Tagged by @faye-tale herself. The challenge was to search Pinterest for your name + core and create a collage. I think my Pinterest account knows my aesthetic a little too well haha
Tagging @queen-of-the-misfit-toys and @musicismyoxygen84 to see their vibe!
1 and 6 Anthony Bridgerton CAN do whatever the fuck he wants. @colettebronte @fayes-fics, @eleanor-bradstreet @thebabblingbrookenook help a woman out! I REALLY need to know what caused that little peek of tongue in the first picture.
@graciecatfamilyband told me to list 5 things that make me happy so I guess I’ll do it otherwise she’ll tell my therapist and I’ll get in trouble.
1. dog butt wiggles
2. dog awoos
3. @graciecatfamilyband
4. the color yellow
5. warm hugs
tagging: @amillcitygirl @semperlitluv @sansastarkr @woodswit @saltkettling and anyone else that wants to play. I have brain fog so I can’t remember names 🙃
rules: post a screenshot of your lock screen photo, a screenshot of the last/current song listened to, as well as the last photo of a celebrity that you saved in your phone.
Thanks for the tag @colettebronte
Lock screen is my fur baby, Kismet 🥰
Last song was called Youth by Daughter
Screenshot was a funny/accurate meme of my brain on Pedro Pascal
Authors Note: This is a fic request fill for @broooookiecrisp from this ask (in essence, Benedict and his wife turn to Anthony for help to conceive a child). Thank you to @colettebronte and @makaylan for their invaluable advice and betaing. This is very different to my usual threesomes. This is much more angsty and emotional, but there is a happy ending. I hope you all enjoy <3
“Don’t worry, darling,” he soothes as you tear up, “it will happen for us one day.”
Despite his words, you stare at the bloody rag and feel nothing but failure.
More than anything, you want to give him children. Perhaps not a brood to rival his prestigious family, but a few children would be nice—two, maybe three. And you, more than anything, want to be a mother. To nurture life, be surrounded by children's laughter, and bring wonderful, new humans into the world.
But six months into your marriage, despite frequent, wonderful, vigorous, and enjoyable attempts, every month, your courses have arrived like clockwork, and every time, you feel you are letting him down.
“Please don’t cry,” his sweet, comforting voice almost pained; his lips mashed into your temple as he gently rocks you. “I love you regardless of if we can ever have a family. I need you to know that,” his voice sincere, maybe a little desperate.
“I know that, Benedict; I love you too; I just….” you say between muted sobs, “…I just want to give you a family like yours.”
“Darling, for all we know, it is I who is at fault, not you. In fact, we would never know unless…” he doesn’t finish the sentence, but his mien turns thoughtful.
“Unless what?” you prompt, lifting your head to look at him intently.
“Unless you attempt to get pregnant via another man,” he sighs, his face pinched.
“No!! No!!” bile rises in your throat at merely the idea of being with anyone but him. He is the only man you have ever known intimately, the only one you trust. “I can’t do this with anyone but you, Benedict,” you plead.
“And believe me, my darling, the thought of you with anyone else makes me nauseated, but this may be our only choice to find out. And perhaps actually have a baby we can raise as our own,” he points out.
He’s right, and you hate it. You would do anything to let him be the father he so obviously yearns to be. And if that means you have to lay with another man, for him, and only him, you will make yourself do it if that is what he wants. It will hurt your heart beyond belief, but you want him to be a father as much as you wish to be a mother. The problem is that the only man whose babies you want is the one asking you to take another man’s seed.
You draw your knees up on lean on them, sobbing bitterly. Benedict kisses your temple and hugs you as you cry it all out.
——
Benedict hovers nervously outside Anthony’s study at Bridgerton House, having no clue how to broach the topic he wants to discuss. But after weeks of consideration, it’s the only way forward he can see that doesn’t turn his stomach.
“Brother, will you be lurking all day or just for a half-hour?” comes the dry, bemused voice from behind the door.
Benedict stops pacing, closes his eyes briefly, and then, with a decisive nod, heads into the room.
“There is a sensitive matter I would like to discuss with you if you are amenable?” he begins, too nervous to sit in the seat Anthony gestures to. “I’ll stand if you don’t mind.”
“Whatever can it be? You seem quite the bag of nerves,” Anthony observes wryly, leaning back casually in his chair behind the desk.
“It’s regarding children,” Benedict begins slowly and carefully.
“Ah, right, family and intimate matters,” Anthony gets up and closes his office door. He stays standing as Benedict rocks on his feet, and Anthony looks at him expectantly.
There is nothing else but to dive in headfirst. Benedict steels himself for this tough ask and then begins.
“Despite our best efforts, my wife and I are… struggling to become pregnant,” he exhales.
