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Parings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
Rating: various, see individual drabbles for warnings.
Status: Complete
In mid June 2026, I requested one-word prompts to help unstick my writing muse. All of these drabbles are exactly 100, 150, 200 or 250 words. Thanks to all those who sent prompts.😁🧡🧡
@fayes-fics is back, dipping her toes in with a series of drabbles 🙌These were all ABSOLUTELY delightful! PLEASE do yourself the favor and check these out!
TYSM for reccing this, my friend! It is indeed an experiment to get my writing muscles back in shape. I'm so pleased you enjoyed it and TY for reblogging! 😁🧡🧡
Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)
Summary: Fifth story in the Regency Lessons series and it's time-jump time. Things have progressed with our throuple and the Bridgerton Bros are in a race to impregnate their lady…
Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, BREEDING KINK off the bloody charts, pregnancy kink, dirty talk, oral sex (m to f), light bondage, filthy baby-making vaginal sex, dom/sub dynamics. Emotions, talk of marriages, established throuple dynamics.
Word Count: 5.4k
Authors Note: This is set in Lessons universe, but at least a year after the previous instalment. If pregnancy or babymaking isn't your thing, please don't read this. This is a very belated birthday request fill for @iboopedyournose. I hope you like the way I've interpreted your request for breeding kink threesome with bondage. Thanks to @colettebronte and @chaoticcalzoneranchsports for betaing. Enjoy! <3
You pause in front of the portrait of a naked pregnant woman, taking a sip of your champagne. The intimate parts of her are mostly obscured behind translucent silks. Her pregnant belly is bare as she cradles it proudly, her skin glowing; everything about her looks almost ethereal yet so earthy and powerful. It is such a provocative piece you can understand why it is only being shown at private parties such as this one, hosted by Mr Granville.
“Like what you see?” the dusky voice suddenly at your right ear asks.
You inhale sharply, instantly responding to the mere sound of his voice, something very Pavlovian in it. “Yes, I think she looks beautiful,” you reply quietly, tamping down your need to throw yourself into him, begging for his fingers in your mouth.
“She does indeed,” he is standing so close behind you can feel the heat radiating off him through his shirt. “Would you like to look like that? Swollen so beautifully with a baby?”
It's not something you have thought about much beyond the abstract idea that you wish for children someday. But then, so many things in your life are about to change, and this could be one.
“Maybe,” you deflect.
Large hands encircle your waist. “Mmm, just imagine,” he begins, his chest pressing warm on your spine. “How beautiful you would look, your belly all rounded,” his hands slide up and cup your chest as you moan lightly. “Your breasts so full, and oh gosh,” one hand slides down to the apex of your thighs, cradling it through your dress, “the smell and taste of you, so ripe, so juicy. You would be divine,” he assures.
“Stop,” you scold gently, but it's too breathy, the carnal images he so easily paints with his words haunting you as you rock in his arms.
“Would you like me to impregnate you, my darling?” he murmurs, his teeth pulling at your earlobe. “I could fuck you so hard and deep and leave my seed inside you. Over and over. And you know my brother would do the same in a heartbeat.”
Your breath quickens at the thought. They have always been careful to ensure they do not release inside you; it's a strict pact you have in place that they have always respected and obeyed. But perhaps that may change with what is impending.
“My husband-to-be, you mean,” your eyes cut sideways, and he stiffens.
“Yes, of course, I sometimes forget you are soon to be the Viscountess,” he bows his head, a flare of something in his eyes you know is jealousy.
“Benedict…” you sigh, sensing he needs reassurance; you pull him into a quiet alcove. “You know this is the only way the three of us can be together, for always. I love you just as much,” you vow quietly, touching his cheek. “But you know well I cannot marry you both, at least not in the eyes of the law. There would be many questions if Anthony were to remain unwed much longer. You know it is much easier for you to live with us as an apparent bachelor at Aubrey Hall than any other arrangement.”
All the facts you lay out, well known to you both, don’t stop the imploring look he gives you.
“I will marry you symbolically in a ceremony in the woods, down by the lake,” you whisper, appealing to his bohemian romantic side. “I will wear your ring proudly, too,” you promise. “I am as much yours as I am his. And always will be. I cannot be without either of you.”
He beams and crowds into you, sliding his lips down your neck.
“And yes, I will bear your children, my love,” you sigh as his actions make you pliant in his hands, as they always do. You grab his face to ensure he meets your gaze, his eyes dancing. “Nothing would make me prouder than bearing both of your babies, so yes, my love, the answer is yes.”
