwise—to do as I please. I do not have to worry about inheriting a title, siring heirs, that is my brother’s responsibility.”
“Why me?”
His head quirked. “I do not understand?”
“You could court any girl of the ton,” she said. “And I am sure more than half of them would never turn down a chance to be courted by a Bridgerton—”
“They wished for the title,” Benedict sighed. “To be Viscountess Bridgerton, to marry my older brother and have the notoriety. That ship has already sailed, I'm afraid. You are kind in thinking that many women would be after me though.”
“You are not ugly,” she listed, “you have a great humor about you, a pleasant demeanor and a kindness in your eyes. The women of the ton must be foolish, then.”
“Perhaps the foolish one is you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You truly think those things about me?” He asked, awaiting a response. Her jaw was slack, clearly not about to give him any sort of confirmation to his question. “I believe your words, I do. But perhaps you should look at yourself with such eyes?”
“I-I don’t understand—”
“Our class differences aside,” Benedict said, as if it was easy to just ignore that, “while I was taken by your beauty at first—your eyes are something the Gods themselves forged in the fires, stars rivaling their shine—it was your continuous personality that kept my attention. Granted, it helped you were once covered head-to-toe in flour, it really brought out your features.”
Her cheeks flared at the recollection of their first meeting. “It was not my finest moment.”
“And you were vulnerable all the same,” he continued. “You cared not for who I was, yet, you showed an interest in me anyway. You may not agree with that statement, but you and I know it to be true in some shape or form. The only thing that holds you back is this notion on our classes—”
“Perhaps I am interested in you,” (Y/N) cut him off. “Perhaps I wish to be courted by you, attend balls and dress in pretty gowns, drinking expensive drinks and whispering sweet nothings. But that is all that it is—a wish. I know my place in this world, it is a right shame you have such a fantasy about yours.”
“(Y/N)…”
“No,” she stood up, brushing the blades of grass and leaves off of her skirt. “I hoped that you would understand, Benedict. I agreed to this afternoon because it felt like I had no choice in the matter—you practically bought my time, after all. What I did not expect,” she hiccuped, “I did not expect that I would enjoy such an afternoon.”
“You enjoyed yourself,” Benedict rose to his feet, desperate to match her gaze head on. “Why can you not allow yourself to have that joy? Allow your heart to follow its call?”
“I do not have such liberties to listen to my heart,” (Y/N) said softly. “I must use my head for every choice I make. An afternoon with you allowed my family to have enough money to make it through the end of the season without going hungry—”
“And an afternoon with me has brought such happiness to fill your soul for much longer—”
“Happiness has little importance,” she scoffed. “I would rather see my family healthy and surviving than even think about a notion like happiness or joy.”
“You have said yourself that your family treats you like a pet,” Benedict took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He needn’t explode in the park. “Why do you care so much about them if they care so little for you?”
“Because it is all that I know!” The candle had finally reached its end, burning out with a sizzle. “All I have ever known is my life in the bakery, rising early to make the dough, peddling samples to those walking by and hoping—praying—that they step in our store and purchase something. Because a sale of a few loaves of bread or cakes meant we could afford to buy vegetables for a soup, something to eat with our days old bread.”
“If you were with me, you wouldn’t ever need to think about things like that again,” Benedict said, his voice wavering on a whisper. “I could support you, support your family.”
“And that is precisely why I do not wish to continue this,” she raised her finger. “I do not need an affluent man to come and save me—”
“But I could help—”
“I do not need your help!”
“You obviously do!”
She took a step back, the tears from before finally reappearing in her eyes. “O-obviously? Because I am of a lower class you believe, in that giant and empty head of yours, that you can simply win my favor by saving me? Offering riches and experiences that I should be grateful and thanking every God that will listen that you are even willing to give me?”
“You know that is not what I meant—”
“You believe that because you are who you are, and I am who I am, that I couldn’t possibly say no to you,” her gaze flicked with anger, a fire looming. “While the ladies of the ton have their choices, I do not, so it makes it easy for you to pine over someone who simply has no choice in the matter.”
“No—(Y/N)—”
“This afternoon has been lovely,” (Y/N) spat, looking to the skyline—the sun had finally set, “but I am afraid that the afternoon is over. I shall be taking my leave.”
“Please reconsider,” Benedict begged, willing to try anything to get her to stay. “I wish to know you.”
“A shame, then,” (Y/N) said, turning around. “Wishing for something so foolish.”
—
“Her head is in the clouds,” Jack whispered.
“No, I reckon her head is in the dough,” Harry mumbled back to his brother.
“I can hear you, you know,” (Y/N) ground out, working hard on a rather unruly clump of dough that simply would not cooperate. “And if I can hear you, you are close enough to be helping.”
“But that is so exhausting," Harry groaned, leaning against the countertop. “Besides, how are you ever going to impress your betrothed if you do not keep such toned arms?”
She threw the dough against the counter—hard. “He is not my betrothed.”
“But you wish for him to be, no?” Jack giggled, playing with a few burnt buns—a mishap of his own creation.
“I say, Sister,” Harry said. “Why do you not pursue that Bridgerton? He clearly is interested in you, or, have you forgotten all of the flowers he has sent?”
The front of the shop was practically a florist’s dream—covering every free inch of counter space with beautiful bouquets. Her mother simply refused to throw out such lovely blooms, even going so far as to fish the first one out of the trash after her daughter made quick work to dispose of it. “How could I possibly forget about the man who continuously flaunts his wealth to get what he wants?”
“He wants you, surely that is not lost on you?”
“Of course not,” she continued to knead, a few hairs falling into her face. “But he is so insistent on getting me to agree to his whims simply because—”
“He has money, (Y/N),” Jack scoffed. “Good money. Christ, you spent half of a day with him a few weeks ago and we were able to finally purchase meat for dinner. Imagine if you married him—”
“So you want your sister to be married off for your own financial gain?”
“What else would you marry for?” Harry laughed. “Love?”
She stopped kneading. “Why do you not go and try to marry a wealthy lady, then? Hm? Surely a woman of genteel breeding would be much taken by the idea of a rugged baker—”
“That Bridgerton is already interested,” Harry shrugged. “At the very least, if you end up with child he would provide enough funds—”
“First you wish to marry me off, now you wish for me to have his bastard?” She couldn’t help but laugh, ignoring her hard work on the counter. “Why can I not make my own choice? I do not wish to be with Mr. Bridgerton, I wish to stay here at the bakery.”
“Fucking stupid,” Jack scoffed. “If I were in your shoes, I would let the gentleman pay for anything my heart desires—forget about this wretched place and move on with my life.”
“And abandon our legacy?”
“You mean my legacy,” Jack corrected. “I am to inherit the bakery, it is my birthright. You? I suppose I will allow you to continue your grunt work here—”
“Who else will do the baking?” Her voice rang throughout the kitchen. “Mother and Father are nearing the end of their career, both becoming too frail to continue with the rigorous task of this place. I am the only one—the only competent member of this family who can keep this shit afloat! And you want me to just… give that up?”
Jack stood a little straighter. “It was never your place.”
“Harry is set to inherit the bakery now, you know it. Yet someone had to fill the shoes of the family fuck-up instead, no?”
It was a sharp pain, suddenly and all at once against her cheek. It took her only half a second later to realize what had happened, her other brother’s face was only a confirmation on the fact.
“Jack, what the hell?!” Harry practically screamed. “You hit her?”
“She insulted me!”
“You deserved it,” Harry said, pushing his older brother back. “She only spoke the truth—”
“So I am allowed to be walked over by my baby sister?” Jack scoffed, pushing Harry back. “A woman? No fucking chance, mate.”
Her hand had covered her cheek, already feeling warm to the touch. Everything was too much, too loud, too bright. She had to get out of there, had to forget all about the dough on the counter, forgetting all about the brother who had just smacked her silly. The back door wasn’t locked—no surprise as Jack was the last one to use it—making it easy for her to push into the alleyway and into the rain.
Rain.
Pelting like bullets, the wet drenched her clothing in a mere instant, making it harder to escape. Where had she planned to run anyway? She had nowhere to go, her entire world was contained to the four walls of the bakery, never daring to explore the rest of it, not when her world was already so encompassing, so inviting.
In theory, anyway, it seemed.
