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midnightscramble · 7 months ago

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Hiya, could you do a Portia Featherington x female baker reader. Of course you have all creative freedom. Thank you, love. ;P

Sugar, Sugar Part 1 (Portia Featherington x fem!Reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

The Masterlist

Author’s Note: Thanks for the request! Love this idea and am so joyed to write for it. If it’s not to your liking feel free to make another request (don’t be shy!). Happy readings to you.

Summary: The stress of running a doomed household is getting to Portia. In an effort to get her daughter and Mister Finch to produce an heir, she employees local baker Y/n to fill the house with goodies.

Warnings: Portia has anxiety, slight derogatory references to religion, memories of a neglectful marriage, period typical misinformation about pregnancy and fertility, No Beta read

“Mama, I swear, Albion and I have been trying. It is simply in God’s hands. A baby shall appear within my belly when he deems it so.” Philippa shrugged and looked towards the vaulted ceiling as if it was the heavens. Portia pinched the bridge of her nose at her daughter’s idiocy. She walked towards the window and looked out upon the street, shaking her head while cursing her daughter’s religious education. Of all the books Penelope had convinced the late Lord Featherington to supply her with, it had to be the Bible that Philippa happened upon. The very same girl who could not remember her Hail Marys.

Spinning on her heel, exasperated, Portia looked towards her daughter, “It is absolutely in your hands. God gave mankind free will. Free will which you will use to become pregnant. Are you sure that Mister Finch is doing his part, is he doing all a man can to enhance his virility?”

"There is only so much Alby can do, Mama. He has many allergies, it is near impossible for him to eat the foods that are meant to increase his bravado." Philippa yawned resignedly.

"Well, have you noticed any particular type of food that effects his, uhh," Portia raised her eyebrows and whispered conspiratorially, "appetite for you?" Philippa gasped despite her mother's careful phrasing, causing Portia to roll her eyes.

Offended, Philippa tsked, "Mama, that is very improper of you to ask. But if you must know, he rather enjoys sweets before the act."

Of course, Portia thought, when does the man not want sweets. "Then I shall have the staff fill your room with treats and you are not to leave until you are sure you are with child."

"You cannot trap us in our room!"

"I very well can! All of our futures are dependent on your and Mister Finch's coupling. I cannot count on Prudence to put her pride aside and measure up to the task. Penelope has not a suitor insight while she chases Mister Bridgerton's coattail. Please Philippa, if you do not do this we will lose everything." Her ears ran hot as she tried to reason with her. Was it possible that she was the only one who understood the enormity of the situation?

Slouching, Philippa huffed "Fine, although my only request is that the sweets not be from the kitchens. I'd rather it be from Y/l/n Pastries and Delights. The shop has gained quite the following with-"

"Yes, yes. I will take care of it, now off you go! I expect you to be glued to his side by the time I return with the order."

...

The carriage ride into town was bumpy and unpleasant. Perhaps Portia was overly sensitive due to her soured mood. She despised having to haggle, especially with someone as well connected as the Ton's premier baker. Since the death of Lord Featherington, Portia had been careful to reduce the size of the staff and have the kitchens purchase day old produce from the markets. While she preferred to be frugal in such times, this expense would prove to be important. Never did she think her family's future would rely on a man's appetite.

Coming to a halt, she peered out the carriage window. Her destination was at the edge of the Ton, surprising her considering the supposed popularity of the bakery. Gingerly stepping out of the carriage, she tried to settle herself. She knew exactly how to get what she wanted. Men, older men in particular, were simple creatures. With a delicate balance of sexual innuendo and pseudo helplessness, she was sure to emerge victorious.

The shop bell jingled, causing Y/n to look up from her place behind the counter. "Welcome in! what can I do for you, Lady Featherington?" She smiled brightly at the auburn haired woman. The aroma of the shop washed over Portia gently, reminding her briefly of the display of sweets she had at her own wedding.

Portia smiled tightly and approached the counter. To be known about the Ton was both a blessing and a curse. There was pride in being instantly recognized by strangers, yet it made discrete deals such as the one she was trying to procure all the more difficult.

"Hello, Dear. I was wondering if I may speak to the head chef?"

"I am the head chef." Portia released a guffaw, "Pardon me, I'm afraid you misunderstand, I am looking for the shop owner."

Y/n smiled kindly, Portia was not the first to make this mistake, "That would be me, Lady Featherington."