You moan gently as he kisses fire across your skin, and your eyes drift back to the painting, the idea of being fertile, ripe, burgeoning with life somehow suddenly so alluring.
——
“Anthony…” you call, but he does not respond; he probably cannot hear you above the whirlwind of activity around him. “ANTHONY!” you repeat, raising your voice, and suddenly, the hubbub of movement and noise in the room ceases.
His eyes meet yours and flash. “Everyone leave the room at once,” he orders to the hordes of people doing god knows what, “my fiancee wishes to speak with me.”
You watch as all the people scurry from the room as if burned.
“There was no need to send them away quite so abruptly, my love,” you state gently.
“Is this not an occasion where you wish me to throw you upon my desk and rut you so hard you scream?” he flirts outrageously.
“For once,” you respond airily, “it is not.”
“Tis a pity,” he smirks, then perches against the desk, crossing his legs and arms. “Then what can I do for you, my love?”
“I want you to make me with child,” you just go straight to the point. He usually appreciates bluntness.
He drops the heavy accounts ledger he is holding, and it slams to the ground with an echoing thump.
“Correction, I want you AND Benedict to make me with child,” you amend.
“What on earth brought this on?” his tone warm but intrigued, ignoring the ledger completely.
“That art party we went to last night?” you offer casually. “There was a scandalous but beautiful portrait of a pregnant naked woman.”
“Did he fuck you in front of it and give you some ideas?” Anthony sighs with fond exasperation.
“No,” you giggle, “for once, he did not.”
“But Tuesday is your night alone together?” Anthony frowns. “Don’t tell me he shirked his duty? I am his older brother. I can have words….”
“Oh, he more than performed his duty, just not in front of the painting,” you clarify.
“In front of one of his paintings, then?” Anthony guesses.
And you giggle again. “Carriage, on the way home.”
“Figures,” Anthony rolls his eyes, “does he ever do it in a bed?”
“Not if he can help it,” you wink, and he laughs.
Then schools his face more serious. “So you want a baby?”
“I want both of your babies. I’d certainly be open to us all getting some good practice in tomorrow,” you shrug playfully.
“I have absolutely no problem with that,” his voice drops low as he raises a sultry eyebrow. “And the desk offer still stands if you want a warm-up?” he concludes, breaking into a handsome smirk.
“It’s Wednesday, our rest day; I have dinner plans with my dear friend Lady Eleanor,” you shake your head fondly. “Plus, I cannot give you a head start, darling; that wouldn’t be fair to Benedict,” you tease. “You can sort it out between yourselves for tomorrow.”
“Why do we have a rest day?” he pouts.
“You know full well, with three people, it is much easier to schedule around six days. I can go one day without either of you, you know,” rolling your eyes lovingly.
“Such a pity,” he sighs in mock annoyance.
“It is just for today, darling, and tomorrow you may complete inside me, so there’s that to look forward to…” and you breeze out of the room, blowing him a kiss.
——
Thursday night is one of your two nights a week with both of your wonderful men.
You spend the early evening bathing in luxury soaps with your favourite scents, readying yourself for a night of untold pleasures. Sometimes you all meet in the bedroom, sometimes in the blue room, and other times, like tonight, you agree to al fresco. You cannot wait to play by the lake under the mid-summer moonlight.
You slip on an ivory silk robe and nothing else except the lariat body chains they each gave you. Dainty gold chains with their initials that wrap around your waist, the A and B matching charms hanging low over your belly, grazing your thatch of hair below—a secret you wear every day unseen beneath your usual clothing.
It’s a balmy evening as you approach the water's edge. There is already a soft blanket laid out and a decanter of brandy with three glasses—Anthony has ensured the staff have prepared for the evening. But neither man is to be seen yet. You settle on the blanket and pour yourself a snifter, enjoying the gentle roar of oil lantern flames dancing in the breeze set out on surrounding stakes.
This evening will be a first, letting them both leave their seed within you. Even though you have been together as a threesome for more than a year and done countless wonderful sensual things together, this is a huge step towards something new. You don’t expect to get pregnant on this first attempt, but the idea is beguiling nonetheless.
You pull open your robe and massage your as-yet-empty belly. Running your hands in swirls, imagining what it might be like to watch it grow and swell with a child—the ability to bring life into the world something so elemental and heavenly all at once. To sustain life through the wonder of your body swirls in your mind as you untie your robe and grab your breasts.