So, she ran. A mix of running and walking, she kept moving forward. By the time she left her part of town, she knew her brothers would not bother coming for her. The rain alone was a deterrent, even Harry, the one who loved her more, wouldn’t dare to brave the elements just to reel his sister’s whims in.
A splotch of purple entered her vision. How long had she been moving? Did she even expect to come here? Did her subconscious send her in this direction for a reason?
She knocked on the bright door before she could find out.
“Good evening, ma’am,” a butter said politely. “What business do you have?”
“I am here to call upon Benedict Bridgerton.”
—
His quill had soaked the parchment below with ink, having left the tip upon it for far too long. He had been lost in thought, contemplative, especially the last few weeks. Benedict knew he had hurt her, had insulted her very being, yet he still tried. Every other day he’d send a fresh bouquet to the bakery, a new poem attached to the stems. Perhaps she read them? He knew it was more likely that she burned them, in the ovens or otherwise.
At the very least, he knew that the blooms were being displayed at the shop. Hope. That is what it had given him.
“Mr. Bridgerton, you have a caller,” a butler knocked, opening his door a crack wider.
“A caller? In this weather?”
“She seemed rather insistent,” the butler shrugged. “She is waiting in the drawing room—I already sent for tea and towels for the lady.”
“A lady is here to see me?” Benedict quirked his brow.
“A Miss. (Y/L/N),” the butler said. “No calling card, soaked to the bone and she seemed a bit… out of sorts.”
Benedict had already risen from his desk, practically pushing past the staff member to reach the stairs. Missing a step or two, he made it to the drawing room and shoved the door open. In the center of the blue room was (Y/N), dripping onto the wooden floor, shaking like a leaf.
“(Y/N)…”
“I-I had nowhere else to go,” she began to explain. “I did not even realize I was here until I knocked on the door. It was foolish—”
“No,” Benedict shook his head, reaching to take her hand in his own. “It is quite alright. You are more than welcome to be here.”
His hands were warm, or perhaps she was just that cold, making them feel like a fire. “I am so sorry, Benedict.”
“For what?” He asked genuinely.
“Everything?” She offered. “I-I am not sure of what, exactly, but I feel that I need to apologize.”
“You needn’t apologize for anything,” he said. “Not with me, not ever.”
She looked up at the ceiling, afraid to make contact with his blue stare. “I needed to get away. My brother he—Jack hit me.”
Benedict froze, his entire body went rigid. “I’ll kill him.”
“I suppose I deserved it,” she shrugged, now looking at the ground. “Talking back to him, assuming things that could never be—”
“A man has assaulted you,” Benedict squeezed her hand tighter. “Brother or not, he put his hands on you. You did nothing of the sort to deserve such a thing.”
“I don’t think I can go back there,” (Y/N) said softly. “Perhaps this was just the moment that gave me clarity. Opened my eyes, so to speak.”
Benedict took a good look at her face, red and splotchy, whether it was from the smack or the tears, he could not tell. “Tea is on the way, I shall request a cold compress for your cheek—”
“I do not wish to impose.”
“You shall wish for nothing here,” Benedict said quietly, firmly. “You will stay until the rain lets up, or, you provide me with a suggestible plan for your next steps.”
“I cannot go back,” she finally looked up at Benedict. “As much as I would like to, I simply cannot.”
“If you do not want to go back, I will support you. If you want to leave town, the country even, I will support you,” he said seriously. “Please allow me to support you.”
“I could never ask you for that—”
“You are not asking, I am offering,” he clarified.
“Benedict…”
The rain seemed to lessen, if the pelting against the window had anything to say about it. The noise had dimmed, not as violent as before. “To know that you are safe, that you are cared for, that is all I care about.”
So, in the center of the blue Bridgerton drawing room, soaked to the bone and dripping all over the floor, she kissed him. It was a sudden thing, pulling him down towards her lips, the contact much quicker than she had expected. He returned the favor in kind, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight, kissing her in a way he had yet to truly experience.
If his hands were like a fire, his lips were an inferno. Fighting for dominance, it was all encompassing. How had she gone so long without a feeling such as this? The burn was coming from inside, not a superficial one atop her skin as she was quite used to, but this burn, this feeling, she could find herself craving this.
“I-I am sorry—” she pulled away.
“Never be sorry,” Benedict shook his head. “Not for that, not ever.”
“I should not have done that…”
“No,” he agreed, a chuckle leaving his lips, “but how exhilarating it felt, regardless.”
His thumb ran lazy circles on her jaw. She leaned into the touch. “I do not know what to do, where to go…”
“But you cannot stay here…?”
She smiled sadly. “You know me scarily well, Benedict.”
He thought for a moment. “So… leave.”
“Excuse me?”
“Leave town, leave the country—”
“I do not have the means to do such a silly thing.”
“I will pay your way.”
She scoffed, trying to pull out of his embrace. He wouldn’t release his grip. “Benedict…”
“I told you, I wish to support you. Emotionally, financially, I want to be there for you,” Benedict said. “Even if we are not—if you do not want to be together romantically, I want to ensure your safety and your health, your well-being. A friend.”
She tried to find the lie in his eyes, in his tone. Coming up empty, she had no excuse to not believe him.
“France,” he said, as if struck by lightning.
“France?”
“I hear only the expert bakers study in France—I have no doubts you could go to learn,” he explained. “I could pay for your travel, housing, you name it. Ask for it, and it is yours.”
“I doubt anyone would want to teach a woman, no matter how lovely a thought it might be.”
“I have a cousin,” Benedict explained. “Her and her husband own a café—I am quite certain that they would love to hire an expert baker to add to their inventory and menu. You could earn your own income, make your own way. A fresh start.”
“A fresh start…” she repeated. “That sounds too good to be true.”
“I shall write to her in the morning,” Benedict said, holding her hands again.
“And you…?”
“I will only come with you if you want me to join,” Benedict said slowly. “I will not trap you. I want your happiness, your freedom.”
She nodded, understanding.
“I think France sounds nice,” she smiled. “Will you write to me?”
“Every chance I get.”
“Even if you are vexed with me?”
“Especially if I am vexed with you.”
She kissed his lips again, sweeter and softer than the first time.
“Sounds perfect.”
—
A year. An entire year had passed and she couldn’t recall a happier time in her life. The only time that something could have rivaled it was a visit to a tea shop followed by a respite by a pond—in handsome company all the while.
They kept correspondence, just like they promised. Every week came a new letter, a new story to be told by the poetic Benedict Bridgerton. She tried to rival his words, explaining every detail about France, about her new life, but something was nagging. She missed him. They had grown close over the correspondence, leaving her heart wanting more. But, she knew when she left for France it was to fulfill her dreams, leaving a foolish notion like love on the back burner.
“(Y/N),” Marie, the Bridgerton cousin, called out behind her. “We are in need of more buns.”
“I just restocked the buns,” (Y/N) giggled, turning to the blonde. “What? Has someone mysteriously bought the lot?”
“Oui,” Marie said with a jest, heading into the storage room, “perhaps you should go bring more out?”
“You are in luck, the last batch just finished resting from the oven,” she said, carrying a tray on her shoulder, “I will bring them out with haste.”
“I am sure he will appreciate it.”
(Y/N) faltered, hand already pressed to the door leading to the front shop. A tingle ran through her spine, her heart picking up to a freeing flutter.
Could it be?
“You know, I would buy your entire stock,” the man hummed, looking thoughtfully into the display case, “but I fear I would be recreating a rather taxing memory for the both of us.”
“Benedict,” she gasped, nearly dropping her tray.
“You look radiant,” he mused, that wicked grin of his breaking on his face. “Much like the first time I saw you—covered in flour.”
“I am in my element,” (Y/N) said sweetly, “just as you would expect.” She had noticed that Marie and her husband were not in the café, the sign flipped to close. “You planned this.”
“Do you insinuate that I bribed my distant cousin to close her café to give you the day off, travel all the way to France, hoping I could spend the day with you?” Benedict scoffed playfully. “You truly do not know me at all.”
“I do not think Marie would take a bribe,” (Y/N) said slyly, knowing how much of a champion the cousin had been for the baker and viscount’s son to get together.
“She refused payment,” he admitted, agreeing with her notion. “But, was ever eager to see you get out of the kitchen and enjoy yourself.”
“You hadn’t written to me in two weeks,” (Y/N) said, walking around the counter. “I was worried.”