“I am sorry to hear that, but I think a doctor may be a better confidante than myself,” Anthony argues, “should your wife need examining….”
“Well, that’s the thing; I’m not so certain she is at fault,” Benedict counters.
Anthony scoffs. “You are a Bridgerton. If there is one thing we are capable of, it’s progeny,” he laughs, pointing at the row of miniatures of their siblings.
“Well, maybe I am the exception that proves the rule,” Benedict replies quietly and seeing the pain written in the lines of his face, Anthony’s whole demeanour changes.
“I did not mean to make light of your challenges, brother,” Anthony states slowly, “merely that the balance of probability it is not your fault is quite high.”
“Well, there is only one way I can think of to confirm that suspicion,” Benedict answers, “and that is for another man to attempt to impregnate my wife.”
Anthony's shocked expression is a picture. “You wish for your wife to lay with another man?” the contempt in his voice unmaskable.
“Wish it?” Benedict scorns. “I wish anything but. It is the very definition of my nightmare, but… she deserves the world, and If I am at fault, I could never forgive myself if I do not explore all avenues to fulfil her dreams. To make her happy. If I cannot give her children, I will not begrudge her the happiness of motherhood she so desperately craves.”
Anthony is floored by the self-sacrifice his little brother will always make for those he loves.
“And this brings me to my proposal….” Benedict adds warily.
Anthony senses the nerves emanating in waves off him and clamps a reassuring hand onto his shoulder.
“What is it, brother?”
“Selfish as it may sound, I want any child I raise as my own to be a Bridgerton. And there is only one man I would allow to lay with my wife without my stomach turning…. and that dear brother,” he takes a deep breath and meets Anthony’s eye squarely, “is you.”
Anthony freezes and falls back into a nearby chair. Literally stunned.
“I.. “ he begins but can not find more words.
“I'm aware this is a huge ask,” Benedict rushes out, “but I can't think of another palatable solution to my wife's happiness, and, more than anything, I want to give her that. Happiness.”
Anthony can see the quiver in his brother's lip, and his heart breaks for him at this impossible impasse.
“Brother, I’m not sure I can do this,” Anthony wavers honestly, standing up again and beginning to pace.
“Please,” Benedict implores, “please at least consider it. I will sign any private sealed paperwork you wish, ensuring that should she become pregnant, the child has no rights to your title or estates….”
“It’s not that,” Anthony cuts in, frowning that would even be a consideration, “it’s just… Benedict, it’s your brother bedding your wife. This choice seems fraught with potential anguish.”
“It seems unlikely to me at least that two men in the same family would be similarly afflicted, coming as we do from a man capable of siring eight children. If you do not impregnate her, then maybe we will know it is not me at fault,” Benedict argues, appealing to Anthony's logical side that he knows will often win in an emotional moment.
Anthony stops pacing and instead shuffles a pile of perfectly neat paper, nerves manifesting in the need to keep himself busy in the motions of a pointless task. “Allow me to think on it.”
Benedict gives a short sharp nod and, with nothing else he can think to say, takes his leave.
——
His fingers trail gently over your stomach as you lay in post-coital bliss.
“Darling, I have an idea for our baby dilemma,” he offers softly, tracing his lips over your collarbone.
“Mmm, I'm all ears, husband,” you reply drowsily, your ankles twining with his, your fingers running into his thick, lush hair.
Tonight he took you somewhere truly primal, and it feels different. Like it's possible you are actually pregnant this time. That something so fundamental happened in your moment of pure blissful release that, indeed, life was created.
“There is one way to ensure we have a Bridgerton child,” he begins quietly, his warm breath dusting over your dewy skin. “And that is for you to lay with my brother, Anthony.”
The world stops. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears and a weird static buzz in every bone of your face. Like you have been struck by lightning.
No, No, NO, Benedict, your mind wails. Literally anyone but him, dear god.
Unbeknownst to your husband, there is only one man you had ever considered before you met him. And that is his older brother—Viscount Anthony Bridgerton. You harboured a flame for him upon your first visit to Aubrey Hall with your family when you were fifteen, and that really only abated a few years later when you met his wonderful, soulful younger brother who utterly stole your heart.
“Benedict…” you sigh, going to move away, but he holds you in place, staring deep into your eyes, running his hands over your jaw, your cheeks.
“Think about it, my love,” he cuts in. “He is someone I trust with my life. He will not attempt to blackmail us or steal you away from me,” he petitions. “And we look so alike, my brother and me; no one would bat an eyelid about the child’s appearance, should you conceive one. It is the perfect solution,” he looks at you so beseechingly that you almost feel like you are betraying him just by wanting to object. And so you can’t, you don't. You will never deny him the right to fatherhood he so obviously deserves. If that means playing with the fire of your attraction to his brother, you will do it.