“I see someone started the party already, brother,” a familiar silky voice rings out, and your eyes pop open to see both of them standing there, watching you lasciviously. They are shirtless and only wear britches slung low around their hips, acres of lithe muscle and supple skin.
“Is that not our job, darling?” Anthony chimes in after his brother, already unbuttoning.
“Not that we aren’t enjoying the show,” Benedict adds pointedly, nudging Anthony as if to shut him up, and follows suit, removing his trousers.
When they both let their britches fall to the ground, you moan, seeing them both in all their resplendent naked glory, already half hard and looking so utterly delicious part of you wants to get on your knees and take them into your mouths. You go to crawl towards them, but Antony holds up a halting hand.
“Stay right where you are, lay back; tonight is about your pleasure, darling,” he practically purrs.
Your eyes flash with desire, and you do as told, removing your robe and laying back again, fully nude, running fingertips down the centre line of your torso, fingers playing with their jewelled charms that rest atop your lower belly.
“Then get down here,” you exhale, knowing their gaze is locked on your fingers as you slip them between your thighs.
They drop onto the blanket with you, the light breeze ruffling their chestnut locks. Both are so achingly beautiful with those strong Bridgerton genes. You can’t wait to bear a baby, babies, that look just like them.
They exchange a glance, and it’s their shorthand again—where they silently communicate how they will destroy you masterfully moment by moment. Benedict surges up and captures your lips in a passionate all-consuming kiss as Anthony slips between your legs, pulling your hand away and throwing your feet over his shoulders. Forcing your legs out wide, he laps a determined, deep plough of tongue all the way from the base of your slit up to your pulsing clit. It has you calling loudly into his brother's mouth.
“You taste fertile, my darling wife-to-be,” Anthony groans lewdly and pointedly, and you can’t help but giggle across Benedict’s lips.
“I am certain he is right,” Benedict smiles affectionately, swallowing your noises. “I swear I can smell the difference when you are ripe for us. Your scent is just a little headier, muskier; it makes my cock even harder than normal,” he ponders, kissing across your face as he utters his trademark filth. He knows just a few choice words can have you ready for him—every single damn time.
Anthony’s hand strays up to play with your belly charms as his tongue unfurls its magic. It doesn’t matter that you are with these two men, individually and together, multiple times a week; they never fail to arouse you to the point of aching with just a few expertly deployed moves. Their tongues, whether talking dirty or teasing your body, are your favourite part of them. Benedict shuffles lower and sucks one of your nipples into his mouth. Oh god, yes, it’s definitely their tongues.
“Darling, are we playing tonight, or are we just us?” Benedict asks, looking up from your chest with gentle eyes. Sometimes you like to play with your power dynamic and use your titles, other times since you have grown closer, you are just yourselves, no masks, no games, just you, Ant and Ben, your affectionate shortened names for them.
You stop Anthony’s ministrations between your legs with a tap on his shoulder, wanting his full attention on this question that Benedict poses.
“What would you prefer, my loves?” You ask them, ruffling Benedict's hair, enjoying the feel of its thickness running between your fingers and squeezing Anthony’s shoulder lovingly.
“I want to be Ben, just your husband-to-be,” Benedict says quietly, and you can’t help the little smile that breaks out. “This is where we will get married,” he asserts, looking around, “under the stars, just like this.”
“Yes, my darling,” you confirm happily, “I want that.”
“How about you, Ant, my love? Would you like to be you, or perhaps my lord or my beautiful boy?” you inquire.
“I want to be Ant, your fiancé,” he nods in agreement with Benedict’s idea. “Tonight, my darling wife-to-be, the only lesson is how to breed you like the wondrous Bridgerton you are about to become.”
“Breed me?” You inhale, wanting to be insulted by the term but finding it makes your clit burn hot.
“Oh yes,” Benedict chimes in, “we are going to breed you, darling. You will sire a whole house of Bridgertons. You will never be without our seed—it will be dripping from you every day.”
“Ben,” you stutter, grabbing his bicep as your whole cunt is suddenly slick and pulsing at his crude language. “Tell me more.”
His responding grin is predatory as Anthony chuckles and slinks back between your legs.
“Do you know how many bedrooms there are in Aubrey Hall?” Benedict’s voice is a gentle tease as his nose runs teasing patterns over the swell of your breast.
“I don’t,” you admit, honestly.