“I needed to refrain from our correspondence, I fear I would have let the surprise slip otherwise.”
“Smart man,” she hummed.
“I am known to be smart occasionally,” he shrugged.
“What are you doing here?” She finally asked. “N-not that I am not happy to see you, of course, but as you had said, this is a surprise.”
“I came to study art,” Benedict said, a hand in his coat pocket. “I felt that if I truly wanted to learn the craft, I needed to learn from the masters—many of their works are housed here in France. I even began to rent a little home in town, finding the need to stay a while.”
“That is the only reason?”
Benedict’s gaze softened. “Of course it is not the only reason.”
Her heart fluttered again.
“It is only fair that I try this again, correctly and without the prying eyes of society, this time,” Benedict said, clearing his throat and spinning around.
“Correctly?” She giggled, watching him twirl to face the door.
“Ah, good morning miss!” Benedict said, turning back to face (Y/N). “I must say, you look ever-so-pretty—tell me, do all bakers have a beauty such as your own?”
“I would wager no,” she said, trying to keep serious. “Most of the bakers around here are men.”
“Shame. Might I learn your name? It seems only fair—I fear I might just die if I do not know the sweet sound of it.”
“(Y/N),” she sang. “My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”
“Benedict Bridgerton,” he stretched out his hand, reaching for her own. She allowed him to take it, a soft kiss was placed on the back of her cracked hand—a working hand, one that she was proud to have.
“You are very charming, Mr. Bridgerton,” she hummed, looking deeply into his blue eyes. “Pleased to make your company.”
“I assure you, I am more pleased to be in yours,” Benedict insisted, kissing her hand again. “Tell me, do you have plans this afternoon?”
“It seems my schedule has cleared up,” she looked to the sign on the door and sighed. “Why? Do you have any suggestions on how I should spend it?”
“Might we take a turn around the park? A friend of mine has written to me about just how lovely one nearby is, I reckon I would like to see it for myself.”
She smiled brightly at him, as if he held the world in his hands. Instead, he held two leaves between his fingers—brown and cracked, but clearly treated with such care. They had been the same ones from their time at the park the first go around, she was nearly certain. Why else would he bring dead leaves with him?
"Leaves?"
"You see, my family, we have this tradition of racing with leaves—I would very much like to share it with you. These two in particular seem to be very lucky, thought it would be best to bring them along."
His smile melted her heart, endearing and thoughtful in the same breath. She could get used to a smile like that.
“Well… what are we waiting for, Mr. Bridgerton?”
#benedict bridgerton#bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton imagines#this is a doozy and i am sorry#but only a little bit!!!
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𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐌 || 𝐁.𝐁.
summary: you’ve been receiving love letters from a secret admirer and you’re desperate to reveal his identity.
contains: benedict being fucking adorable, fluff n’ angst!
a/n: first part of this multi-chapter fic.
It was a day like any other. You woke to the humming of the maid, the hum-drum of life about the house. You rubbed sleep from your eyes as you reluctantly got out of bed. You selected your gown for the day after scouring through your wardrobe of various shades of pastel. You bid good morning to the servants as you made your way downstairs and joined your family for breakfast. There your mother urgently reminded you (as if you had forgotten from one day to the next) the importance that you find yourself a suitor, someone of good rank.
But you barely had any mind to pay her; for it was elsewhere, with another. You cut your breakfast short, unable to bear any more talk of suitors and marriage and a life without love. You were buttoning your coat when an angel descended the staircase. Well, it wasn’t truly an angel; only your lady’s maid, but the letter she held in her hand couldn’t have been any more sacred to you. She passed it to you and your eyes met hers, the looks you exchanged almost like those of two best friends trading gossip, or in this case, your own little secret.
You slipped the sealed envelope into your coat pocket before finally stepping out the door and down the front steps. Outside, London was alive and full of the colors of spring. Though you could’ve walked the streets for hours on end, you opted to head straight to the park and sat down on the nearest bench. You sifted through your pocket, pulling the envelope out. You couldn’t help noting that it smelled of lavender and cinnamon as you gently broke the seal. There, the words you had been waiting anxiously to read.
Dearest,
I dreamt of you last night. I dreamt of those eyes so deep I was tempted to swim in them. Of that laugh so melodious I was tempted to turn it into a symphony. Of the lips so sweet I was tempted to kiss them. Alas, I know not if I shall ever reveal myself to you. I know you must be dying to figure me out. But you must understand I couldn’t bear to be rejected by you. You drive me mad! When I am awake, you occupy my every thought, and when I sleep you visit me in dreams! I am a tormented man, but oh, how smitten I am with my torment! I clutch it to my chest and carry it with me wherever I go. How could I not? When it was you who gave it to me. Such a state of delirium is the one you have driven me to, simply by existing. Anyway, all this to say that I love you and always will. Write to me, my love. I’ll be waiting.
You pressed the piece of paper to your heart, beating faster than ever. You folded the letter back and let it fall into your pocket once more before starting for the Bridgerton house. It took every fiber in you to go on with this written affair for months on end without uttering a word to your good friend Daphne. But you felt it was something too precious, too fragile to speak of; like a creature as easily spooked as it is beautiful.
This was what you repeated to yourself in your mind when you arrived at the Bridgertons’, and Daphne swore you had a glow about you only people in love wear.
“Come now, who is it?” she teased as she delicately sipped her tea. “You must tell me!”
You shook your head with a playful roll of your eyes. “There truly is nothing to tell, Daph. You must believe me.”
“Nonsense!” she poked on. “I wish to know the lucky gentleman who has you so obviously smitten.” It was then that the others entered the parlor. Anthony, with Kate on his arm, and Colin and Benedict following suit. “Fill us in on today’s gossip, sister.” jested Benedict as he lounged on the nearest chaise with his usual happy-go-lucky air. How handsome he looked today, his jet black hair shiny as ever, his grey eyes twinkling with mischief.
“There’s nothing to share, you busybody.” Daphne scolded him lightly. “Mind your own affairs.” At this, Benedict shot you a cheeky look, one you couldn’t help but return. You wondered if your secret admirer was as handsome as he was, as sweet and boyish.
“Oh!” Daphne exclaimed suddenly. “I forgot to tell you! We are holding a ball this weekend! Isn’t that exciting?” You felt yourself light up at the news. Exciting indeed. Many things can happen at a ball, dances shared and souls intertwined, and perhaps a certain identity revealed.
tagging: @velvetcloxds @oweninadaydream @holdthegirrrl
#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x y/n#bridgerton#benedict bridgerton fluff#benedict bridgerton oneshot
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Bridgerton shade of blue
Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader
The Viscount is set on finding a wife this season, and you are trying again for your second season. While Anthony is dealing with trials between Edwina and Kate Sharma, you are dealing with trials of your own. Benedict Bridgerton is ever present in your life, but your pursuit to find a husband must come first. Society is ever so exhausting.
{Masterlist}
{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}
Season Two
Chapter Nineteen - Together again
You had sat your mother down when you got home. She called for tea, and you sat down beside her, wondering how you were going to tell her the news. Your poor mother had been stressing out since she revived the letter from your uncle, your father's brother, about taking back his money to support you both while in London.
"Mother, I... Our situation may have come up with the Bridgerton's earlier, and I have recieved a very generous offer from them." You start slowly.
"Are you to wed one of them?" She sits up in her seat, looking at you eagerly. Of course she would assume that.
"Um, no."
She looks rather deflated with your answer. "What is it then?"
"The Viscount has offered to take me under his wing and set me a dowry aside. We don't need to rush to find me a husband. Anthony will look after us. Violet had offered to help find a suitor."
Your mother now looks elated. "Oh, darling, that'd wonderful!" She hugs you.
You smile. You feel like a huge weight has been lifted off your shoulders.
"Oh, this is wonderful! I must send the Dowergess something in return. My gratitude to that family will be forever endless."
You chuckle at how excited your mother is. You haven't seen her this cheerful in quite some time. It felt good to see her smile again.
"Flowers! I shall send her an abundance of flowers!" Your mother rises from her chair and goes off in search of a maid who she can send down to the flower shop. You roll your eyes with a smile.
Things were looking up again.