You grab his hand and lace your fingers with his. “My love, if this is what you want. I consent,” you murmur as your insides riot at the idea of lying with his brother. “But I have conditions.” you swallow thickly.
“What are they? Anything, my love,” he says pleadingly. “I will do anything for you; you know that,” he asserts as he kisses a fervent line over your cheek to your lips.
“I cannot do this without you,” you answer meekly. “I need you there the whole time. Not just in the room, I need you with me, skin on skin; I need you to hold me when it is happening, to talk to me.”
He inhales sharply. “You wish to lay with both of us? At the same time?”
“Yes, Benedict, my love. I cannot give my body to another man unless you are right there with me. Please, please.”
“I… I….” he stumbles, “I will have to check with him, but if that is what you need, what you desire, I will, of course, be there, my love.”
“Will you fuck me too?” your use of the base, crude term somehow feels necessary in this context.
You see the vein in his neck jump, and his voice turns gravelly. “You want that?”
“Yes, husband. Once he has been with me, I want you to be with me too.” you push up and kiss him deeply, trying to transmit just how much you love him, that for you, how much all of this is for him, for his happiness.
“Alright, my love,” he appeases with delicate kisses, “of course, of course….”
——
When Benedict rises the following day, his valet hands him a hand-delivered note. It is from Bridgerton House, and inside the wax-sealed envelope, on Anthony's signature note paper, there, in neat-looking penmanship, is just one word.
Yes.
Benedict drops the card onto his desk and rubs his temples, uncertain if he should feel elated or empty.
——
The fateful night arrives sooner than you would like, but equally, the weight of anticipation felt like almost too much to bear in the lead-up. You fidget nervously with your silk robe, which all at once feels too heavy and not thick enough, your skin prickling with the uncertainty of what is to pass.
You stay in the bedroom, brushing your hair at your vanity with repetitive calming motions as Benedict greets Anthony and invites him into your home. In advance, you and Benedict had agreed a few strong brandies would likely assist both men before embarking on this journey; you declined to imbibe in the hope it would aid with conception. So you sit nervously awaiting as they partake downstairs in your drawing room, no doubt.
For some reason, you prefer not to see Anthony before the ‘act’ begins; it feels too much like danger knowing what will happen, the ghost of your past attraction like a potential unwanted spectre taunting you. It feels safer to keep your distance until, well, until you cannot.
You get onto the bed and attempt to read, but your butterflies mean you are staring at the same page for minutes at a time, words just a jumble of letters that bleed into each other, your mind too preoccupied. Just as you start to fret about whether you can do this, you hear voices and a pair of heavy boots ascending the stairs.
Then there in the doorway are your husband and his brother, looking at you with the same expression you give them. Nervous apprehension, but theirs mellowed by alcohol.
“Darling,” Benedict drawls as they walk in, and he closes the door, “how are you?”
“I am fine,” you assure with a quick, tight smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. The butterflies are truly rioting now.
Your gaze falls to Anthony, who flashes you a brusque smile before he peels off his jacket and rapidly moves onto his boots. It seems almost business-like, and there is a hot flare in your stomach. Benedict is already more casual, barefoot, just his white shirt and trousers; it's like he senses your spike of anxiety and is on the bed with you in the blink of an eye.
“It's okay, my darling,” he mollifies, pushing you gently down into the pillows, his breath sweetened by brandy and smoky from cigars, “I’m here, my love, I’m here.”
His kiss is gentle and pitched to reassure, his lips soft on yours, intuiting the need to settle your fears. It works, and as you always do, you find yourself melting into your husband's loving embrace and attention. His hands run delicate patterns over your thin robe.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, a soft smile on his lips as he moves to kiss down your throat, his lips warm and plush as his words vibrate over your skin. He goes to untie your robe, but you halt his hand, covering it with your own.
“Please, Benedict, I need you naked before I am,” you plead quietly.
He lifts his head and meets your imploring gaze, nodding slightly, understanding your reasons without you needing to vocalise them. It's part of why you love him so much, this shorthand you have developed, this unspoken bond. You can't help the little flutter in your chest as he whips off his shirt and settles over you, so much body warmth seeping through your robe from his skin. As he kisses the cord of your neck, you sigh and allow your hands to wander, loving the feel of his toned flesh under your fingertips.
With him over and surrounding you, he is your whole field of vision, perhaps by design to centre your focus on him. In the background, you can hear the sounds of Anthony disrobing, but Benedict utters soft, reassuring words against your skin to drown out the sound. His warm lips feathering down over your collarbone, skirting the edge of your robe. As ever, his tender treatment makes you stir, and you feel your body become pliant under him, allowing him to ease between your legs, your robe falling open as his wool trousers tickle the inside of your knees.
