#bridgerton series rewatch | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alewritesfics · 1 month ago

Text

Bridging Realities

ℑ. 𝔅𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤....𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔢𝔰

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: slow burn, unedited, angst, eventual smut, playful banter, happy ending

You sighed, your eyes half-lidded as the familiar orchestral strains of Bridgerton filled her room. You sat cross-legged on your bed, the soft glow of the screen illuminating your face. There was nothing more comforting than watching the series you loved so much. Rewatching the third season once again

Personally, you enjoyed the second season so much more but then again, maybe it had to do with Anthony Bridgerton being the focus and not the other brothers.

Lady Whistledown’s narration sounded through the speakers, narrating the final words of the last episode, slowly turning into Penelope’s voice. You leaned back against your pillow, letting the sound wash over you. You knew the world wasn’t real, that the characters were fictional, yet somehow, Bridgerton had a hold on your heart.

Your days were filled with spreadsheets, emails, and endless Zoom meetings. Romance was more of a distant dream than a reality, your last date having ended with awkward silences and mismatched expectations. In comparison, the universe of Bridgerton seemed impossibly alluring and the dream world every girl wished to live in

But as the credits washed over the TV, your eyelids grew heavier. The candle’s lavender scent, the one you lit to relax, mingled with the faint hum of the screen, and soon, you fell asleep.

The first thing you noticed was the sun, bright, golden, and far too harsh for your liking. You groaned as it hit your eyes, squinting as you tried to roll over, only to feel the crunch of grass beneath your hands. Grass?

Your eyes snapped open and you sat up abruptly. Gone was your bed, your cozy room, your TV. Instead, you found yourself on the edge of an immaculately trimmed garden path. The air smelled of damp earth and blooming flowers, and birds chirped in the distance.

Panic bubbled in your chest as you took in your surroundings. You were outside, in what looked like the perfectly manicured grounds of a grand estate. But what caught your attention most was what you were wearing.

A corset cinched your waist tightly, and the skirt of her butter-yellow gown flared out around you. The material was heavy, the embroidery intricate, and your gloved hands trembled as you touched the neckline.

The ridiculous color made you want to barf, not to mention that when you grabbed your hair, the first thing that caught your attention was that it was red.

“What the—” you started to curse

“Y/n Featherington!”

The shrill voice cut through your confusion like a knife. You turned sharply, your heart racing. A woman in a garishly bright gown approached her, her face a blend of exasperation and disapproval. You had to admit it took you a moment to recognize her, but when you did, your jaw dropped.

“Lady Featherington?” you whispered.

The older woman pursed her lips. “What are you doing dawdling out here? Have you forgotten we have breakfast waiting? Come along, child!”

You scrambled to your feet, your mind reeling. Lady Featherington? None of this made sense. The last thing you remembered is watching her on Tv happy for Penelope but-

“Are you quite well, or has all that daydreaming rotted your brain?” the matriarch continued, waving a handkerchief impatiently. “The season is already underway, and we can’t afford for you to be making a spectacle of yourself.”

You stared, words failing you. Lady Featherington’s impatience only grew. “For goodness sake, do not stand there gaping like a fish! Move, Y/n!”

And with that, she turned and marched off toward the sprawling estate ahead. You hesitated, glancing around as if someone, anyone, might jump out and explain what was happening. When no one appeared, you hurried after Lady Featherington.

The Featherington estate was exactly as you remembered it from the series: bright, bold, and bordering on garish. But you weren’t familiar with it since they didn’t show it much, or at least the full house, all they showed was Penelope’s room, the drawing room and you could say the entrance.

You followed Lady Featherington through the grand halls, struggling to keep up in your unfamiliar gown. Did they really need to wear corsets all day? You felt like you couldn’t breath. Each step felt surreal, like you were floating through a dream.

“Do fix your hair before you sit down,” Lady Featherington snapped as they approached the dining room. “Honestly, Y/n, you’re one and twenty not one and ten. One would think you’d have learned to present yourself properly by now.”

You scowled but kept quiet, your mind too preoccupied to argue. Twenty-one? The words hit you hard. That was your real age. How did this fictional world know that?

Your thoughts were interrupted as you entered the dining room. Seated at the table were three familiar faces: Penelope, Prudence, and Philippa Featherington.

You froze, they looked just like their on-screen actors, down to the way Prudence leaned too close to the mirror she carried, fixing her hair with exaggerated care. Philippa was giggling over something no one else seemed to find amusing, and Penelope sat quietly, her expression kind but weary.

“Good morning, Y/n,” Penelope greeted, her voice soft.

“Morning, Pen” the words left your mouth before you could think, as if it was something familiar to you, something you’ve always done.

You sank into a chair, your movements awkward under the weight of the hideous dress you wore. Prudence snorted. “Honestly, you look half asleep. Did you even bother to brush your hair this morning?”

Your hand instinctively flew to your hair. You had no idea what it looked like, only that it was red, and kind of curly, but the smug smirk on Prudence’s face told you it wasn’t good.

“Leave her be,” Penelope said gently, giving you a sympathetic smile

“Leave her be?” Lady Featherington exclaimed as she swept into the room. “How can she hope to attract any suitors if she looks as though she’s rolled out of bed? This is her second season already, and we’ve yet to secure an offer!”