A couple of days later, you're at the Bridgerton house. It's as lively as you remember it being last year. Eloise was practising some dancing with Gregory while Violet watched on. Gregory didn't seem to mind dancing with his sister, but Eloise seemed to mind quite a lot. You knew how she felt about this whole thing.
Benedict was sitting on the couch nearby. You were sitting opposite him, watching them the two siblings dance.
"I do not think she is very good," Hyacinth says, coming over to sit with you.
"I believe she can hear you," Benedict says to her in response.
"I can hear you," Eloise confirms.
"Ow! Watch my feet!" Gregory looks up at his sister after she steps on his foot.
"Might we be done?" Eloise asks.
"If you are to catch the queen's eye after that interruption, you must be perfection." Violet states.
"I believe it was the interruption that was perfection," Eloise sighs.
"Shocking that Eloise Bridgerton was not named the season diamond, was it not?" Benedict says casually.
At that exact moment, Anthony comes strolling in. "Was anyone else aware that dear Colin has decided to add Albania or some such place to his itinerary as he gads about the world?"
"How wonderful it must be to travel," you say softly.
"I rather prefer the comfort of the countryside," Benedict comments.
"I do miss the country."
Benedict looks up from his sketchbook, of which he has been working very hard on, to look at you. "Then you need to come to our family estate."
You find yourself looking away shyly. He's still disappointed he didn't see you all summer.
"How lucky for him that he can simply decide to do that," Eloise remarks.
"Joining us for tea, Anthony?" Violet asks.
"Uh, I'm afraid I must pass. Too many calls on my funds today. Now that the season has started, I need to fill your coffers at the modiste and oversee the hiring of extra staff. And your ring. When you get the chance, I need it."
You look at Anthony silently. He was serious.
"The fields by Ferryhallow. I was thinking we might hold off on leasing them due to the hard frost." Anthony continues.
"I beg your pardon?" Violet looks at her eldest son.
"The frost hardens the soil, saps it of nutrients," he explains. "That is very well, but you requested my ring?"
"Father's betrothal ring."
"Did someone catch your eye at the presentation, Brother?" Benedict asks with a grin.
"I thought all the young ladies looked beautiful," Hyacinth chimes in.
"Not particularly. And all the young ladies looked the same. Like young ladies. I'd simply like to be prepared for when the opportunity presents itself," Anthony clarifies.
"The opportunity?" Violet asks.
"I've already compiled an index of the season's eligible misses and arranged interviews."
You look at Anthony in disbelief. He was serious. Those poor ladies.
"Interviews!" Violet chuckles. "Dearest, I shall be more than happy to give you my ring when you find someone with whom you are very much in love. Besides, it is in safekeeping at Aubrey Hall."
"Very well."
Violet slides up to the sofa Benedict is lounging on and looks at him. "See that he is quite well."
"Me?" Benedict asks, looking up at her.
"I'm not in need of coddling," Anthony says from across the room. "I assure you all, everything is in order."
Anthony checks his pocket watch and then takes his leave rather quickly. Everyone watches him go in silence. You turn to look at Benedict once Anthony is gone, and he just sighs, looking back at you.
Anthony Bridgerton was a stubborn fool.
Later that afternoon, while Eloise went to the market with Penelope, an endeavour you were not invited to take part in, you spent the hours with Benedict in his makeshift studio. He called it a studio, but it was merely a room he came in to sketch quietly away from his family.
You liked that about Benedict. The way he finds comfort in his own little bubble. He cared very little for society and all its trails. He was more tranquil.
You watch him sketch away, his attention deep into the pages in the book. Last year, he granted you the privilege to come see his hobby. He shared his work with you, and you complimented it. Even now, you had had no idea just how much you had impacted him and his art.
He rubs gently at the charcoal on the page, smudging it carefully. You watch with great interest as he examines his work. He pulls a slight face. While he decides if he likes it or not, you admire him.
Benedict Bridgerton is handsome, kind, funny, and gentle. He has an eye for detail and a smile to charm any lady who is lucky enough to witness it.
He would have no trouble finding a wife of he wanted to.
The thought makes you look down at the table quietly. It would be so easy for him to find a perfect match. Someone who compliments him and would look after him. You are not so lucky.
Though you hope to catch someone's eye at the ball tomorrow night, you won't hold your breath. You're not a pretty Bridgerton.
"Are you alright?"
You look up and meet his beautiful blue eyes. You swear you've never seen a shade like them before.
"Yes. Sorry. I've just been thinking."
"I can see that," he chuckles.
You smile softly and turn your eyes back to his book so you won't have to look at him again. "Do you ever plan on getting married?"
"Has mother put you up to this?" He teases.
"No, I just... You'd make a good husband."
"Is that what you've been thinking about?" He chuckles. "If I can help it, I'll remain a bachelor."
"I see." You sigh softly. You shouldn't be surprised. You won't mention marriage again to him.
Benedict watches you for a moment and then turns the page in his sketchbook. He sketches away quietly, glancing at you every so often. You don't even notice, too caught up in your thoughts again.
You were so beautiful when you were loat in your mind. No. You were beautiful all the time. Benedict hoped you knew that.
He did the best he could in a short span of time, taking in as many details as possible. You were a vision in his eyes. When he was sat fired with the sketch, he put his book down on the table and slid it over to you, nudging you out of your thoughts.
You look down at the book and see the sketch of you looking back.
"Benedict... you're so talented."
He chuckled softly. "I just want you to see yourself the way I do. I know how important it is to you that you find a husband and look after your mother. You'll find someone."
You look into those beautiful blue eyes and for just a moment with that he would be the one.
You look away. "Thank you."
Benedict also finds himself looking away. Perhaps he had been a little too forward there. However, he doesn't regret telling you what he thought.
You only sit there a few moments more before excusing yourself and heading home. It felt a little strange staying there for any longer.
Benedict sat alone in that room, unable to draw anymore. His mind was preoccupied now.
He wished you had stayed.
When you got home, your mother noticed how quiet you were. She watched you retreat upstairs alone. You wanted to call out to you and check you were alright, but she didn't.
You stayed up in your room for the rest of the afternoon. Only coming down for dinner. Your mother didn't ask why you had become so quiet. You would tell her if you wanted to.
It wasn't until you finished dinner that you spoke up. "Mother?"
"Yes, dear?"
"I'm going to make you proud. You know that, don't you?"
Your mother smile. "You always make me proud."
You smile back. You knew she meant it. Despite everything you and she had been through with losing your father, losing the country house, your uncle backing out of looking after you, you still had each other and you would make her proud. Every single day.
"I'm going to look after you," you tell her.
"You don't need to worry about me."
"I always do."
You both smile at each silently.
You swore to yourself there, and then that this year, you would do better. This year, you will find your place in the world.
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#Bridgerton shade of blue#benedict bridgerton x reader#female reader#Bridgerton#dragon writes#season two
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My Dearest: Part 1
Pairing: Colin Bridgerton x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 1,838
Summary: You've been apart from Colin for months due to his tour after his brother's marriage to Viscountess Kate Bridgerton. One letter stood out to you the most, putting you in for a loop until you see him again.
Content: No use of y/n, reader's last name is Bennett for fic purposes but feel free to imagine another surname that's suitable for you, pining, friends turned lovers and a lot of fluff. Reader has a younger sister and an older brother.
Next
My Dearest,
If only you had accompanied me on my travels. I know that you would love Spain. It is rich in culture that we read in your father's journals. Everything that he had written is nothing short of the truth, and you must see it for yourself one day. Maybe next time you will join me on my travels because everything I have seen has opened my eyes more than a journal ever could. I am counting the days when I can see you again so I can tell you more. Until then, our written words will suffice.
Sincerely Yours,
Colin Bridgerton
It had been two months since you received the letter, and you couldn't put words to paper in response. There had been constant correspondence between you and Colin since he had left on his travels, but none of those letters were prefaced with "my dearest". The words made you believe he made a mistake because your name wasn't written on the letter like it always had been. Yet the envelope had your name in his neat handwriting, so there couldn't have been in an error.
Why would he address you as so in his letter?
The relationship you had with Colin was mere of like a sibling type relationship. You've known the Bridgerton family since you were a child considering their estate was one over from yours in London. Your parents have been long time friends, so it was natural that their children were friends as well.