“My darling, you smell wonderful. Did you bathe in your favourite magnolia petal soap?” his voice buzzes over your breastbone as he breathes deeply and smiles indulgently as you hum in the affirmative. “Your skin is so soft; I am such a lucky man.” you know he is being extra vocal and reassuring with his words and actions; it makes your heart melt a fraction. He wants you comfortable and aroused. He wants this to be pleasant for you. You would never have the heart to tell him his efforts are not perhaps as needed as he believes.
You cannot look at Anthony to this day without a tiny stab of desire, perhaps remnants of a theoretical scenario where he could have been your intended, at least in your mind. Or it could be that he is an objectively handsome man. Either way, the thought of laying with him is not abhorrent on a physical level; in fact, the genuine possibility of the opposite stokes the blaze of nerves in your belly—that you could enjoy it a little too much.
You reach down and begin unbuttoning Benedict's trousers, wanting, needing more, as he continues languid kisses on your exposed skin. This time you do not object as his fingers insinuate between your bodies and tug at the ties holding your robe closed.
You inhale sharply as his naked body surges over yours as he kicks away his trousers. So much heat and warmth as your thighs cradle him. You can feel his rigid cock searing the apex of your thighs, and more than anything, you want him to push into your body.
As his lips close on your left nipple, you moan and cant up towards him; you sense something else happening in the room. You realise, without looking; you have an audience. Anthony’s gaze feels heavy on your skin; you know he is watching as his brother's tongue peaks out and lathes over your nipple, watches as he sucks the nub into his mouth, and you cry out. Somehow the audience makes this more hedonistic. You want to feel ashamed at the throbbing between your legs, yet…. you don't; you just feel a molten desire. The idea of being the sole focus of two of the most handsome men of the ton does not escape your mind.
Somehow you know without looking that Anthony has taken his cock in hand and is ogling your body, just as Benedict's hand slides between your legs and glides over your folds.
“Are you ready for us, my love?” he asks softly. Part of you wants to lie, to ask him to dive his face between your legs and suck your clit until you are writhing and panting, but you know tonight is not about pleasure; it's a means to an end. And besides, he would know it's unnecessary as soon as his fingers slide between your lips, which they now do, and he hisses at the pooled, slick viscous heat he finds within. “Oh, darling, you are more than ready, aren't you? You are positively weeping from your gorgeous little cunt.”
You moan again at his words, almost surprised he is willing to talk like this in front of his brother, but you suspect it’s because he knows how much it arouses you. And indeed, you hear a noise from Anthony as you writhe on Benedict's fingers, wishing more than anything for him to sink them into your body and massage that spot you love so very much that only his fingers can reach.
“Please, fuck me,” you exhale, and it's a dangerous elixir thrumming in your bloodstream when there is a duet of responding groans to your breathy plea.
“I will, darling, I will,” he promises with an aching urgency, propelling one of his fingers into you and you crying out his name.
His fingertip massages that spot as his mouth is on your other breast, and you don't hide your enjoyment of what is happening. In truth, perhaps you are more performative, your whispered pleas just a little louder for Anthony’s benefit, your body flexing a little more pronounced; you almost want him to desire your body as much as your husband does. Sometimes playing with fire is such a beguilingly hypnotic idea.
“Make her climax, brother; I have heard it can help with conception,” Anthony’s smooth voice rings out, and you gasp, whipping your head to look at him for the first time since clothing was shed.
There’s a stab of what almost feels like betrayal as your eyes fall on Viscount Anthony Bridgerton—naked and imposing, standing as he does next to the bed. Unlike his brother, his chest is covered in a thatch of dark hair; his build is thicker and more muscular than your slightly taller, lither husband. Perhaps predictably, given their shared genetics, he is physically appealing too. You can tell by the motion of his arm he is stroking himself, but you daren't allow your eyes to wander lower than his taunt, defined abdomen, almost scared to see what lies between his legs. And yet curiosity wins out as he mounts the bed on all-fours, you glance down the plane of his torso and glimpse his cock nestling in a patch of dark hair, just like Benedict's, but it looks different. You can't deny that. A shade thicker, perhaps, just like their bodies. That you are comparing your husband's cock to his brothers fills you with a self-disdain you don't want to contemplate, so you quickly cut your eyes away. It matters not the pleasure he can provide during the act; what matters is the outcome: his seed, the hope of progeny.
“Here, let me help,” Anthony offers casually. And your breathing accelerates rapidly as suddenly he is next to you and his lips close around your other nipple, still wet with your husband's saliva.
A long, low curse slips from your mouth unsolicited as you experience the blinding pleasure of both nipples being sucked simultaneously.