Portia's smile dropped momentarily. A woman shop owner was hard to come by. Sure, there were lady bakers in the Ton, but none owned the shops they worked in. "How modern," she complemented, "I was hoping it would not be too late in the day to place an order for tonight?" She was in fact hoping that it was too late, and thus the remaining goods would have a reduced price given how long they had been siting.

"As a matter of fact, I make night batches to supply to the local families. It seems everyone is partial to dessert before bed," Y/n jested slightly. Although her heart rate picked up a notch, Portia released a laugh to show good nature. Reevaluating the situation, she looked around the shop, "Well I'm not sure what I should order..."

Reading the hesitancy in her eyes, Y/n offered "Why don't I give you an assortment. That way you can come back tomorrow with a list of what was enjoyed, hmm?" She was used to having to sell herself to the people of the Ton, none were quick to trust a female shop owner.

Portia's smile relaxed at the prospect, "That would be lovely, thank you." Y/n started packing up one of each dessert. Absentmindedly, she made conversation, "My condolences on the late Lord Featherington. When my own husband died, it nearly sent me to ruin."

Eyes widening, Portia scrambled for an appropriate response to such an abrupt topic change, "Thank you..." She drifted off, not sure what to say. She studied the young woman, wondering what she was getting at. Their eyes met briefly and Portia looked away, feeling caught.

Filling the silence she continued, "My condolences as well, was it your husband who started this fine establishment?" Internally she grimaced. She knew it was none of her business, yet the oddity of the situation drove her to seek some sort of explanation.

"We started it together. I had to petition to the province to assume control of the estate. They wanted to give this shop to my eleven year old cousin, can you believe that?"

She sucked in a breath, "Yes, yes I can." Portia was becoming all too familiar with inheritance laws.

Y/n placed three full boxes on the counter and grabbed a paper. "Now, I am going to write which box contains which sweet," she beckoned Portia closer to watch as she wrote.

"This box has", rather than listen, Portia found herself distracted in watching Y/n's hands move as she emphatically described how each pastry could be identified. Her fingers twisted as she mimicked the pipped icing atop a miniature cake. The subtle flexing of her hand when she grasped the quill left Portia wondering what strength those hands possessed. Y/n seemed to have a good work ethic, leaving no doubt in her mind that she would be behind the scenes with her staff, kneading dough, working till sweat dripped down the column of her throat- Portia's mouth suddenly felt very dry and she cleared her throat, causing Y/n to pause. Embarrassed she rushed, "Thank you, I shall return tomorrow. You can hand these off to my footmen." She spun around on her heal and in three long strides she exited.

Y/n called after her, "Have a nice night, Lady Featherington!"

...

Feeling rather worn, Portia told Philippa's maid to have the sweets brought directly to her daughter's room. She retired early, settling in the king sized bed with the latest issue of Lady Whistledown. Seldom did she wish to know the true identity of the infamous writer. However, it was nights like these that she wanted to meet the woman face to face. She was curious, how had she made it so far? Was there a man behind the publishing? If it was truly a Lady behind the gossip expose, she may be the most independent woman of their time.

Oh, to be so free, she thought.

Turning, she blew out her bed side candle and tossed the pamphlet to the floor. Even with her husband dead, she was still chained to his decisions, his name, the failures he had made and hid from her. It would have scorned her if not for the fact that she had no emotion left to give the man.

She had never truly been dependent on him, at least not in the traditional sense. There were women like Violet Bridgerton, who mourned her husband years after his passing, pious and properly. For Violet had loved him, and in turn was dependent on his love and company. Portia, on the other hand, had tried to love her husband. She gave Lord Featherington her youthful devotion, drawn to his coy smiles and cold disregard for her. There was a certain safety in giving her heart and hand in marriage to a man who was distant. Who showed his affection in gifts rather than touch or word.

Their relationship, transactional at best, had entirely ceased upon the birth of Penelope. Lord Featherington had given up on the prospect of a male heir and moved to the opposing wing. From then on, the bulk of their interactions consisted of sitting across from each other at breakfast and linking arms at social events. Both were too content to break the newly developed pattern. It was almost pleasant, to look upon each other and feel no obligation to pretend.

Tonight was like any other night in her marriage, spent alone. She was normally untroubled by the empty side of her bed, cold and firm from being unoccupied. Closing her eyes she resigned herself to ignore the sudden deficiency. She told herself that it was of most importance to fall asleep quickly. Tomorrow she would have to be sharp to negotiate with Y/n.

Reminded briefly of the baker, thoughts of little cakes with pipped icing, quills, and the smell of bread paraded through her mind as she succumbed to sleep.