You made your debut with the eldest daughter Bridgerton, Daphne Bridgerton. Daphne was your best friend, and ever since she married the Duke of Hastings, she had been preoccupied with marriage and children. You were always happy for her, but saddened when she left the Bridgerton estate. While she was the diamond, you were also busy finding suitors of your own that season.
There were suitors that called on you that had a lot to offer, and Lord Brixton was the most promising out of them all. Unfortunately, the proposal never came. You never understood why, but you were not devastated unlike your mother was. Lady Whistledown, of course, wrote about your failure of finding a husband, but you never thought of it as a negative thing. Perhaps Eloise had an influence on you.
However, now, you read over the handwritten words of Colin Bridgerton before you drifted to sleep ever since you received it. A longing in your heart brewed that you were of unaware of before for the man you used to think of as a brother. He had almost begged you to come because you stated that finding a husband was something that you didn't long for, but you would have had to decline. It wouldn't have been appropriate to go on a worldly adventure with a man you weren't married , or related, to. That would've certainly disgraced your family if word got around.
Now with the start of a new season, it was your sister's turn to debut. You couldn't be distracted by one handwritten note as you focused preparing your sister to be presented to the queen. She looked absolutely stunning as she stood in the room with Francesca Bridgerton, and it would be lucky if either of them were crowned diamond of the season.
Your mother had shooed you to go stand with your brother as every debutant was presented one by one. Eloise had waved you over as she spotted you walk in, and you immediately linked arms with her as she whispered something in your ear that made you both giggle.
A presence made your gaze lift, and then you felt your cheeks go warm. Colin Bridgerton, your dearest friend, made his way to stand by you two. Eloise had said something witty to him and he responded with a witty comment of her own before she looked at you.
"Colin just arrived this morning," she mentioned before her gaze went back to the room.
Your gaze met with Colin's, no words exchanged as you looked at each other. It was like no one else was in the room as your gaze focused on him as you took in his appearance. Traveling had done him well. Before you could say something, his sister's name was called and your gaze adverted to watch her walk in. A breath that you didn't realize you held in was slowly released.
Once your sister was presented, you turned to Eloise and excused yourself before you glanced to Colin and gave him a faint smile. Before he could say anything, you left to meet with your sister and mother to go with them to the garden while your brother stood back to catch up with Colin.
You didn't realize that Colin's gaze was watching you as you walked away without a word to him.
You also didn't know that he desperately wanted to reach out and stop you from walking away.
Your brother questioned you when you returned home after the garden party since you made yourself scarce and stood by your sister the whole time. Colin had been eager to speak to you, but you darted away at any time he came close. You watched as he went to different groups of women to hide the fact that he had been chasing you. Your brother had noticed from afar as he stood accompanied his wife around the garden but he had said nothing then. The excuse you had was that you were tending to your sister because you wanted her season to go well. He knew better than to push the topic, so he left you alone.
You caught yourself reading the letter again that night.
Lady Danbury's ball had been highly anticipated, especially that Queen Charlotte did not name her diamond yet. All of the debutants had to make another good impression and be in the queen's favor. Your sister remained hopeful, but her only wish was to find love in the room filled with suitors. You smiled as the bachelors approached and whisked her away to dance, which made you stand on the sidelines until you made eye contact with no other than Colin Bridgerton.
There was a panic that went through you as he made his way towards you, and you felt the need to get some fresh air. You escaped out the doors as quickly as you could until you heard your name being called out. Even when you thought you were fast, his steps were faster. You were halted when he had reached out to gently grasp your wrist, forcing you to come to a stop.
Your heart raced and you shut your eyes for a brief moment before you found the courage to turn to face him.
"I've been trying to talk to you but you keep evading me," he stated, slowly releasing the hold he had on your wrist. "Are you avoiding me?"
Yes.
"No, of course not, Colin. I've been distracted by my sister's debut is all," you responded as you looked him in the eyes. It wasn't exactly a lie. "I'm sure you understand with two sisters being in society," you added shortly.
"Oh, yes, of course," he agreed and nodded his head. Though he didn't bare the responsibility when it was Anthony who did. All he knew was to stay out of the way, but he understood why you were so distracted. "I have missed you dearly," he then said.
That word was close to what he had called you in that letter. My dearest. They echoed in your mind as you looked at him, taking him in again to note his appearance in detail. "I have missed you as well," you spoke honestly after some pause. A show of relief crossed his features when you said it in return.
"Why did our letters stop?" He suddenly asked, almost rushed like he couldn't stop his mouth from speaking once he thought of the question. He grimaced because he saw the look on your face. Wide eyed and shocked. "I apologize for being forward, but I need to know," he spoke and cleared his throat as he teetered on his feet uncomfortably. "Was I too bold in that last letter I wrote you? That's the only thing I can think of that made you stop writing," he rambled.
It had been intentional. The questions that you had in the past two months were answered. Colin Bridgerton meant to call you his dearest. That alone made your heart race more as you stared into his eyes. The blue eyes that reminded you of the ocean. Beautiful but a storm could brew in them at any time.
You could see something in his eyes that you have never seen before. The uncertainty. The eagerness to know what made you stop corresponding with him on his travels. There was that boy you saw who was scared to lose whatever it was between you because of how he noted his letter.
"Well, it certainly caught me off guard," you admitted.
A soft chuckle left his lips, his gaze adverted from yours for a moment. "I do not regret what I wrote," he stated, his gaze return to yours. There was a softness in his eyes that made you drawn to him. You didn't realize that he had stepped closer to you, but he was close enough to where people would whisper if they saw you in this position. "I meant it when I said I was counting down the days until we saw each other again," he spoke in a whisper that only you could hear, "There is more I do want to tell you."
You were then at a loss for words as you watched him lean closer, but before you could say anything he immediately stepped back when someone called your name. The trance you were in was broken as your mother approached with your sister.
"Ah, there you are! Your sister wants to retire for the evening," your mother stated and then she smiled at Colin, "Oh, it's very nice to see you, Mister Bridgerton. Looking as dashing as ever."
"Thank you, Lady Bennett, it's nice to see you as well. I suppose I should see what my siblings are up to," he said to your mother, his charm shone through. He gave a nod to your sister and then looked at you again. "Good night then," he said, nodding his head to you.
"Good night," you said and returned the gesture.
His smile was warm before he headed back to go find his family. You watched him go then looked to your mother and sister, joining them to wait for the carriage to retrieve you.
You were thankful that your sister and mother couldn't hear your heartbeat, and you were more thankful that they didn't notice if you were blushing but you felt the warmness of your cheeks.
Colin Bridgerton now consumed your every thought as your sister gushed about the fun she just had.
A/N: There you have it! I took it in my own hands to write a Colin fic and I'm pretty proud of it. Everything was just kinda thrown together, but I love where my mind took it. This may be a 4 part series depending on where my mind takes me. I hope you like this as much as I liked writing it. <3
Please follow @yunawrites and turn on notifications for that blog if you're interested to get notified on when I post. :)
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Colin: I think I am jealous of Penelope's suitor.
Inner Colin, Every Bridgerton, the bee that stung Kate, the plants that Sir Philip has:
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Season Three Bridgerton Predictions (Mostly Just Stuff I Want To Happen)
With Charithra Chandran not coming back in season three, they're going to excuse Edwina's absence by saying she married the prince and is living with him in Prussia.
We get flashbacks of Colin and Penelope as kids, where they were closer, but then we see them get distant because of ✨️society✨️ sending them on different paths.
Francesca, Gregory, and Hyacinth start having a few relevant and independent character moments and actions other than just being 'the younger ones' and have a greater impact on the story.
So. Much. Jealousy. From. Colin. And he doesn't even know it. He sees all their lessons paying off, and he gets jealous, but then he has no idea what he's even feeling. He'll act so passive aggressive with a potential suitor and Penelope's will be like, "What's wrong with you; we had a plan?" And he's like, "I don't know??" "Well stop." "I can't????" He'll land to the conclusion that he just think these men aren't good enough for Penelope for so long. It'll come up in a big argument and she's all like, "Well whose good enough for me? Someone like you?" And then he's like "Yes! Oh." And Penelope is so annoyed because NOW this guy likes her? Just as she was trying to move on? But the thing is she still likes him, so things progress.