“Twenty-four,” Anthony answers for you from between your thighs as he sucks a line down from your inner knee.
“Even with all of our siblings and their future children visiting, that still leaves at least, hmm, twelve bedrooms just going to waste. Until we fill them with our little brood.”
“Benedict, I am not birthing twelve children,” you gasp, half in shock at the very thought, half because Anthony’s tongue curls rough around your clit.
“Maybe not,” he admits, kissing across to your other breast, “but I think we should at least try….”
“Six each, brother?” Anthony chuckles, joining in, lifting his head and resting his chin on your pubic hair, shooting a killer smile.
“Get back there. Have you not heard that female pleasure aids conception?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow.
“Then we will have to make you come at least twice tonight; ‘tis the most prudent path to double our chances,” Anthony retorts with a wink sinking down with a devilish look on his face before his tongue makes you cry out, and Benedict's teeth graze over your nipple, making you cant up into his mouth.
“You’ll have to carry me all the way back to the house if I have many more than that, remember,” you warn, bemused.
“Darling, I would carry you to the ends of the earth and back,” Benedict pledges, the romantic poetry just pouring from him as he surges up and kisses your lips, plundering your mouth with his tongue. “You have bewitched me. Since that very first day in my brother's study, I have been yours.”
Benedict is always more emotional and partial to declarations of love than his brother, whose feelings run just as deep but does not effuse about it so openly—preferring to express his adoration privately and through beautiful, thoughtful gifts.
“Save it for your individual days, brother,” Anthony hums drolly over your flesh. “We have a very special job to do tonight.”
“Indeed we do,” Benedict concurs, picking up one of your hands and entwining your fingers with his.
Then their efforts become more focussed as Anthony sucks your engorged nub deep into his mouth, moans vibrating your sensitive bud as Benedict bites your nipple in just that way you like—an insistent suckling hold that pulls your skin taunt and is a line right down to your throbbing clit being so utterly wrecked by Anthony.
It always stuns you how quickly these two, working in tandem, can rocket you so high, so dizzyingly fast. You are vaguely aware your hands are in both of their hair as you climb so high. Eyes screwed shut as they both mouth filthy encouragements into your skin.
“Come on, darling,” Anthony pleads, “I want to feel you drench my face.”
“Do not stop,” you chant repeatedly, twisting luscious strands of chestnut locks around your fingers.
Benedict’s lips are hot on your ear, biting the lobe as he senses you are so close. “Break for him,” he breathes, “come on, my love, give him that sweet nectar to drink.”
The filthy poet never fails to give you that extra nudge, and sure enough, with a staccato of breaths, they have to hold you down as you fight to buck against the convulsions deep inside.
Anthony growls at you to stay still, even though you know he loves it when you writhe over his face, his jaw clamped hard between your spasming thighs.
“Does that feel so good?” Benedict’s silky voice vibrates your ear.
“Yes, oh god, I need one of you inside me, please,” you twist to look into his face as beseeching as you can, still flushed and mindless from your orgasm. “But please tie my hands first,” you stutter breathlessly, offering your wrists up to him, pressed together. “Above my head.”
“I thought we were not playing tonight?” Anthony says quietly as he lands on the blanket beside you, his face shining with your juices.
“Please, just, please,” you beg, turning to him, “I need it. Use your chains.”
As they flank your body, both of them make a low noise at the idea of binding your hands with your golden chains that bear their initials.
Benedict’s large hand slides down your dewy torso and into your thatch of hair. Then slowly, while you pant lightly and keep your eyes locked on Anthony’s intense stare, Benefict unhooks one chain and tugs it gently from around the dip of your waist.
“Your turn,” he says quietly to Anthony, and you realise they are removing their own chains. Somehow that choice makes you burn even hotter for them, squirming slightly.
Anthony’s hand follows the same path as you breath heavy and hold Benedict’s gaze this time as Anthony unhooks the chain with the A charm and drags it up along your skin, a corner of the letter scraping gently over your flesh, catching your nipple as you gasp.
Then they take an arm each, raising them above your head. Both then bind your wrists as your gaze flits between them, watching their handsome faces.
“Thank you,” your murmur reverential, testing the hold and feeling the precious metal bite into your flesh as they both dive in for a heated kiss, Anthony reaching you first and Benedict settling on your neck until they can swap positions. It’s a deep kiss that is musky and sweet with the taste and scent of your climax.
“Who gets the privilege of being first, my love?” Benedict asks silkily.