Something burns white hot, not just desire but also shame. Shame that you want this so much. That your whole axis is thrown off by the equally talented tongue of Anthony Bridgerton swirling and sucking your nipple. But then he himself did just say female pleasure is paramount to conception. Who are you to deny yourself this pleasure if it is a means to the ultimate end? Your selfish, licentious side greedily courting all the attention they are willing to offer.
Benedict's finger curls more insistently inside you as a thumb lands on your clit, rubbing in an unfamiliar but alluring motion. It is not your husband’s. It does not have the same softness; there's a rasping quality to Anthony’s more pen-calloused skin that snags perfectly on your sensitive bud. Having the mouths and fingers of two Bridgerton brothers teasing you is overwhelming, but part of you feels overridden with guilt that you are deriving such pleasure from them both.
“It's alright, my love,” Benedict assures, sensing your emotional quandary, and it’s the license you need. Allow yourself to indulge in the sensation enough to be carried away by the sheer wonder of it all.
Within moments, a potent tide rips through your being as you writhe, surrounded by their bodies. Benedict surges up and captures your lips in a passionate, consuming kiss as you clench so hard on his finger and holler his name so loudly into his mouth. You don't dare speak his brother's name, but something makes your hand grasp Anthony's hair as he gently laps your breast.
Benedict eases himself from between your legs and arranges his body against your left flank as you calm. On instinct, still fuzzy from your orgasm, you turn your head towards him, seeking his lips for more kisses, sighing as he obliges, your nostrils filled with the scent of your own arousal on his damp fingers that cradle your jaw as his lips open gently with yours. His cock is branding your hip as he pulls your left leg towards him, opening you up, and your heartbeat spikes as you feel Anthony climb over your right leg and shuffle between your thighs.
“Benedict,” you gasp over his lips. He knows. He knows you are at your most vulnerable, and he clutches your face tight, keeps your gaze locked on his, his mouth hovering over yours.
“Shhh, my love,” he soothes, “you are doing so wonderful; you are my whole world; I love you so much,” his searing words pour into your soul as you feel Anthony’s body over yours.
Benedict holds your face, his grip almost vice-like, not letting you look away, to his brother, as arms band around your hips, and Anthony heaves you onto his thighs, your pelvis now higher than your head.
“Don't stop talking,” you plead into your husband's mouth as you feel the tip of Anthony’s cock at your entrance.
“I love you; I can't wait to raise a family with you, my darling,” he entreats. The mix of desire and hurt on his face breaks your heart as you cry out with the force of Anthony’s cock ploughing into you. It feels so different in a way you can't explain and want to weep, but you can't do that to your husband, hurt him like that. So you keep staring into his hazy eyes, breathing his exhaled air and familiar scent as Anthony starts to move inside you.
It feels so wondrous, your walls clinging to his thick veiny cock as you bite your lip to trap the sounds you want to make. There is no denying how utterly incredible Anthony feels inside you. He almost immediately hits a harsh snapping rhythm, making slight panting noises with the exertion. Benedict shuts his eyes and swallows heavily, and you know it's to school his emotions, yet you can't help but steal a glance up at his brother while he does so. Anthony looks so handsome and majestic, an errant curl of hair bouncing on his forehead as he throws his whole body into the thrusts. His skin glows dewy in the candlelight. His eyes meet yours, and a flame there startles so much that you swivel your eyes back to your husband’s as they reopen. Guilt makes you utter his name, each syllable rising and falling with the motion of your body as Anthony fucks you so hard.
“It's alright if you enjoy this, my darling,” Benedict affirms sotto voce, and it's like whiplash to your heart how giving this man is, how much he is sacrificing so you can have a family together. You know it must be eating him alive on some level to see the pleasure his brother is giving you.
“I only want to come if it's with you,” you whisper harshly.
“But you need to come, my darling; it will improve the chance of a baby,” he assuages.
You feel Anthony’s fingers at your clit, and you seize Benedict’s face. “Then talk to me, my love. Talk like it’s just us, say all those debauched things that make me burn so hot for you, just you,” you implore desperately.
Benedict growls and surges his rigid cock against your hip, leaking onto your dewy skin as his warm lips capture your cheekbone.
“I want you, my wife,” he intones through clenched teeth. “Every day, I want to strip you down and take you so hard.”
“Yesssssss,” you hiss, writhing on Anthony's cock, who groans and grips your hip bone hard. “More, please, more.”
Anthony’s fingers are a frenzy on your clit now as you keen loudly, urging him on; you unwittingly squeeze his muscular forearm.
“I know what makes you come so hard; only me, only I can do that. You are my wife, mine. Say it,” Benedict orders, his tone as desperate as yours, spying the way you have latched onto his brother, needing reassurance.