#portia featherington x reader #portia featherington #bridgerton fanfiction #portia featherington x fem!reader #portia featherington x you #portia featherington x y/n #bridgerton x reader

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pensbridge · 8 months ago

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What do you mean Colin "my wife" Bridgerton doesn't make an appearance in season 3: he goes No oNe wILl BlAcKmAiL mY WiFe when he is mad at her (fails like the loser malewife he is), looks proud as she gives a speech owning and owning up to the ton, calls her brave, clever & witty, glares at anyone daring to speak ill of her or exclude her from the conversation, misses her the second after their engagement announcement, immediately seeks her out in rooms she enters, shows her off to even her worst enemy, plays with her hair, spins her like a princess, calls her a Bridgerton every chance he gets before they are wedded, and praises PENELOPE FEATHERINGTON, who should not forget that!

If this is him now, imagine how season 4 will be on 100000000000000%

#colin bridgerton #polin #bridgerton

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pinktacotragedy · 8 months ago

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a young portia featherington spin off would be the campest cuntiest thing ever and i must witness it in my lifetime

i can feel it in my bones that her backstory is wild

#imagine her running around in the most insane outfits scamming men #i know she pissed EVERYONE off #portia featherington #bridgerton

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emhoo · 22 days ago

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PICTURE IT. It’s the opening to Portia Featherington’s spin-off. She’s sitting by the window, alone per usual.

Her monologue begins:

“They believe they know me.

I know what they whisper behind their fans. That I am ridiculous, flagrant, desperate. Tasteless and tactless, they call me. They believe the armor I wear is who I am—a scheming matriarch with no shame, her head held high no matter the storm. A woman either too oblivious to notice their disdain or too foolish to care. But the truth is, I do notice. And I care more than I’d ever admit.

Every glance that lingers a second too long, every pointed silence, every snide remark wrapped in a smile—oh, I feel it all. I feel it more than they could imagine. But I’ve learned that there is no mercy for women like me in Mayfair. Women who weren’t born into the right families. Women who aren’t quiet. Women who are different.

And so I pretend. I pretend that I don’t hear the whispers or see the smirks. I pretend that the scandals I’ve weathered have left me unscathed, that the schemes I’ve spun to protect my family haven’t cost me my soul. I pretend so well that sometimes I almost believe it myself. Almost.

What they don’t see is the exhaustion. The endless, bone-deep weariness of being always on guard. Always fighting for my place, for my girls’ futures, for survival in a world that would gladly watch me fall. They don’t see the nights I lie awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering what it might feel like to rest. To simply be.

I wasn’t born with the easy charm of Lady Bridgerton or the impenetrable dignity of the Lady Danbury. No, I was born to scrape and claw and endure. And endure I do. But I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t hurt. That it doesn’t cut me to the quick every time they look at me as though I am less.

They say I am an outsider, and they’re right. I’ve always been one. Even when I was a girl I could feel it—the distance, the knowledge that I didn’t quite fit. I thought I could eventually earn my place if I smiled brightly enough, if I said the right things, wore the right gowns, married the right man. But no matter how hard I tried, it was never enough. I realized since then that it never would be.

So I stopped trying to fit in and instead, I made my own place. Bold colors and bold words. If they were going to laugh at me, I’d give them a reason to laugh. If they were going to whisper, I’d give them something to whisper about. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t mean I don’t wish things were different.

Sometimes I wonder what they’d say if they saw the truth of me. If they saw how tired I am. How lonely. How much I’ve sacrificed to keep my family afloat, to keep my daughters safe. Would they pity me? Mock me? Or would they finally understand that my armor isn’t proof of my strength, but of my fear?

I’ll never know. I’ll never let them see. In this world survival relies on performance, and I intend to keep the curtain drawn. After all, if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that vulnerability is a luxury women like me cannot afford.

I wonder how much longer I can keep going. How many more scandals I can outlive, how many more insults I can swallow. Sometimes I long to stop, to lay down my armor and let the world do its worst. To let someone else fight for a change. But who would? Who could? There’s no one coming to rescue women like me. No one to swoop in and declare, “Enough, Lady Featherington. Rest now. I’ll take it from here.”

And so I carry on, because that is what I must do. For my daughters, for myself.

I think about my late husband more than I’d care to admit. Not because I miss him—I haven’t missed him for a moment—but because he is the ghost that haunts every choice I’ve made since his death. His gambling debts, his disregard for our future, the shame he left me to bear alone. It’s funny, isn’t it? How a man can ruin a woman’s life and still leave her to carry his name.