“You do, Ben,” you whisper, and his whole face lights up. So often used to being second.
You turn to Anthony as Benedict shifts to lay between your legs. “Thank you, my darling Ant, for my wonderful orgasm,” you compliment and watch as his face turns boyish with pride.
You cry out as Benedict spears into you, splitting your open, causing the gentle ripples of your orgasm to flare again, and he drops his head onto your breastbone.
“Christ, there is nothing like your little fluttering cunt is there?” he groans into your flesh.
“Give it to me, Ben,” you twist from kissing Anthony to declare. Then turn back, desperate for more hot kisses.
His tip feels somehow harsher than normal, a hot spike as he begins to move, your walls clinging to him almost vice-like. It feels so good your eyes roll, and your mouth goes slack against Anthony’s.
He brushes a gentle hand through your hair, watching you through hooded eyes, gently murmuring praise and compliments as you take Benedict's hard thrusts.
“We will plant our seeds, darling, deep in here,” Anthony breathes, a hand sliding down to your belly just above where Benedict’s body meets yours as he surges into you. “Do you want that?”
“Yess,” you hiss, mesmerised, fingers twirling in your own hair, “please.”
“Oh, our perfect little broodmare,” Anthony exhales shakily, surging his leaking cock against the hip he holds open for his little brother, who now curls down over you, biting a nipple. “Do you know how proud we will be? Making your beautiful body swell, your breasts growing so large and sensitive, your belly growing round. With our baby. A little Bridgerton. Or maybe more. We want to plant you with two babies right now, one for me and one for my little brother. Can you do that, darling, for us? Take our seed so good?”
“Yes, Anthony,” you pant, utterly enthralled by his filthy talk. That is usually the expertise of the man now biting your nipples and growling as he fucks you so harshly that your body jerks on the cotton blanket you lay on.
“Let him,” Anthony continues with slightly gritted teeth, “let him fuck you harder than he ever has before.”
“Yes, my lord,” you answer, under his spell, and his nostrils flare as you use the title you call him in play.
He curses, then grabs one of your chain-bound wrists above your head, fingers sliding possessively between yours and forcing the back of your hand down onto the ground.
“Yes, that's it, do as you are told, little one,” he growls through clenched teeth.
And you feel a frisson of something frantic, like you all need something with a little edge. A gust of breeze flutters over your skin and leaves quiver on the trees around you.
“Fuck her harder, brother,” Anthony orders into your clavicle, and you feel it buzz into your bones.
Benedict growls in response and hooks the leg, not being held by Anthony over his flexed forearm. Pulling you open more, feeling so vulnerable, your hands bound, your legs held obscenely wide open by each.
Suddenly the moment feels charged as Benedict snaps his hips so forcefully that you whimper on every stroke, revelling in the sweat splashing from his damp forehead curls onto your breasts. Anthony is sucking on your neck with almost painful intensity as Benedict drops down and bites your flesh over your tricep, making you writhe and call his name. The gold chains binding your wrists dig into your flesh as you move, bringing an edge that just pushes you higher.
You encourage him, calling him sir, begging for more, squeezing his cock with your pelvic muscles as he pounds into you mercilessly. And that constriction is the catalyst he needs. He curses long and low, feeling huge as he spears so deep he nudges your hilt, and you sense a change in him that usually signals his withdrawal. This time his eyes fly open, pupils blown, and expression wild as he grabs your jaw firmly.
“Are you ready?” He barks possessively.
“Yes,” you hiss, realising he is going to climax without waiting for you.
His last few hot desperate thrusts are so harsh your whole insides feel rearranged. Then he stills, and for the first time, you hear that guttural groan right into your ear as he begins to spill inside you, a hot wave that blooms deep inside, feeling like so much more than he has ever come before. It’s a new sensation and feels just wonderful.
“Yes, take it all, my darling girl,” he shudders, and that gravelly tone pulls you over a small edge, you clamping down on his spurting cock as he groans and spasms into you some more, hipbones digging into your inner thighs. His weight is almost crushing as he becomes motionless, your thighs burning from the stretch.
“That’s it,” Anthony whispers against your temple, “lay still and open, darling, let his seed into your womb.”
Those words echo drowsily in your head as you feel Benedict’s cock gradually soften inside you, and he slips out slowly with a slick tide of juices that run down over your bottom cheeks.