The words stung, even though you knew they weren’t meant for your real self. But the reminder that you were apparently in the start of a second season in Regency-era London was enough to snap you back into focus.

“None of us have attracted any match yet, have we?” You try to defend yourself

“I beg to differ” Philippa cuts in “Mr. Finch and I are soon to be married” she giggled

You rolled your eyes “perhaps instead of worrying about your sisters, you should start worrying whether you will still remain unmarried by the end of the season” Lady Featherington told you. You decided not to respond, not wanting to start an argument.

Breakfast was an exercise in survival. You focused on eating, using the elaborate table settings as a distraction from the whirlwind of thoughts in your head. You listened as Prudence and Philippa bickered over their prospects, while Lady Featherington chimed in with unsolicited advice about how to catch a gentleman’s eye.

Penelope remained mostly quiet, though she sent you a few sympathetic glances. How such a sweet girl got born into this kind of family, you would never know.

“So, what are your plans for the day, Y/n?” Penelope finally asked.

You froze. Plans? What plans? Did people in Regency London even make plans, or were they just dragged around by their mothers and chaperones?

“Um…” you began, only to be interrupted by Prudence.

“She hasn’t any plans,” Prudence declared. “She never does.”

“Don’t be cruel,” Penelope chided.

Prudence shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

You looked down out the window, ignoring their conversation as you thought over what to do. What even is your purpose? From what you remembered, there was no fourth Featherington daughter, well, there was in the books but it was a little girl that was best friends with Hyacinth. And you are no little girl, obviously. And based by your age, you are the second eldest with Prudence at twenty- two in this season, you twenty-one, Philippa twenty and Penelope eight-teen almost nine-teen?

“Could we not have appealed to the queen, mama?” You snapped back into the conversation as you heard Prudence’s familiar dialogue “after mourning dear papa for so long, perhaps her majesty might extend her kindness and allow us to be presented again”

You couldn’t help yourself and cut in “even if you were presented again, Prudence, you still would not be declared the diamond”

“Y/n!” Lady Feather- mama, god you need to get used to calling her that, scolded, you apologized, shoving Penelope slightly as I saw her chuckling silently next to me

“I see no need to go through all of that again when I myself am already betrothed to Mr. Finch” Philippa stated, waving her hand around

Prudence turned to her “Mr. Finch may very well change his mind” she said snarkily. I sighed turning back to Penelope.

“what has you so impatient, Pen?” you asked her

She turned to face you, a small smile on her face “It is just nerves” she tried to play it off, but since you have already seen the series, you already know what it is “On whether I will find a good prospect this season… no one wants to be a spinster, but maybe I will be the unfortunate one to become so”

You chuckled, “You will not become a spinster, Pen.” You assure her “I assure you that if you don’t find a husband this season, you will the next one…and who knows, maybe it will be the person you’ve always longed for” you give her a knowing smile

“I am not that fortunate” she stands, walking towards the window.

“Penelope, how many times must I warn you to be wary of that window?” Portia called out “Do you wish to appear like a befreckled beggar spending all day in the sun?”

“Of course not, mama” Penelope turned her head to face her “My apologies” she smiled before turning back to the window

“It is here” She said happily

You watched Penelope as she stood behind the couch Prudence and Philippa occupied as they all read Lady Whistledown´s paper.

“I am off to the market with my maid, mama” She told Portia “I have just a bit left of pin money and- “Portia waved her off, gesturing for her to go

“I´ll go with you” you said to her as she turned to leave

The park was a lively scene that afternoon, filled with ladies strolling arm-in-arm and gentlemen gathered in clusters, exchanging conversation and laughter. You had chosen to take her walk alone, though Penelope had gone ahead to meet Eloise.

The events of the past few weeks still left you feeling disoriented, but you had started to settle into your role as Y/n Featherington, even though the world around you felt like an elaborate charade. You weren’t entirely sure why you were here or how you were supposed to navigate these social games, but you were determined to find your footing.

Lost in thought, you didn’t notice the tall figure stepping into your path until you nearly collided with him.

Your head snapped up, your eyes immediately opening wide as you saw him. You’ve always imagined meeting him but finally seeing him in front of you is surreal.

Your breath got caught In your throat.

Anthony.

He was exactly as you remembered—broad-shouldered and impeccably dressed, his dark hair neatly styled and his expression exuding the quiet confidence of a man accustomed to commanding attention. But seeing him here, in the flesh, was entirely different from watching him on a screen.

And he was handsome. Extremely.

“Miss Featherington?” His voice, deep and smooth, cut through her shock like a blade. Your eyes widened. How did he know- ah, right, Penelope

You blinked, trying to regain your composure. “Lord Bridgerton,” you managed to say, dipping into a shaky curtsy as you remembered it was the custom in this era

He stepped closer, his brows drawing together in mild concern. “Are you quite all right? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

You gave a nervous laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as forced as it felt. “My apologies, my lord. You just… startled me, is all.”

“I assure you, that was not my intention,” he replied, his tone polite but edged with curiosity. His dark eyes studied you, and for a moment, you felt as though he could see straight through your carefully constructed façade, realizing that you didn’t belong to this world

“You must forgive me,” You said quickly, your words tumbling out in an effort to mask your unease. “I was lost in thought and did not see you approach.”