Eloise and Penelope avoid each other like the plague, but when Eloise finds out Penelope and Colin are kind of having a thing, and she flips out. She doesn't want Colin to get hurt, so she tells Penelope to steer clear from Colin or she'll tell everyone she's Lady Whistledown. So she does and Colin is very confused and hurt. Then Penelope and Eloise go through some sort of shenanigan and end up having a deep conversation, making up and are once again friends. But then Colin accidently does find out Penelope is Lady Whistledown and is hurt, and Eloise becomes Penelope's #1 defender.
Kate's pregnant, and has the baby within the season. Anthony is freaking out about this; about being a dad, about the baby being okay, about Kate being okay, and how difficult the birthing process will be (trauma from Hyacinth being born). Meanwhile, while Kate is worried about the baby, she's more so focused on what responsibilities she now has as a Viscountess.
They don't reveal the Whistledown secret, at least not to the general public. I think the Bridgerton's will find out, as well as the Featherington's; so when Portia finds out, she sees Penelope in a completely different light, and they have a bonding moment. Maybe in lieu of a big reveal like in the book, at the end of the season the Queen finds out, and instead of exposing her, now she and Penelope sort of work together, aligning their agendas. This elevates the importance of Penelope's work, low key spying for the Queen and reporting on things to manipulate general society. BUT I think Eloise is leaning more to the politically radical side of things, and Penelope's work is now sort of leaning in the opposite direction of that. Despite this, they still find a way to be close friends, despite their very different agendas.
Colin does a big gesture on how he's proud of being with Penelope, that he'll flaunt it in public for all to know.
#bridgerton#polin#colin bridgerton#penelope featherington#eloise bridgerton#edwina sharma#francesca bridgerton#gregory bridgerton#hyacinth bridgerton#anthony bridgerton#kate sharma
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The only one of the MCs of the ikemen series with some lore is Kate. She has the most stupid lore but she does have lore.
"Oh mah gawd I had to kill my heart cuz I see people's hopes being crushed when I deliver their letters asdfgjk I'm so sad uwu." Shut up you're pathetic. Stop mopping about letters breaking hearts. That's literally so fucking stupid.
Then there's Mai. She has 5% lore. Not much but something at least.
Maybe Emma does have lore idk she's giving orphan lore vibes
We need an MC with tragic lore or something cool. That was so stupid. We need a game in which everything revolves around the MC and her past and not the suitor.
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The more I look at this still, the more details I see. And the more I figure out what these two are up to. It seems weird that Kate is suddenly so much shorter than Anthony. And at first glance, there's something almost awkward about the way he's holding her. But, if you look closely at the bottom edge, you can see papers. I admit to not clicking what that was about, LOL. This morning, I finally noticed the bottom half of Anthony's body, and it clicked. His knee is bent, and he's kind of leaning.
Our girl is sitting at a desk, probably actually working on something (a prospective suitors list for Francesca? Planning her first ball as Lady Bridgerton? Going over the household accounts? Who cares? Viscountess Bridgerton has work to do, and I love that for her), and her besotted fool of a husband comes up behind her, leans over, and wraps his arms around her. And now I'm squealing, LOL
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Unexpected Christmas
Gerri Fields x GN! Reader
Warnings: Fluff
Taglist : @natashamaximoff-69 @canvascoloredin @wizardofstories @louxbloom @wandanats-goodgirl @the-ox-fan20 @ladyqueenxoxo @aemilia19 @wandaromamoff69 @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop @marvelogic @dopeyouth @karsonromanoff
18+ MINORS DNI
As Christmas break was fast approaching, Gerri’s parents had been pressuring her to tell them about her love life, asking if she had any suitors and if whoever it was would come with her for Christmas. So that was how Gerri ended up pleading with Y/N in their dorm room.
“Please, they will not give up until I bring someone home with me.” Gerri begged as Y/N sighed.
“You could always just not go home.” They suggested as she shook her head. “What’s one christmas? Tell them you have a shit ton of work to get through before the next semester starts.”
“No!” She threw herself on their bed, looking up at them with her puppy dog eyes. “Please just come with me, you’re not doing anything for christmas so it could be fun for you.”
“Well, they might tell me some embarrassing stories of a younger Gerri Fields.” They teased as she swatted their chest, making them laugh at her cute pout. “Fine, I’ll come with you.”
“Thank you.” She jumped on them, wrapping her arms around their neck as she smothered their face in playful kisses, although they knew she would never see them as they saw her, it never stopped the butterflies erupting in their stomach.
Y/N was extremely nervous as they drove to Gerri’s childhood home, listening as she sang along to the radio.
“Don’t you forget about me.” She sang along to her favourite Simple Minds hit as they smiled. “I’ll be alone, dancing, you know it baby.”
“How far are we?” They asked her as they interrupted her performance.
“Only around 10 minutes now.” She told them as she smiled at the streets she grew up on, a sense of peace filling her until they pulled up outside of her parents house. “So, we know the story about us?” She questioned as they nodded.
“We’ll pull through this, ok?” They reassured her as they took her hand in theirs, a gentle smile on their face as she took a deep calming breath.
“Let’s do this.” She told them as they got out of the car, rushing to her side and opening the door. “You didn’t have to.” She told them as they smiled, leaning in to whisper in her ear.
“You want me to pretend right, this is me when I am in a relationship.” They told her as she blushed lightly, feeling their lips press against her skin. She watched as they soon got their bags from the trunk before leading them to the door. Sighing before she unlocked the door and being pressed by her parents.
“Mom, Dad, this is Y/N.” She introduced them as they shook both of her parents' hands.
“It’s nice to meet you both, Gerri has told me so much about you.” They told them with their charming smile.
“Go and put your bags in your room, and come and have some tea.” Kate told them both as the two nodded, they watched as Y/N carried all of the bags as they followed Gerri up the stairs. Once they were inside, she closed the door and sighed loudly, causing Y/N to look at her.
“What’s wrong?” They asked her softly as she shook her head.
“This was a stupid idea.” She whispered as they gave her a gentle smile. “A fucking bad idea.”
“Hey, we will get through this.” They told her softly as she just nodded. “Ok, I won’t leave you.” They reassured her before pulling her in for a hug.
Once the two had joined Kate and Danny in the living room, Y/N held Gerri’s hand on their own.
“So, how did you two meet?” Danny asked as he gestured between the two of them.
“College.” The two answered in unison.
“We were paired for a project on our music course and we did a number.” Gerri started.
“So you play guitar?” He cut in as he pointed at Y/N.
“I do sir, and the piano.” They answered him.
“Double threat.” Kate mumbled to Danny who hid his smile. “So tell us about your family.” Kate asked them as Gerri glared at her mom.
“You don’t have to.” Gerri told them as they gave her a small smile.
“It’s ok.” They reassured her. “My parents died while I was just starting high school, my brother and I were put into the system and well, I don’t know where he is right now since they split us up.”
“I’m so sorry.” Danny spoke sincerely. “We didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s ok.” They shook their head. “You want to know the person who is possibly going to be Gerri’s life partner, it’s completely understandable.”
“Why don’t you two go and relax while Danny and I start on dinner.” Kate told them as Gerri decided to drag Y/N out of the house for a walk around the neighborhood.
“I’m so sorry about that.” Gerri started as she walked beside Y/N. Soon stopping when they held her hand.
“It’s ok.” They told her. “They just wanted to know the person who they let into their home.”
“But.” She tried as they shook their head.
“It’s fine.” They told her before they continued their walk. Gerri telling them as much as she could about her childhood and growing up.
Christmas Eve, Y/N was helping Danny cook hot dogs and burgers on the grill, the two just conversing before he decided to ask them a serious question.
“Do you see a future with my daughter?” He asked them as they nodded.
“I do, sir.” They answered him honestly. “From the moment I first saw her, I knew that I needed to know her, be her friend and maybe be her everything if she would let me.”
“You love her.” He observed as they nodded, feeling relief as they spoke their true feelings.
“I do, I guess it’s from the moment I looked into her eyes and heard her laugh for the first time.” They told him.
“Have you told her?” He asked them as they shook their head no. “You should tell her. You only live once.”
“Y/N, can you help me?” Gerri popped her head outside which they just nodded, following her out onto the front porch.
“What’s up?” They asked her as she closed the door.
“I heard.” She spoke shakily. “Everything you just said, did you mean it?” She asked them as they remained silent. “I need to know if you meant it or if it was all pretend.”