I wonder what he’d think of all I’ve managed to survive. Would he be proud? Would he even notice? I suppose it doesn’t matter. He’s gone, and I am still here.

And still I wonder what it would it feel like to belong. To be seen not as a joke, but as someone who has fought tooth and nail for her place in this world? Would anyone look at me and see a mother who loves fiercely even if she doesn’t always know how to show it? A woman who has made mistakes, yes, but always with the best intentions?

Perhaps not. And perhaps it doesn’t matter. Because even if no one else sees me, I see me. I see the woman who refuses to be broken. The woman who, time and again, has rebuilt the rubble into a home. The woman who, despite it all, keeps going.

At least, that’s what I tell myself. Because really, it’s all I have. My pride, my determination, and the unyielding belief that I will survive. I always do.”

If there’s ever a spin-off for her I want IN on writing the script. No one gets her but I do 😔

#portia featherington #bridgerton #polly walker #polin #lady featherington #lady whistledown #bridgerton season 3 #netflix #penelope bridgerton #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #nicola coughlan

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saintdollyparton · 7 months ago

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Creloise 44. Out of lust

Having Eloise Bridgerton in her drawing room was already enough to have Cressida's pulse racing. Partly because she feared her father's wrath, but mostly because Eloise was a particularly tactile friend and it was driving Cressida to the brink of madness.

It didn't seem to be purposeful, at least not at first. Cressida had witnessed the way Eloise and Penelope Featherington had always been arm-in-arm, after all. She tried not to let the reminder of their former closeness sour her mood.

Lately, however, Eloise's touches tended to linger, as did her gazes. So much so that, after a recent conversation on the couch came to a natural halt, their eyes held contact for much longer in a way that bordered on inappropriate. It wasn't until Eloise cleared her throat and managed to pull herself up into a standing position that Cressida realized they had been slowly leaning in towards each other.

"These books look rather dusty," Eloise mused, walking up to the bookshelf across the room. "Does anyone actually read them?"

"I believe Father has, but Mother and I are forbidden. Especially from the ones further up. He says it's not proper for a lady to fill her mind with too many ideas," Cressida explained.

Eloise predictably rolled her eyes and made a noise of disgust, which caused Cressida to smile.

"Well, that simply won't do," Eloise said with conviction as she took hold of the rails of the bookcase ladder and began climbing for the topmost shelves.

"Don't, Eloise!" Cressida hissed as she rushed over to the ladder. "He will know someone disturbed the books because of the dust!"

"Just tell him it was me. He already hates me for some unknown reason," Eloise said.

Cressida felt her face heat watching Eloise stretch upwards to grab one of the books, the fabric of her dress clinging to the soft curves of her hips and backside. She barely managed to avert her gaze as Eloise half-spun around triumphantly with her prize in hand.

That movement proved to be too much for Eloise's equilibrium. Her foot slipped off the ladder and she fell forward with the momentum of her spin right down onto Cressida, who had just enough wherewithal to brace one foot behind her and open her arms to accommodate the sudden pressure of Eloise falling against her.

Cressida grunted indelicately and stumbled back a few feet, but refused to drop Eloise, who was now clinging to Cressida's shoulders like a lifeline despite her toes easily brushing the ground.

"I... uh, I'm sorry," Eloise breathed. "I didn't mean to..."

Eloise may have finished that sentence, but Cressida couldn't be sure because all she could focus on was how perfectly Eloise fit in her arms. How delightful Eloise's body felt pressed into hers. How long her eyelashes were as they fluttered, and how dark her pretty blue eyes seemed in that moment. Then there were her lips... surely, they hadn't always been so full and pink...

"Cressida..." Eloise's voice shook her from her reverie. "You look..."

"I look what?" Cressida rasped, not even recognizing the sound of her own voice.

Eloise shuddered and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Cressida's eyes followed that movement like a moth to a flame.

"I don't know..." she said in a breathy way that had Cressida's fingers digging in to Eloise's hip. "But it makes me want... something."

Cressida couldn't take it anymore. She buried a hand in Eloise's hair and pulled her in until their foreheads and noses were touching, their breaths mingling. She tilted her head and faintly let her lips ghost across Eloise's.

"Something like this?" she whispered.

The burning look Eloise shot her hit Cressida straight between her legs.

"So much more," Eloise husked.

And in the next second, Cressida's lips were devouring hers. The sounds Eloise made as their tongues tangled together were driving Cressida insane. Her hands dipped down instinctively to squeeze Eloise's ass, pulling their bodies flush with each other.