“Clearly,” he said, though his tone carried no malice. “It is a rare occurrence to catch someone so thoroughly off guard.”

You straightened, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “And yet, here you are, Lord Bridgerton. A man of many talents, I see. I suppose this is a rare moment of leisure for you?” You tried to make small talk, not wanting to waste this opportunity.

Anthony raised an eyebrow at you. “Leisure, you say? And what makes you so certain I am not hard at work?”

“Hard at work?” You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “I had imagined as much. A man like you—busy securing the future of your family and interviewing potential viscountesses—surely has little time for aimless walks.”

Anthony blinked, clearly caught off guard by your bluntness, though he recovered quickly. “You are well-informed, Miss Featherington.”

“Only what everyone else already knows,” You replied casually, smoothing the skirt of her gown. “Your efforts to find a suitable match have become the talk of the ton. I dare say even Lady Whistledown has taken notice.”

“That is hardly surprising,” Anthony remarked, his tone edged with faint exasperation. “Lady Whistledown takes notice of everything.”

You tilt your head “Then perhaps the better question is whether you take notice of her words.”

Anthony’s brow furrowed slightly, and for a moment, he seemed to genuinely consider your question. “I find that Lady Whistledown’s observations are often exaggerated, though not always without merit. Still, I prefer to form my own opinions.”

“An admirable approach,” You said. “Though I do wonder, does that same logic apply to the ladies you interview? Or do you rely on recommendations from your family?”

He studied you carefully, as though trying to determine the intent behind your words. “I assure you, Miss Featherington, I take my responsibilities very seriously. When it comes to choosing a viscountess, I rely on no one but myself.”

You raised her hands in mock surrender. “Of course, my lord. I wouldn’t dream of suggesting otherwise. Let me guess, the perfect wife must be well read, intelligent, must play an instrument. Must know how many children she wants, able to hold a conversation and most important, hips capable of child bearing, am I wrong?”

Anthony’s eyes narrowed slightly, a mix of surprise and amusement flickering across his features. “You have quite the imagination, Miss Featherington,” he said, his tone even, though there was a distinct edge of curiosity in his gaze. “And an uncommonly sharp tongue.”

You offered a small smile, your nerves steadying under the guise of playful banter. “Forgive me, my lord, if I’ve overstepped. But the list does sound like something Lady Whistledown herself might concoct. Or perhaps it’s simply what one hears when the Bridgerton heir is the subject of such persistent speculation.”

Anthony regarded you with an unreadable expression, his hands clasped behind his back as he leaned slightly closer. “And do you often find yourself among those who speculate, Miss Featherington?”

Your breath hitched as he leaned in closer, hesitating for a moment before responding, your voice light but measured. “Speculation is hardly my pastime, my lord. However, when a man of your stature begins conducting interviews as though he were drafting a contract, it’s difficult not to take notice.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes—something that made your heart flutter. “And what would you have me do instead, Miss Featherington? Rely solely on the whims of fate? Entrust my future to the uncertainty of a fleeting glance across a ballroom?” he murmured

“Some might argue that fleeting glances have led to the happiest of unions,” you countered, . “Though I suppose that would not suit a man as practical as yourself.” You smiled knowingly, already aware that before next season starts, he would already be in a marriage of love that started with those very same fleeting glances he has no interest in.

Anthony’s lips quirked upward in the faintest hint of a smile, though he quickly masked it. “You seem to have a rather strong opinion of me, despite our limited acquaintance.”

“Limited, perhaps, but not nonexistent,” you replied, taking a small step closer as if to match his intensity. “I’ve heard enough to know that you value duty above all else, that you are a man of precision and purpose. But even the most dutiful man can benefit from embracing the unexpected.”

He tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “And do you speak from experience, Miss Featherington?”

You hesitated, his question striking closer to home than you anticipated. “Perhaps,” you said finally, your voice softer now. “But even if I did, I doubt my experience would be of any interest to you, my lord.”

“On the contrary,” Anthony said, his voice low but firm. “I find you quite… intriguing.”

Your breath hitched once again at his words, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. But then Anthony straightened, his composed demeanor returning as quickly as it had slipped.

“However,” he continued, his tone now more formal, “I must take my leave. Duty calls, as you so astutely pointed out.”

“Of course, my lord,” you said, managing a polite curtsy despite the sudden flutter in your chest. “I wouldn’t dare keep you from your responsibilities.”

As he turned to go, Anthony paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Miss Featherington,” he said, his voice softer now, “you may think me a man of precision, but even precision has its limits. Perhaps one day, you’ll learn just how far.”

And with that, he strode away, leaving you rooted to the spot, your mind racing and your heart pounding in a way you hadn’t expected.

As soon as he was out of sight, you let out a shaky breath, your heart still racing. Seeing him on-screen had never prepared you for this—for the sheer intensity of his presence, for the way his voice seemed to resonate in her very bones.

You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to steady yourself. This world might have been a dream come true, but Anthony Bridgerton was proving to be a far more disarming reality than you imagined.