“I meant it.” They told her. “I meant every word Gerri. You’re my best friend and I have been in love with you for as long as I can remember.” They sighed as they took a nervous step closer. “I guess everyday that I have spent with you has made me fall more and more.”
Gerri stepped before them, cupping their face as she looked up into their eyes. Slowly leaning in before she spoke.
“I love you too.” She told them before closing the gap, kissing them intensely as their arms wrapped around her waist. The two finally felt at peace and neither needing to dance around their feelings.
#elizabeth chase olsen#gerri fields fanfiction#gerri fields#gerri fields x reader#very good girls fanfiction#elizabeth olsen x reader#elizabeth olsen imagine#elizabetholsen#lizzie olsen x you#lizzie olsen x reader
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You know sometimes I think what would have happened if Kate, Sophie, Penelope had proper paternal figures around and I always come to the conclusion that Anthony, Benedict, and Colin wouldn't be able to get away with half the shit they do in their books if they did.
Kate and Penelope come from homes full of women, and their fathers are at least a few years passed by the time they meet their respective Bridgerton in the books. Poor Sophie also technically comes from a home full of women too but we don't count them except for Posey.
Like just imagine an au of Mr. Sharma, the Earl of Penwood, and Lord Featherington being alive and being good dads with these cads running around their daughters.
Mr. Sharma comes to town with his wife and daughters for a London season. The family can't really afford more than one season so they got to make this count. Then here comes the Capital R Rake, who claims to want to court one daughter but keeps making bedroom eyes at the other. When they go to Aubrey Hall Mr. Sharma pulls Anthony aside and questions which of his daughters did Anthony want to court exactly? He then tells Anthony he expects an answer and an official asking of courtship from him by the end of the trip. Anthony then has to hide from Mr. Sharma as he plans the details of his sudden engagement to Kate, and he may over gift on his end. He knows there's no way of hiding his mark on Kate's chest, and Mary for sure told her husband.
Mr. Sharma makes sure to spread the word back in London to be weary of the Bridgerton cads. While yes, socially and financially, they be a good match, their scandalous behavior will corrupt your daughters.
The Earl sees this first hand when Benedict is circling Sophie like a dog in heat. No, sir, you will not corrupt my daughter! Sophie now has the protection needed to force Benedict to put in the work for an actual courtship. None of that be my mistress here good sir! Serious suitors only!
Lord Featherington didn't believe these rumors of the Bridgerton cads at first, yes they were rakes but most gentlemen their ages had explored by that point before settling down with their wives, if they even stopped after that. But such behavior towards a gentleman's daughter? Unthinkable. His own beloved youngest daughters have been friends with the Bridgertons for years, and they've always been proper. Well, Lord Featherington had forgotten that while yes, Penelope has been friends with the Bridgertons for years. One certain Bridgerton had been away at school for most of that time, and she only really knew him in passing. In comes when Penelope is first debuted and Colin Bridgerton is home from his Grand Tour to finish out his schooling. Oh no, why is Bridgerton C looking at his daughter like he looks at a biscuit? Lord Featherington holds his breath, wondering if this year every year is when that cad Colin Bridgerton tries to corrupt his precious daughter.
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A list of what I believe are the main symbolic elements of Bridgerton S3
(I’ll try to keep descriptions as brief as possible)
1. Lighting. The first and last episode titles are “Out of the Shadows” and “Into the Light”. So, all lighting, particularly on Pen, will be very significant. Throughout seasons 1 and 2, she is often cast in shadow, while the Bridgertons shine in the light. In season 3, we’ll see more direct light on her.
2. Mirrors. Yes, I know, but it’s not just about sexy times. Mirrors have been used to tell us about Pen’s secret identity, LW. Her mirror self is the true, brave, witty, brilliant self that she keeps hidden. While you’ll often see the other ladies of Bridgerton checking themselves out in mirrors (in addition to the Featheringtons, I’ve also seen Daphne, Kate, Edwina, and Violet looking into mirrors), you’ll never catch Penelope doing so. That’s the deeper significance of the mirror sex scene- Colin encourages her to confront that self.
3. Greece. This is Colin’s big symbolic element. Greek mythology will be all over the costume and production design. Obviously, we know on a base level that he loves Greece. On a deeper level, Grecian symbols will be used to reference Ancient Greek stories and mythology that will add layers of depth to the love story. Ex) Homer’s The Odyssey is about a man who must journey throughout and around Greece in order to get back to his wife, Penelope. During his journey, Penelope has to fend off a bunch of suitors who are trying to get with her. Even though she thinks Odysseus is dead, she still loves him.
4. Yellow/Blue/Green. I mean, c’mon.
5. Swans. The Bridgertons are mute swans (the regular kind). Pen is a black swan.
Sir, that is a swan.
6. Flowers. Pen is a wallflower. And actually, the meaning of flowers have always been directly explained to us (lilacs, “symbolic of first love”, tulips “they symbolize passion”). Maybe we’ll get another quote about the symbolism of flowers in season 3?
7. Writing/letters/quills/journals. A Polin love language. 🪶💌📔 Literally though, when Pen first asks anyone about sex (yeah, it was Marina, awkward, I know but 🤷), she’s made to equate it with letters.
That’s all I got for now I think.
If you’re just watching Bridgerton because it’s pretty and cute and sexy, totally fine. Watch it however you want to watch it. If you want to go further, really feel things, maybe get a greater sense of catharsis, or at least get more of the ‘oh, damn!’ factor out of it, pay attention to the above elements. They will be shown and not told. If you are stuggling to understand what the symbols mean, hmu. I’m happy to help. I’ve only been on Bridgerton tumblr for a week and a half, but I can say I’ve already seen great analyses from @bingiessm @ktbeets & @sea-owl .
And if there’s anything I didn’t include, but should have, please let me know. I want to learn more, always. 💛
#bridgerton symbolism!#yall already know about the candles#bridgerton#polin#bridgerton season 3#bridgerton s3#netflix#penelope featherington#colin bridgerton#shondaland#kanthony#nicola coughlan#luke newton#symbolism#mirrors#film studies#friends to lovers#romance#love#bridgerton parallels#lady whistledown#penelope x colin#colin x penelope
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For the reverse tropes ask: reverse fake dating for Philoise
Okay so I made it a Reverse fake dating S3 Philoise au
Anthony sighed looking over at his family as he reviewed the guests for their next dinner " Baron Honeywell, Lady Astley, Madame Olsen, oh and for tonight's dinner the man who Eloise paid off to pretend to court her, will also be showing up so I want you all to be perfectly polite"
" I've said it before he's actually courting me !" Eloise snapped
"Of course he is" Daphne patted her shoulder
" We're just wondering how much you paid him to promenade with you" Hyacinth added " Sir Phillip doesn't look like he's strapped for money "
"I didn't pay him off! He asked me to promenade, it was his idea to dance with me at the Cowper ball" Eloise huffed
" We believe you sister, he also brought you flowers voluntarily" Benedict hummed "And whatever blackmail you have over him will never leave this room "
" Fine, Eloise didn't pay him off, I make a correction " Anthony rolled his eyes, but before his sister could thank him for defending her he continued "the man Eloise blackmailed into faking a courtship" The rest of the family made various humms of understanding
Eloise eye twitched, looking dangerously like she was about to punch someone " is it really so hard to believe that we actually like each other?"
Her siblings looked at each other and shrugged "Yes"
" You have to admit El, Sir Phillip is so normal and you are so.... You" Colin said gesturing to all of her being
"Hey what's that supposed to mean?!!"