Eloise's hands seemed intent on ruining the elaborate hairstyle Cressida's maid had prepared for her that morning, and Cressida found she wanted her to. She wanted Eloise to ruin her completely. And, as they stumbled backwards to continue their activities more comfortably on the couch, Cressida realized she already had.

#uh oh it steamy #creloise #bridgerton #prompts #my writing #cressida cowper #eloise bridgerton #answered #anonymous

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ccmybabysworld · 7 months ago

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people are being too mean to colin & i don’t like that. pen is my girl don’t get me wrong but in my opinion he wasn’t mad enough for finding out ab whistledown. he FOUND OUT, wasn’t even told, that the love of his life is a notorious gossip writer that has written negatively about him, his whole family & his friends. i personally think he’s just the sweetest baby ever. i also feel like the bad boy persona portrayed in part 1 just overshadowed his sweetness as shown in seasons 1 & 2 and also in part 2. it took away from who he really is that’s why people are so unforgiving towards him. but my man can do no wrong SORRY. and i’m not gonna ridicule him bc he didn’t have sex with pen while he was actively very angry with her. and for those who are talking about a wedding night, the queen had just called them out for one of them being whistledown, obviously that’s gonna pull him out of his bliss. i need a polin spin off so bad i need a deep dive into both these characters & the featheringtons by themselves! i don’t think i can go back to seeing them as side characters

#polin #bridgerton #colin x penelope #colin bridgerton #lady whistledown #penelope featherington #penelope bridgerton

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darcytaylor · 2 months ago

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I am absolutely desperate for a Violet and Edmund spin-off. Edmund has been painted as this idyllic, almost mythical figure in Bridgerton, but that’s the thing—I want to know him, not just the rose-tinted version Violet and Anthony remember. No one is perfect, and the way they idealize him feels like a reflection of their grief rather than who he truly was. As it stands, I feel almost nothing during the flashback scenes in Season 2. There’s a flicker of sympathy for the family—after all, Violet and Anthony weren’t the only ones shattered by his death—but beyond that, Edmund remains a ghost, a shadow of a character.

If we had a spin-off that delves into his life, his personality, his flaws, I’d probably be sobbing during a rewatch of those flashbacks. And Violet’s story is equally compelling. What happened to her parents after Queen Charlotte? How did her friendship—or rivalry—with Portia Featherington begin? Portia wasn’t in Queen Charlotte, so did she move to Mayfair as a teenager? Were they close as debutantes before jealousy set in? I mean, Portia’s bitterness could easily stem from Violet marrying Edmund, while she ended up with Archibald. Did Portia ever have feelings for Edmund?

And speaking of connections, this would be the perfect opportunity for POLIN flashbacks! Colin and Penelope’s romance is a classic friends-to-lovers story, much like Violet and Edmund’s. But we never got any flashbacks in their season, leaving a massive gap in their narrative. Why not show us how they met? Jess could easily tie this into the spin-off and make the entire Polin fandom very happy. It would even make sense for Colin and Penelope to appear in present-day scenes, much like Violet and Lady Danbury did in Queen Charlotte. This spin-off could bridge so many gaps while adding depth and richness to the world of Bridgerton.

YES, YES, YES! I am so on board with this idea! I also think I may have brought this up in a previous post or response, that I want an Edmund and Violet love story! Edmund does feel like a mythical figure, and while that’s beautiful in a way, it also means there’s a huge part of him we’ve never had the chance to meet. Giving him depth - a real personality, flaws, quirks - would make all those Season 2 flashbacks hit so much harder. It would make all of the scenes where they talk about him hit so much harder.

And Violet’s story? Don’t even get me started! There’s so much history there just waiting to be explored. We had a small glimpse of her in Queen Charlotte, but I also wanted more. Her relationship with her parents post-Queen Charlotte, her dynamic with Portia (friends? rivals? frenemies?). So many options and layers to add to the story of Bridgerton!

As for Polin flashbacks, OMG YES. I have always wanted to see how their friendship started and grew into what we know it is today. Not having flashback scenes in season 3 is one of the things I didn't like. I mean I do love how Colin and Pen talked about how they met, but a flashback scene could have added so much more. Missed opprotunity there for sure! A spin-off that ties in their past while giving us present-day glimpses of Colin and Penelope would be perfection.

Honestly, this spin-off could do it all: expand the Bridgerton world, deepen existing stories, and give us fans more of the richness we’re all craving. Shonda, Netflix - please make this happen!

#bridgerton #edmund bridgerton #violet bridgerton #polin

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