Taglist:

@heyyitsreign

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton x you #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #hyacinth bridgerton #violet bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #daphne basset #kate sharma #edwina sharma #colin bridgerton

129 notes · View notes

mimiiis · 16 days ago

Text

Must Be Love Pt.1 — Regency Au! Price x Fem! Reader

summary: A general looking to marry for duty and a girl looking for a love match, what could go wrong?

warnings: n/a

work count: 5.9k

a/n: this was low-key supposed to be a small series of blurbs but I couldn't help myself, full on fic/series !! hope you guys enjoy </3

I’ve been rewatching Bridgerton and got to thinking…Regency!Price.

General John Price, who has come back to London during the marriage season to find himself a wife after deciding it was about time for him to do so. It just so happens to be that you are a new debutante, foisted out onto the marriage market and ready to be wed. 😚🤭

☆☆☆

The General had just recently returned to London, ready to marry and not hesitant to announce his intentions on what brought him back into the city. It was not long until everyone got the word that he was looking for a bride. Respectable men were not entirely few and far in the ton, but to find a truly accomplished man who came from a respected family was almost rare. Where most men were seen coming in and out of brothels almost daily , John Price was hardly seen indulging in such…pleasures. But in fairness, he was away from the watchful eyes of society for many periods of time, and no one knew much about him. With his return and new step into the marriage market, it is the first ball of the season that changed everything in his life.

The first ball was always so exciting, uncertainty of what the night may bring lurked at every corner of the room. Ladies practically flocked to him, their mamas right behind them as he struggled to fill out each dance card he was presented with. The general was more than polite, making his intentions clear and being his usually charming self. The ladies giggled and flirted, trying to impress him with their many accomplishments and the status of their families. He would simply nod and listen to them ramble with each passing dance. Though as the night drew on longer, the more he began to worry.

He hadn’t truly realized how hard it would be to properly court a woman in his position. He knew that as general he would not be with his wife for long, that he would be away longer than he would ever be with her. He saw no point in growing an attachment, inevitable heartbreak and hate would follow if he did. Every young lady he talked to seemed too eager, practically begging to be loved and adored. He knew he would have to find a wife willing to accept the conditions that awaited, someone he can establish a decent, or even good, relationship with. It did not hurt him to turn down several young ladies, he knew it was for the better. Yet somewhere, deep inside of his heart, he ached for the same kind of fondness they did.

☆☆☆

The ballroom erupted in a wave of applause and laughter as the dance finished, your chest heaving after performing the lively routine. The young lord you had entertained left with a bow, kissing your hand before leaving to go grab himself a cup of punch. You smiled at him, bidding him a good night before walking to your mama. Droplets of sweat formed at the corners of your hair, slowly falling down your skin as you tried to hide away behind your mother. She stood at the corner of the room, hidden away by a crowd of people who rushed by.

“What did you think of him? Lord Langley?” She asks you, handing you her fan as you plant your back against the wall. You quickly take it, opening it and blowing air in your direction as you finally took what felt like your first breath in hours. Your cheeks burned as your feet ached from dancing for so long. You could feel the boning of the corset digging into your skin as you slouched over slightly.

“He is kind. Rather handsy. Not an exact fit.” You breathe out, still winded as your mother placed a handkerchief against your forehead. “None of them will be, my dearest, if you keep holding them up to such an impossible standard.” She states, grabbing you by your shoulders as straightening your posture. You groan, letting her smooth out your crinkled skirts out and continue to wipe off the sweat from your brow.

“I know what I want and I will not hesitate to find it.” You argue back, pushing her hands away from you. You step back a few paces, giving yourself more room to breathe. You hadn’t considered how stuffy a ballroom might feel with more than half of the ton packed into a tight space. It almost made your head spin, a slight ache creeping up at the back of your head. Dread began to fill you at the impending headache, but you shook your head in an attempt to ignore it.

“You will spend a lifetime searching if you do not let it come naturally.” She tells you, shaking her head. You eye her, considering her words before you catch sight of a footman walking by. Your mother watches you reach for a glass of champagne from his tray, slapping your hands away the second you move them. You gasp, glaring at her as she dismisses the man away.

“That is not fair-“

“You can drink to your heart's content when you are married.” She argues, locking her arm in yours as she begins to pull you back into the eyes of society. So much for a few minutes to hide away. “You really must consider and think about a second plan. What will happen if you cannot find the love match you so desperately desire, hm? What then?”

You groan once more, embarrassment heating heating your cheeks. Her speech and the way she still talked to you as if you were a child sent a wave of shame over you. You wanted to crawl back into the corner of the room, to get away from her at any cost as she continued to scold you for having “such impossible standards.” But you cannot, not after you spent so long convincing her to even allow you to have a say in who you married. She gives you an inch, might as well take a mile.

“There is no second plan. I will get what I want, no matter how long it takes me.” You stubbornly reply, voice in a hushed whisper as you politely smile at other young ladies passing by. “What is so hard about finding a love match anyways? Is it simply not the process of meeting someone and just knowing? That is how you described what happened to you with father, I will not settle for anything less.”

“It is…much more than just that.” She repeats the same words she always has, never elaborating further. For the woman meant to help you through the marriage season, she was certainly not helpful. You glance at her for a second, the usual disappointment filling you. You start to search the dance floor for a man to sweep you back up into the crowd. Anything to get away from her right now. You watch as all the lords and men you had previously danced with talk and laugh amongst themselves or other young ladies, your own friends being taken up with suitors or being pulled to one by their mamas. It was a never ending sea of controlled chaos, dresses swishing and feet stomping as the sea of dancing color passed you.