"We don't mean to offend sister, it's just that you do tend swear off marriage in front of every man you meet" Francesca tried to explain gently " And Sir Phillip has two young children, that's not exactly a spring bachelor"
" He also likes gardening, medicinal tea brewing and estate management" Kate piped up ticking off her fingers " And you... The last time you picked up a flower arrangement pamphlet you used it as a cover to attend a political rally "
" He's a good boxer, and a good marksman but dislikes practicing both" Simon pointed out, seemingly being the only one who had actually spent time with Sir Phillip "You on the other hand almost got yourself shot chasing leads of lady Whistledown"
" You're fresh off a scandal, he's fresh off a failed marriage, admit it Eloise, there's no way you're actually courting" Colin pointed out cynically
" But we are! And I see that we don't have a lot in common but I do like him, I like him a whole lot, and I like his children" Eloise protested " why won't you believe me? he's been trying really hard to win you all over because he also likes me"
"Of course he does and just in time to make people forget about the political rally business" Violet Bridgerton announced entering the drawing room giving Eloise a wink " Sir Phillip has been the picture of the perfectly devoted suitor, whatever threat you have him under, it's certainly working" she said giving Eloise a proud pat in her shoulder
Eloise sighed, how could she convince her family that her relationship with Sir Phillip was real without revealing that they've been bonding over the loss of their loved ones and a secret love of banned books, in fact most of the things Eloise talked with Sir Phillip would either land her in scandal sheets again or in jail. But he was an avid listener and answered all her questions, no matter how impertinent or illegal. She was teaching Sir Phillip the finer points of social interaction because he seemed to be worse off than her when it came to facing crowds, while he taught her about the things he'd learned in University, Eloise didn't think they were that badly suited and welcome his courtship openly.
The problem lay in the fact that nobody believed they were actually courting! By this rate Phillip would propose and everyone would still think it was a ruse. God help her
An: I had so much fun writing this one
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Thoughts so far (Ikevil)
🄲🄾🄽🅃🄴🄽🅃 🅆🄰🅁🄽🄸🄽🄶: This is nothing but just a ramble, a bit suggestive, op is clinically insane.
*･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿ ✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･*
Okay so I finally tired out Ikevil and I just wanna say....
I'm in love with William. I have known him for no longer than an hour but I'll commit war crimes for him. Wtf how can someone be so lovely??? How can someone be so captivating that other people become this obsessed with them?
I can't even begin to fathom what I'm feeling right now.
I'm so confused and intrigued because usually, the recommend suitor tends to be really cold or the route turns out to be boring. Basically they tend to be the golden cow.
But William is an anomaly. He's not cold or rude or harsh or as morally gray as others.
He seems quite level headed, polite and morally good.
At least from my impression of him so far.
Also Harrison is so 😍😫😩🙌🙏😫😭💀🤔🤤😓😬🤒🤗😘😚😡🤬😤🤯🧐😳🙄😳😳😳😍 🙇♀️🤰💃💃🏃♀️👀👁👁👀👁👁💦🔥💦😻😫😖
But I still didn't pick his route for now. I'll probably go for him after William.
Strangely enough, Liam doesn't interest me in the slightest bit in the romantic aspect. But I do want to be his friend, if that's even possible, cause he seems to be suffering.
Also Harrison gives off traitor vibes which is even more 😍🤗😍😳🙌😩
April 24... I'll keep it in mind and see for myself.
I don't know what it is I like about Ellis. Maybe it's just that I'm into size kinks and he's one tall goofy little goober. Also the fact that he wants to make you happy 😏 HUEHWUHEHEHEH
Jude Jazza. Is giving frollo vibes. Idk why IT'S GIVING FROLLO FROM HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME. Also he has a resemblance to Silvio. The tone, the 'woman', the hair, the face, the attitude.
I'm sorry but Elbert is giving FUCKING MAGPIE VIBES. It's kinda adorable. Until he steals your jewelry.
Idk what to feel about Roger. What's even more unsettling is the uncanny resemblance with Tray from Twisted Wonderland. I associate Tray always with good things but Roger gives off none of that and that clash makes me feel unnerved and queasy.
Victor... I don't know what to feel about him. His carefree and easy going nature makes me even more weary of him.
I don't like Alfons. Period.
He just radiates toxicity. He looks like he's an avid player of mind games and I do not wish to participate.
Yeah... That's about all of them for now.
ALSO KATE
KATE KATE KATE
I think I'm having another gay moment here cause goddamn is she beautiful and do I feel for her. I might just make another oc and ship her with Kate... For science..
I have bearly started the route but I'm already in love with William.
*･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿ ✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･*
𝙰𝚕𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝... 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞. :)
#ikemen series#ikemen#ikevil#ikemen villains#ikemen villains jude#ikevil victor#ikevil jude#ikevil william#ikevil harrison#ikevil liam#ikevil ellis#ikevil elbert#ikevil alfons#ikevil oc#ikevil discussions#pointless rambling
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I need to talk about Pen's "glow-up" because it's something so special to me and so relatable.
In the book, Pen can change her wardrobe only because Portia gives up on her and doesn't make an effort to dress her up anymore to attract suitors. This is sad, but it does tell you that Portia genuinely thinks her horrible taste is good. But this left Pen to figure out what SHE wanted to wear without her mother's imposition. She likes more sober colors and she actually knows what looks good on her. She's making her own style and growing up. 🥹🥹🥹🥹
I say this is relatable because I also had an overbearing mother who imposed a certain kind of clothes on me for years. Now that I am living alone, I finally buy clothes based solely on what I want. It's a freeing experience to be able to choose what you want. And I'm so here for Pen to get that.
I will also say that the colors and style were not the problem per se with Pen. It was the fact that she hated them. There's not one ball in which she doesn't complain about her outfit. Because she hated the dresses, she was uncomfortable and she transmitted that negativity. Edwina thought she looked pretty, and Pen immediately thought she was making fun of her 😭. Like Edwina said "it's about how one wears it." Kate looked radiant in yellow. Prudence and Philippa liked what their mother chose for her and it showed. But Pen hates it, so she should be able to say so and not wear it.
As we have seen in the tiny glimpses of her, she has amazing taste. Madame Delacroix helped her, but Pen also knows what looks good. And I find absolutely amazing that Pen still retains traces of Portia's style. She has sober colors, but the silhouette is much more fitted than regency dresses, and that's just Portia's influence. She's still her mother's daughter, she's still a Featherington.
Anyway, I love to see a woman getting the reins of her life. Clothes and hair may seem like a vanity issue, but they're not. I spent my whole life listening to my mother telling me that my hair was the most horrible type ever when I only needed to style it correctly. This is important for a person's confidence and Pen should be able to dress however she wants.
I love this for Pen.
Of course this is not going to solve her problems, but it's a step forward.
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"And one day, your name didn't make me smile anymore."
You are a star. A sensation. Everybody loves you.
And get this;
You're cast in a hit tv-show called "Encore", it's a sweet small-town story about a group of kids unlikely to hang out, finding each other one day in an oddly specific circumstance, where they find out how alike they really are.
Cliche? Probably. But, the people you met on set changed your life.
You're a lot like your on-screen character in that way.
Anyways, you're big and it's crazy, unlike anything you could ever imagine. Cameras, interviews, fans, autographs, blah blah blah.
And then,
you die.
FEATURES
-come back to life
-say hello (and bye, then hello again) to Hollywood
-5 potential suitors mmmm....(two female, two male, one secret)
-watch as everyone you've loved loses themselves in grief
-play as female, male, or nb
-maybe try not to die again okay? for all our sakes?
This game is just supposed to be fun! This is my first IF, and while I can be serious, I'd like this to be a fun little project to escape to (for you and for me).
But... this is also Hollywood we're talking about...so there might be some heavy topics unsuitable for some readers.
TW for: mentions and uses and abusing of substances (drugs), sexual harrassment of a major character, optional sexual content (not extremely explicit, it'll probably be pretty vague), implied death of a major character (besides MC), and maybe more.
That list (as well as this intro page) will be updated as I write and flesh out some character bgs.
MAIN ROs
Vanessa "Nessa" Villanueva | F | SHE/HER
The "It Girl". She was cold when you met her but she’s even colder and emotionally unavailable than ever.
romance-able by all genders
Kate Santos | F | SHE/HER
She is awkward, but not shy. Her dark and sarcastic humor get her in some trouble with the more conservative of people.
romance-able by all genders
Kyle "Ky" Taylor-Hara | M | HE/HIM
The model and heartthrob, Ky Taylor-Hara. He came into the cast with the last season and you’ve known him to be soft-spoken and quiet.
romance-able by all genders
Austin Arison | M | HE/HIM
Austin was a child actor and has been in the industry for as long as he can remember. Being in "Encore" was the only time he felt like he actually wanted to act.
romance-able by all genders
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DEMO TBA | PINTEREST | RO APPEARANCES |
Asks are always welcome and encouraged!! Please ask about my silly little game <3
#twine wip#interactive fiction#if wip#if : encore#if game#upcoming if#intro#interactive fiction wip#wip#twine if#twine game
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