“I'm yours, Benedict, always, forever,” you cry, and it turns into a scream as Anthony starts to spear you so hard you want to see stars.
“I love you, my darling wife. You are going to be such a wonderful mother; I know how much you want that. To be a mother. To have a baby,” he murmurs, placing his forehead onto yours, “that is why we are doing this, my darling.”
"But Benedict, I only want your baby… Our baby…" you lament, raw with emotion, as you battle the sensations threatening to overwhelm you. Anthony's cock makes your eyes roll back in your head, and Benedict's words take you over a soft edge, your blood boiling in your veins for your husband and his brother. Your scream muffled into his jaw as your cunt flutters hard around Anthony.
“Fuckkkking hell, I'm going to come,” Anthony warns, and for the first time, you look away from Benedict, uncaring that he sees.
“Give it to me,” you growl at Anthony, “give me your seed Bridgerton; I love my husband more than life itself; give us our baby right now!”
Both men seem equally shocked and aroused by your voracious demand.
“Darling…” Benedict pants raggedly on your cheekbone, his leaking cock pressing rhythmically against you again as you wrap your arm possessively around his head, fingers tugging no doubt painfully on his hair as you stare Anthony down, urging him to come.
There is a long guttural noise as Anthony stills. You feel the warmth of his release bloom inside you as he slumps over your body. His head on your damp diaphragm, puffing hard breaths over your ticklish skin as he keeps jerking and pumping little aftershocks into you.
The act over; as much as Anthony is an attractive man, all you want, crave, need, and desire is your husband with every fibre of your being. Like a siren calling across an ocean, he is the only place you want to be wrecked.
“Benedict, now, please, please, I need you,” you turn to him and cry.
You rasp lightly as Anthony pulls out and slumps back breathlessly against the footboard of your bed as you almost drag your husband on top of you. You chant a litany of pleas as he fumbles to line up with your fluttering body. And your eyes well with emotion as he finally surges into you. The stretch of his cock is different but so familiar, mind-bending and heart-stopping.
Your mouths mash together in a frenzy, and you cling to Benedict, pleading with him for more and harder, uncaring of the audience you have. You think he won't last long, but you don't care—you crave his release more than your own. You just want to revel in the carnality of your husband’s body and of what you have just permitted to happen for each other, for love. You steal a glance at Anthony over Benedict’s shoulder, and the soft, understanding look he gives you fills you with unspoken gratitude that he agreed to do this, to help you in this amazing way.
Benedict is not gentle, and you are grateful for it, conveying all of his passion for you with firm hands grasping your flesh, destined to leave imprints, teeth grazing your neck, thrusting into you with no mercy. You were mistaken, though - he does last. Keeps pounding into your body over and over and over as you make needy noises with each movement, climbing higher again.
“Come for me, husband, please; I need to feel it,” you beg, clasping his bum encouragingly, kissing every inch of skin you can reach, dragging your nipples over his chest, greedily pursuing your satisfaction as well as his.
“Tell me you love me,” he demands, sweat dripping from his forehead onto yours, his eyes burning into yours.
“I love you; you know I love you,” your response is a reflex. And that is what causes the dam to break for him, his whole body jerking violently, hissing and groaning loud against your ear as he spills inside you, fingers flexing, nails leaving moon-shaped marks on your shoulders where his arms curl under around them. The visceral feel of him coming apart, his body smashing against your clit takes you over too. Eyes fluttering closed as your body clenches in waves around his spasming cock.
And as you lay there sharing ragged breaths, Anthony’s warm hand encircles your ankle, and your eyes meet again in a moment of connection that feels warm and profound; you hope beyond hope a baby was conceived tonight.
——
Nine months later.
The birth of your baby is the most harrowing but rewarding day of your life. As you hear the infant’s first cry, your whole world crumbles and is rebuilt around her. Your precious, precious gift.
Benedict’s embrace is so tight as you cradle new life in your arms, scarcely believing the truth. Then a tiny set of eyes blink open, and your heart soars to heights you never dreamed possible.
“Benedict,” you breathe, joyful tears flowing unabashed, “look… she has… she has your eyes,” your whisper tremulant.
There, unmistakable as anything, is his baby. Not Anthony’s, not just a Bridgerton baby. His. Benedict’s.
“I don't think she can be anyone’s but yours, my love,” you assure ardently.
His fervent kiss on your dewy brow is only made wetter by the gentle tears that roll down his cheek and onto your skin.
“I love you,” he whispers reverently, his large hand wrapping delicately around your swaddled baby. “I love our daughter. We are finally a family.”