“Where is Johnny?” Your mother suddenly asks. The arm she had locked with your slips away and rises to your shoulder, helping her balance as she begins to stand on her tiptoes, looking over the crowd around you two. “Shall he really miss your first ball?” Her brows furrow, scanning every corner of the room before falling back onto her heels. You shake your shoulder, brushing her hand off of you as the topic of your brother sours your mood. “I do not think Jonny cares about the affairs of young ladies.”

“Do not be so negative, he is your brother-“

“And he still does not care.” You say with a bite in your tone, making your mother furrow her brows, but you only continue you scan the room for a way out of her grasp.

It took a few seconds, but you finally caught sight of a man one of your friends said was serious about his courtship this year. “Besides, he need not bother himself with my business unless a suitor is asking for my hand, yes?” You flash her a faux smile as you slowly begin to pull away from her side. “I am going to get a glass of punch, I will be back.” You told her before hurriedly walking and escaping between the cracks of the surrounding crowd to get away from her. You walked as fast as you could without raising any alarm to others, her shouts and protests falling on deaf ears as you managed a good distance between the two of you. You were able to get across the dance floor and near the table of desserts, not stopping until you found a rather hidden corner to further disappear into.

You sigh and giggle to yourself as you look back, making sure she was not following and in fact far from you. A smile creeps up onto your lips as you watch her try to carefully push through the crowd. She excuses herself, getting stopped by other Ladies and Mamas on her way towards you. Frustrating builds on her face, eyes glancing every second back to you as she is forced to make small talk. A giggle leaves your lips as you watch the aftermath of your small victory. You straighten your shoulders and hold your head high as you walk backwards, keeping an eye and planning on disappearing from her view when she looks away once more. But the moment is short lived as you suddenly bump into someone.

Your back crashes into an elbow, the bone hitting between your shoulder blades and causing you to groan at the sudden pain, back going stiff and straight as a slight ache begins to spread throughout. You yelp, whipping your body around and groaning at the discomfort the swift movement caused. You begin to stutter out apologies, explaining how you didn’t know where you were, how you weren’t looking and all sorts of nonsense without even looking at who you were speaking to. The words jumbled together into a string of incoherent mumbles, but your mouth stops when you finally look up. Your body freezes, mouth falling into a small ‘o’ as you look at the man before you. It's strange, you would assume to find a frown and displeased face looking at you. But to your surprise, the man seems to give you the kindest smile, and breathes out the softest of laughs.

Your eyes meet his, and you can't recall ever having seen someone look at you so… fondly? He was tall, a strong and fit body, shoulders stiff and broad as the deep red of his suit makes him look all the more alluring. His hair was brushed back though it still appeared as a soft mess when paired with the beard he sported. You had never put much thought into what you would think a real man would be like, but good god, if he was not it. You continue to study him, practically entranced by the way he looks, until you see his lips begin to part in question and quickly snap out your thoughts, shaking your head and closing your still slightly agape mouth. “Apologies, Sir, I truly did not see you.” You bow your head slightly and part your eyes from his.

He smiles and replies, “It is quite alright, Miss.” His voice was deep and gruff, the sound made your knees want to buckle. “Are you hurt? I myself must apologize for not having seen you either,” he looks at you with worry, remembering how harshly you bumped into him. “Ah!” You exclaim, suddenly feeling a slight discomfort between your shoulders but quickly dismissing it. “I’m simply a bit shaken, that’s all. Though I must ask if I did not hurt you either, my lord..?” Your voice drifts off in question, waiting for the man to introduce himself.

The sound of the title has him letting out a small huff of a laugh,“I am not a lord, Miss, but a general. General John Price, Miss. Mr.Price would do just fine if you do not mind,” He replies with a small shake of his head and a hint of amusement in his voice. Embarrassment immediately fills you as his words process in your head. Your cheeks heat and eyes widen and the urge to crawl into the deepest hole you can find consumes you as more apologies spill from your lips. “I-I’m sorry I didn't mean to-! It is just that so many of the men present here are lords and the title has become a natural response to say to any man I speak to that I-agh!” You stutter and ramble on again, but soon stop yourself from further embarrassment by placing a hand on your awfully loud mouth. “I must stop.” Your eyes look away from what you expect to be a judgemental or annoyed gaze this time, but when you glance back up, it is still neither of those.

“I must admit I had grown rather tired of not being able to get away from you young ladies this evening, but out of all I have spoken to today, you seem to be the most amusing.” He jokes, that laugh of his loud and brighter than before. The sound makes you relax and a sense of comfort washes over you. The rest of the world seems to drown in the sound and sight of him. A man with a large presence and contagious energy, how had you not seen him? You watch the way his chest rises and falls in his chuckles and how he slightly throws his head back with each “hah”. Before you know it, your hand is falling from your mouth.

“Oh, is that so? I must say the same for the men, you all are at every corner and yet I haven’t found a single one worthy of a good conversation.” You joke back, a playful smirk making its way onto your lips. His smile widens at your comment and the same spark of mischief in your eye ignites in his.

“Truly? Have they all been so boring?”

“Terribly so, I could not even last a minute speaking to them.”

“I must apologize for my fellow men then, for they do not seem up to the challenge of courtship.”

You giggle at his words, he chuckles in return. “Of that you are right, Sir. In fact, I do not think I’ve ever wished for interesting company to arrive so much as now.” You jest.

“It seems we are both in luck then. For here I am with you. And you, with me.” The humorous tone of his voice drifts into one of sincerity, flirtatiousness. The hair at the back of your neck rises and your back straightens at the shift in mood. You gulp, feeling his eyes on you, looking at you– truly looking at you now. “Here we are.”

Your eyes meet once more, only neither of you look away or speak this time. You’ve had to look into the eyes of many men this evening, and you’ve found the saying of the eyes being windows to a person's soul to be true. You could tell when a man only wanted a marriage for money or influence, how they felt about the young lady they were dancing with, who they truly wanted and set their sights on even with a glance. And the way he looked at you, oh it scared you. You can’t recall someone ever looking at you like this. It made your breath catch, heart race, and wonder if the truth in his eyes was not a lie. There was a glint of light in the blue of his eyes, and you realize the look he’s giving you. Almost as if you amuse him, as if he likes you. And you find yourself feeling the same.

It’s as if the realization dawned on both of you at the same time, the mutual attraction, for a comfortable silence soon followed. You both continue to stare, smiling as the two of you seem to breathe in time together. Waiting…Waiting to ask or be asked the same question. Will you dance with me?

You wanted this to happen, it is what you were looking for. To feel that click, the instant gravitation to one person in a sea of people, and it was here. Standing right in front of you– only you were not prepared for how it would feel. You wanted to revel in it, shout at the top of your lungs ‘I told you I could!’ to your mother and friends who said you that what you wanted was impossible. Here, in front of you, the moment you’ve waited for. All that was left was for either of you to seal it, to grab each other's hand and spend the night talking, to form a proper and real courtship. The possibility made your heart flutter, though only off of a feeling and small conversation, you think you found what you were looking for. But you could only have peace for so long. A hand suddenly wraps itself around your arm and pulls your attention away from the man in front of you. Your damned mother. “General Price, how nice it is to see you!” The woman exclaims in surprise, her arm yanking your body behind her and away from him. ‘You were being improper’ she would later say. The General’s eyes widen at the sudden interruption, but he is quick to compose himself with a smile and nod of his head. “My lady,” he greets her.

“I see you have met my daughter, I do hope she has not been bothersome, she has a rather… colorful personality!” Your mother snides, a false laugh falling from her lips as you roll your eyes.

“Of course not, she and I were having a rather enjoyable conversation.” He replies, eyes drifting to yours. You let out a weary smile, facial expression screaming “I am sorry!” as best as you could. His gaze softens at you in understanding before in looking back to your mother and further exchanging formalities with her. How are you, where have you been, and other such things they discuss before it is cut to a quick end by the woman.

“It has been a pleasure to see you again, good Sir, but I am afraid it is time for my daughter and I to retire. I do hope we will see you again.” She smiles, looking your way to give you a stern look, ‘let’s go’ she seems to say. You nod lightly, watching as they exchange goodbyes before your mother leaves to fetch the carriage.

You watch her go and before long the two of you are alone again, standing in a rather awkward air after your mother had interrupted your previous conversation. Neither you say anything, trying to find the words as your feet shuffle in tune with that of the music. You play with your fingers, pulling and twisting at them, unsure of what to say before seeing the man open his mouth.

“For how short it was, I did enjoy our talk.” He says sincerely.

You grin, cheeks heating at the simple words. “I do hope you choose to call.” You nod your head politely, watching him do the same before walking away. Butterflies swirl in your stomach, eyes widening in shock the second your back is turned to him. Your first day, your first night and ball as a debutant, and you think you may have found a man you would like to marry. Foolish wishing, others would tell you if they knew you thought this. So you never shared it. You would not whisper it to a soul, but keep it inside a pocket of your heart only to be spoken until the wish comes true.

It is not long until you are on your way back home, sitting across from your mother in your carriage. The street lights illuminate the carriage as you pass through town, the fabric of your dress shining as you play the flimsy material along your thighs. You yawn, sleeping creeping and taking over you from the change of chaos to quiet tranquility. You’re slouching forward, the ache in your back growing and not letting you sit straight.

Your mother scolded you, but laughed, when you told her why it hurt to do so. You rolled your eyes before looking out the window and thinking of Mr. Price. You wanted to ask your mother how they knew each other, why she pulled you away so quickly, what she thought of him. But you spoke not, shaking the thoughts out of your head and happy enough with the idea that you will see him again tomorrow. A love match to be made.

☆☆

General John Price tiredly makes his way to the far end of White’s furnished bar. The club had a signature smell of tobacco and thick wood polish, smoke and cups of brandy filled his vision in a stark contrast to the flowery and bright ballroom he had just made his way from. To be fair, he did not want to come here so late in the night, but an old friend invited him and the man was not one to break a promise. He approached a group of men at a far back table, all talking over a game of cards with several cups half full and empty scattered across the table. John made his way towards the chair on the farthest end, giving the man who sat in it a good strong pat.

“Johnny boy!” He greets. The man in the chair looks back, jumping in surprise before a wide smile appears as he realizes who is in front of him.