Benedict Bridgerton coming in clutch with the comfort right off the bat! I really appreciate him not shaming her about her courses. Some men wouldn't be so thoughtful. It is so important, and anymore, rare, to find a partner that provides support and leads by a refusal to relinquish hope. He's so sure. "Don't worry it will happen." You've established the tone of their relationship immediately. Even in this tumultuous, grief filled cycle, their thoughts are foremost of each other. They care so much for the other's hopes and wishes, which in my opinion makes them stronger as a couple. While I do think it is so important to know ourselves, I think it equally important to let ourselves be known. It is not always for us to be for us. Strength in vulnerability and all that... But I also like that his comfort does not come in place of his grief. He is strong for her without masking his own pain. It would make me feel so much less alone to know that he is there in body, mind, and spirit. They are going through this TOGETHER! He isn't above the emotions and she isn't a problem to be solved. I love his reassurance that she is enough with or without children. Her worth does not come based on what she can give him or how she performs as a wife. The man even tries to shift the blame entirely and leave none of the burden on her shoulders. Selfless, Selfless Man! The fact that this entire review so far has been based solely on a few paragraphs says a lot about your writing lol.
Taking a side step here. Let's talk technical for a second. The introduction stands apart from your normal, eloquent flow. It's clipped. More servere. Staccato in nature. Which is lending and perfectly in tune with the emotions of the scene. The harshness of the feelings. The desperation pounding through their veins. Something too smooth would have felt patronizing to read. We should feel 100% on edge with their circumstance.
And then we transition into the scene between Benedict and Anthony. Again, we have a change up in the tone. The energy feels like chaos. It is still rooted in desperation, but now it is coupled with purpose. Action. Choices have been made. Forward motion. Fear. Hope. Excitement. Longing. Courage. Wildness. Reckless abandon. But it's also laced with the sweet notion of reverting to a more childlike state of wanting your big brother to help you. To fix the bad things. To nurture you while you pour all of yourself into your partner's needs. The humility of asking for help on this scale is breathtaking. And the fact that Anthony has cultivated this space of security for Benedict within their relationship over the years is stunning. But we also just need to talk about the FORCE that is Anthony Bridgerton. Good God, woman! The way you write him destroys me sometimes. You are locked in on his essence. It's hard to explain because it is more than just the words he chooses. Or even his actions. It's the feeling he embodies and projects. He feels solid and safe. Unwavering. He has a security about him. The calm in the storm. Perfect example... He knows Benedict has something heavy on his heart. Anthony's first instinct was to try and defuse through levity. The quip he makes about Benedict hovering outside his door, but then also again when he remarks about him being a bag of nerves. You depict him perfectly. "Anthony observes wryly, leaning back casually in his chair behind his desk." He's so patient but also quick to match Benedict's seriousness. Especially when he needs him to understand that he isn't making light of his brother's struggle.All of his responses, even the ones of shock, are in support of Benedict. I love that he observes Benedict's nature to be self- sacrificing. I dare say that probably influences his decision in the end. Just because he's the little brother doesn't mean that Anthony can't look up to him. It says so much about who Benedict is as a person for him to view his own needs or wants as selfish. I think him being able to express all of this to Anthony was almost his way of asking permission to have his own needs met. I adore their relationship.
Moving on to Benedict dropping the bomb on our reader lol. This part of the story stood out to me immediately. Her inner monologue of hope after her husband has taken her to a place of bliss unknown... That little moment is where I decided that I knew how I wanted this story to end. And this was the event that set it all into motion. I may be wrong. You could have meant that totally innoucuously, but my heart declared it nonetheless. Her reaction to his solution was exactly what it had to be. As much of mythical creature that Benedict is, his brother is equally a man of mystery and appeal. My heart belongs to Benedict but Anthony was the awakening. The instant guilt and panic are right on par with where my emotions went when I was thinking about this scenario. Her guilt isn't just coming from past feelings but from the desire that she thought dormant. You are so good with little details. When she goes to move away from him in protest, also I'd imagine to separate him from her shame, Benedict holds her closer to him. He needs to feel secure in their connection. The physical contact keeps him grounded. It makes it easier for him to state his case. I can just picture those deep pools of blue pleading with her to take this leap. It would be impossible to deny him. He probably never asks for anything. The fact that he's even presenting this speaks volumes of its importance to him. How could you not give him everything he wants? No matter how dangerous the game... Requesting that he be with her is the smartest move she could have made. Not only would it act as a safety net from the inevitable downfall of emotions she would feel through intimacy with a man like Anthony, it also allows Benedict to share in the most pivotal moment of their lives. If he can't be the one to plant the seed, he should at least get to be there, looking in her eyes, when their child is convinced. And I don't know why, but I love that you chose to have her use crudeness when asking him to join them in bed. Fucking is something they can do together, but love is reserved for Benedict. I think that distinction was important for him to hear. He needed to understand that while she may be giving her body to his brother, she isn't giving him all of her. There is still a place that only he holds.