“Price! I dinnae think you’d come, old man.” The man, Johnny, exclaims before standing to properly shake and give the General a hug. They share a laugh and exchange pleasantries before Johnny introduces him to the other Lords who he was previously talking to. Price recognized a few from the ball, he had wondered where they had wandered off so early.

“I assume yer awfully tired from havin’ many young girls stepping on yer toes tonight, aye?” Johnny jokes, leading Price away from the group and to the bar. He orders them a whiskey each, the glasses clinking as they share a toast to the older man’s coming back to town. Price shakes his head lightly, “I will admit that I underestimated just how…draining this prospect would be.” John sighs, downing the glass in front of him with one gulp. He plays with the rim of his glass and watches the remaining drops swirl in the dim light of the room, he thinks of how many young ladies there were and it was only the first night. Each was as pretty and delicate as a flower, bright smiles and rosy cheeks but altogether, desperate and grasping onto any man who looked their way. Though he could not blame them, it was what they were born and raised to do, it was all they knew to do.

“Exactly why I haven’t taken on the task myself. Yer stronger than I’ll ever be Cap’in,” Johnny chuckles, taking a sip from his own glass. “Did you meet a lass you might set your sights on?” The younger man grins, nudging the elder as he notices his eyes drifting down in thought at the question.

“I found a Miss I am to call on tomorrow. She seems agreeable, timid but with a sense of humour and not as” he pauses to find the right word, “eager as the other ladies. Though her mother stepped in before I could invite her for a dance. Does not matter, we have a whole season to talk and dance and do what people do in courtship. If all goes well, I may have a wife soon.” Price says, going back to fidgeting with his glass. As he looks at it though, he can't help but think about the girl. From the way they met, to her mannerisms, she truly did intrigue him. Only now that he looked back on their interactions does he feel as if he forgot something. He moves the glass back and forth, watching the light seep through and glimmer– trying to remember something important he has forgotten but cannot seem to place.

“A Mrs.Price, at last!” Johnny exclaims, Price rolls his eyes. “And do tell, my dear friend, what is her name?”

John freezes at the words. His eyes widened and head rising in a swift motion. He stares at Johnny, shock and realization written all over. That’s what he forgot. Johnny catches on immediately, eyes widening with his friends.

“Dinnae tell me…”

“I did not catch it.”

The men look at each other a second longer before Johnny begins to shake his head. “Now how in the hell do ye forget to ask a lass her name, John? You’re the general, for christ sakes, aren’t ye supposed to have a strategic battle plan for everything ye do?” He lets out a dramatic sigh, brows furrowing and going to rub his temples in disappointment. Price slouches and rubs his eyes with his palms, trying to wipe away the fog of his mind.

“I figured I did not need to ask as I knew her mother, she was an old family friend. It has just occurred to me I never knew who she married. The girl and I met in a rather odd situation as well, I didn't even have time to ask her.”

Johnny slowly chuckles in disbelief at his words, “That poor girl is going to be truly devastated when you don’t show up tomorrow morning.”

“Mactavish,” John says his name sternly, eyeing the younger man in warning.

Johnny holds his hands up in surrender, before grabbing his unfinished glass of whiskey and downing the remaining contents. The men sit together in silence, waiting and thinking for a kind of solution to help with the unfortunate circumstance.

“I tell ye what,” Johnny interrupts after a few moments, “My sister, she’s in her first year as a debutante and friends with almost half of the lassies in Mayfair. Come over in the morning, and I believe we can ask for her help identifying your bonnie, aye?”

The proposal interested John enough to consider it, to think of how it would play out. “She would not mind?”

“Nay, all I’ve got to do is tell her yer a friend, that’ll put you off as a potential suitor and help yer little predicament.” Johnny grins, with teeth, for having thought of the idea. In all fairness, it was not the best or brightest plan, but who is John Price, a General of the British Armies to say no to a friend simply trying to help him.

☆☆☆

You awake at the crack of dawn, a giddy and anxious feeling bubbling in the pit of your belly from the second you opened your eyes. It was with you the whole morning– as your maid helped you dress, as you ate breakfast, as you talked to your mother and brother of what bachelors you predict may come to call.

“Lord Harding was quite taken with you last night, my dear. As well as Lord Langley and even Mr. Anderson, their mothers and I spoke of what a handsome match you would be with either of them. They are agreeable men, are they not Johnny?” Your mother says, sitting across from you on a plush settee and drinking a cup of tea. Johnny, who was sitting in the chair nearest to the window and farthest from you replies with a nod. “Aye, though Anderson’s got a taste for losing a pretty sum every time he’s at the club.” He comments, looking out the window as if waiting for something. Your mother lets out a small ‘ah’ and nods her head at the information. You roll your eyes and manage to bite your tongue. It was too exciting of a day to waste your energy bickering with him.

“I talked to another gentleman as well last night.” You share instead. Johnny turns his head toward you, slightly tilted in questions.

“Aye, did ye?” Johnny questions you, doubt in his voice. He looks back out the window when the noise of a carriage passes by– not even bothering to hear your answer. “Yes, I did. He was kind, kinder than the other men I talked to all night.” You reply, brows furrowing and staring daggers at him. “Oh please, darling, I hardly doubt he’d come today. You did not share a dance, or even speak for that long.” Your mother says, making you slightly frown and look to her.