AND NOW... THE NIGHT OF! I would cut off my big toe to know what was said between brothers in that drawing room over brandies. I really liked that you started by setting each man apart. They are similar but there is a world of difference between them. Anthony, business-like, and tucked securely into his coat and boots. Benedict, more free and comfortable, with his bare feet and loose collar shirt. Perfection.
I think Benedict's superpower to intuit and fulfill needs is so lovely. Sometimes it is hard to understand our own emotions, let alone give them a voice. It's comforting to be with someone who somehow just knows. And I like that he just jumped right in and didn't leave time or space for her to overthink. You truly do so well with the complexities of human minds. When she asked him to be naked before she could, she was asking him to lead her. To be the first to take the risk. He centers her so nicely too. He turns her on so easily. That errant thought she had about not wanting to tell him that she didn't need the extra help with her arousal really hit my character growth radar. She has a lot about herself to explore. She's allowed to have kinks and be brazen. And I KNOW that is something Benedict is capable of helping her uncover. I was proud of her when she gave in to that impulse when she felt Anthony watching them. I think Benedict felt the same when he reached between her thighs to test her readiness. "Oh darling, you're more than ready........ 😳" I shivered in my seat and clenched my thighs together for dear life. How can something so crass sound so smooth? It was like liquid silk dripping off his tongue. And the duet of responding groans.... Ma'am! A dangerous elixir indeed. She's really dipping a toe in the naughty pool when she "performs" for Anthony. And my word! That line... "Sometimes playing with fire is such a beguiling hypnotic idea." Imagery perfection right there!
Coming in hot true Anthony style. "Make her climax, brother." Always so bossy. His nerves are gone and he's ready to play. Naked and imposing as you say. But I respect her self control. You've done a great job utilizing eye contact, or the lack thereof in this story. When she withholds the most basic form of communication from him, he immediately propels himself into forward motion, and goes from spectator to participant. Effortlessly sexy. He really makes her question herself. I enjoy the back and forth in her mind about her moral standing. And then enter Benedict to grant her the freedom to enjoy herself. The paragraph where she orgasms for the first time was really satisfying. Being able to call out Benedict's name in passion, but knowing not to cross that line with Anthony. What I liked most was that even though she couldn't say his name, she couldn't abandon him completely. She had to find a way to thank him for the pleasure and reassure him of his talents. And I liked that she did it almost subconsciously.
Now the next part... Faye, you have outdone yourself. When Benedict is the one to pull her leg open to expose her to Anthony... Why was that so hot?! (Feral Noises!!) And then the way he distracted her while Anthony PUTS HER IN HIS LAP! I can't think of anything more stimulating than Benedict's in my ear while Anthony makes his grand entrance, haha. The contrast of the sensations through their entire encounter is also extremely stimulating. There is so much going on, but in a good way. The pleasure and ecstasy with Anthony. The intimacy and oneness with Benedict. It broke my heart the way he clenched his eyes shut to collect himself. He's so damn selfless!
But wow, the talking... It's almost bordering on overstimulation at this point. 🫠
Like you always do, you throw in these little nuggets of perfection for me to dwell on lol. The moment when she squeezes Anthony's forearm and Benedict notices and freaking CLAIMS her. When he makes her say out loud who she belongs to. 🥵
I felt the urge to start crying right around the time she tells him she only wants HIS baby. It was almost like she had to process their grief in that moment. And then BOOM! Orgasm lol. And my gosh! Anthony cursing and warning them that he's almost there did things to me that cannot be undone. I'd probably demand he give it to me too. Just milk him for all he's worth. It was clear she enjoyed it. I mean, how could she not? But when it was all over, it's like she could finally come up for air, and Benedict was oxygen incarnate.
One of my absolute favorite moments was when she felt Anthony's hand wrap around her ankle after her and Benedict finished. Again with the eye contact! I know I mentioned it before but it felt like an important theme. So much was said in that silent exchange. They are connected and bound so much deeper now. There's an affection that wasn't there before. An understanding. A respect. They both love Benedict to the ends of their hearts, and they've done this huge thing together for him. It almost felt like he was thanking her.
Could this have ended any other way? Absolutely not. This was the ending they deserved. A beautiful baby girl with her daddy's eyes.
Please give credit 😁 You Commies looking for this? Bad news for you, sport. I'm a Patriot. : A Hot Tub Time Machine photo op with Blaine himself, @imsebastianstan !!! #America #hottubtimemachine #sebastianstan #rhodeislandcomiccon #marvel #buckybarnes
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