“Perhaps after your next meeting he shall come to see you. And does he not seem a bit older to you? Would you not prefer a younger man, closer to your age? Remember, we have the whole of the season to find you a match, my love. Try not to think of him and focus on the men who do come today, yes?” You sigh, fighting your frown from deepening at her words. You try to slouch in your corset (which was pulled tighter today) to help the still aching injury on your back. Your mother catches you and lets out a ‘tsk’, a reminder that she is watching your every move. You almost start to argue with her, already upset and bothered. Your mouth opens and brows furrow but are interrupted before you can get any words out.

‘Excuse me,” Johnny suddenly coughs. “But it appears as if we already have guests.” He slowly stands from his chair and makes his way to sit next to your mother. They would be your chaperones for the evening and any other event for the season. You know that he would rather not be here, but your mother had to remind him of his duty. To you, and to the family.

“How exciting! Now remember,” Your mother exclaims before assessing you with her eyes, “smile, be kind, and do not push too hard on the whole…love match aspect. We want our guests to feel welcome and to get to know them, yes?” You nod obediently, not minding her words. Such control, the woman wanted. From your hair to your shoes and dress, she tried her best to dress and present you as a pretty doll. “Yes, mother.” You nod once more, your lip forming into a thin line of a smile as you manage to sit up straight and mentally ready yourself.

Many suitors came to call, the room filling with men and the sound of laughter as the day went on. They brought you flowers, boxes of chocolate, and some even went as far as bringing you a pair of earrings with your favorite jewels. The room was filled with gifts and men by noon, the energy and rushing making you grow weary by the third gentleman caller. It was strange, having so many eyes on you and being the center of attention. To have men try to entertain you with their small talk and aspirations in marriage and life, hoping you’d pick and entertain them back.

Through it all, you kept thinking of Mr.Price. In the few minutes you spoke together, it did not feel like this at all. You wondered if it would be the same in your next meeting, if you would be tense or if he would be as welcoming as before. Every time a suitor left or came, you looked toward the door for any sight of him. You wanted to sight in disappointment each time you did not see him. The ache in your back only reminded you of him furthermore which each movement you made, his presence there even if he wasn’t.

The whole of the morning felt so unnatural. Saying all the practiced and calculated responses your mother taught you, not like you at all. Even watching her speak to the callers, seeing her smile and compliment you so kindly felt like you were a part of some grand facade and did not know your role in it. As exciting as it was, it was also quite terrifying. The mountain of expectations was a weight you could not shake off of your shoulders.

It was strange to think, but to find any kind of normality throughout it all, you looked to Johnny. He sat at the window seat again, glancing over to watch you and your mother every few seconds, just as before. His presence grounded you, even if distant. While your mother put on an act, he was still himself. Your distant, kind but irritating, brother.

You were in the middle of speaking to your mother's preferred suitor, Lord Harding, when you saw Johnny rise from his seat and excuse himself from the room. Your eyes follow him, and you can’t help but feel a small sense of disappointment and sadness watching him go. Of course he wouldn’t stay. You thought to yourself, but quickly shake the thought from your head and continue your conversation with the man beside you.

“The gardens in my family home are quite beautiful, each rose bush having been planted and cared for since the start of my family's lineage. My mother hopes to host a ball near the end of the season, I hope I am able to show them to you soon.” The man says to you, his voice sincere and kind.The gentleman was kind and respectful, young and handsome with a sort of boyish charm that made talking to him a bit easier than the other callers. “I would be most delighted to.” You reply with a smile, ready to ask him more about his family home when you see your brother walk back into the room from the corner of your eye. You hadn’t expected him to come back, much less with a guest. You move your body slightly, turning to see who it was he came back with.

What you saw next, you did not expect.The sight shocks you. Your eyes widen, a gasp leaves you, and your heart almost leaps out of your chest when you realize who was with your brother. Your mother, who has been sitting across from you, follows your line of sight. Her eyes widen slightly as well, before a sigh leaves her lips.

Johnny’s guest locked eyes on you the second he stepped in the room.

“Mr.Price.” The name leaves your mouth before you can even think.

“Miss…Mactavish.” He looks just as shocked as you were. His eyes widen, but the same soft smile from last night makes its way upon his lips.

“What?” Johnny cuts in. You both look towards him the second he speaks. Confused, and almost upset, Johnny's eyes meet yours. You open your mouth, ready to explain, but he only looks back to the man at the door.

Now, you have seen him upset a handful of times, but in those times you knew what to do. Knew what to say, knew when to walk away. But looking at him look at Price, all you could do was hold your breath.

Oh hell.

Thank you for reading </3!! Comments and reblogs are v much appreciated! If you have any insights please leave them kindly!!

A/n: This chapter was meant to be a bit silly, but im not sure if i was able to do it that well🥲 Also my first time writing a Scottish accent for Johnny! Apologies if i got anything wrong. More to come soon and I hope you all enjoyed 🩵💖!!

#☾☼mims writes #regency!141 #regency au #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mw2 fanfic #tf 141 x reader #141 x reader #john price x y/n #john price fanfiction #bridgerton au #regency!price #my writing #fan fic writing #fanfiction

132 notes · View notes