“Fucking babies into you is my new favourite thing. Do you have any idea how exquisite it is to come inside you? Fill you up? I never want to come anywhere else ever again.” Benedict gusts as he falls to one side of you, still breathing heavily, and you realise it's a novel experience for him too. “God, I love you,” he admits shakily, landing a kiss on your cheek.
“I love you too. Thank you for my baby Benedict,” you nuzzle his face and kiss him sweetly as his body relaxes, utterly spent.
You twist to look at Anthony, and his eyes sparkle as he climbs between your legs, his cock hard, glistening, and leaking in his fist. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, my lord,” you answer.
He thrusts into your soaking cunt, still leaking profusely from Benedict. He feels even larger and harsher somehow too, and on reflex, you clench around the invasion, feeling the verdant earth beneath your bottom and shoulder blades softened slightly by the blanket.
“My darling girl,” his voice ragged, broken. “You are so exquisitely puffy and swollen. That was quite the mounting you got, wasn’t it? Are you ready for more?”
You croak your assent, and then he begins to move. He isn’t slow. In fact, he starts pounding so hard you gasp, the sensation almost too much, and Benedict's hand slides into your hair, over your bound hands, and you clutch it as he rolls closer, nuzzling your face.
“Feel it all, my darling girl,” Benedict rumbles.
“I am, sir,” you nod and bite your lip. “I can even feel your seed inside me still,” you add with a moan, the chains on your wrist abraiding your skin, leaving marks.
“Good,” he gusts drowsily and warmly in your ear, a hand swirling patterns on your hip. “Let it in, darling, all the way in.”
As a cloud clears the moon, the atmosphere feels softer again, the frantic moment of before ebbing into something more profound; even as Anthony takes you hard, it’s more in an undulating wave, hitting your hilt with a rhythm that feels hypnotic, your cunt clinging to him like a glove, as Benedict's sonorous voice is back at your ear.
“That’s right, get ready, darling girl. We need you to keep this line going. In your belly, you will grow the next viscount. You will bare the heirs of this family. Just you, my wonderful wife-to-be.”
“I want all of your babies too, Benedict,” you breathe as Anthony ploughs on. “I want to give the world more like you. Talented creative, empathetic, loving souls who bring joy to every room.”
His eyes mist over as you declare your truth. “I love you so much it hurts,” he murmurs into your cheek, voice thick with emotion.
“I love you too,” you want to grab his face but can’t; instead, you seal your pact with a sweet, almost chaste kiss filled with affection; even as Anthony takes you towards a big blissful moment, you hope you will hit together.
“Now declare your love to him too,” Benedict orders softly, “you know he needs to hear it, maybe even more than me.”
You nod and turn all of your attention and heart to the Viscount. Still holding Benedict’s hand tangled in your hair, not wanting either to feel left out on this momentous night.
“Viscount Anthony Bridgerton,” you use his title and full name, your pleading tone making his eyes bore into yours. “I love you so much, my lord, my husband,” you state categorically.
He groans and falls over your body, covering you, his scent and heat all-encompassing.
“Darling darling wife, my Viscountess,” he exhales over your lips, his thrusts turning slow and languid, his hands grasping your thighs and pulling your legs up and out, utterly under his command, pinned. “I love you so much,” he sounds almost choked with emotion, and part of you wishes you had your hands to hold him to you.
“Do you want to be freed, my love?” Benedict asks softly, always seemingly able to intuit your needs before you even articulate them.
“Please,” you request, turning to give him a grateful peck as he reaches up and loosens both chains, leaving one delicately but loosely wrapped around each forearm, your wrists pulsing mildly as they are freed.
Instantly you move your arms, wrapping one around Anthony’s back, your nails and the gold chain scraping down his skin as your other hand rounds Benedict's shoulder and into his hair, stroking and petting.
Your hand sliding down, mapping his contours, over the swell of his muscular bottom makes Anthony groan and bite your neck, spearing deep into you as your nails dig in, tilting your pelvis and rocking him deeper into you until you feel that ache so far inside.
Then he pushes up onto his hands and thrusts hard, setting a punishing pace. Every fibre of your being wants this, ratcheting high and fast as each stroke crushes your clit into your frame. Unable to form words except to curse and babble mindlessly. You feel your whole body tense, a release so imminent you grit your teeth and chase it hard.
“That’s it darling, come for me, milk me,” Antony commands, flicking a thumb over your clit, and you are gone.
Yelling and screaming as his cock is the solid mass you convulse around, your entire being spasming, and you feel Benedict’s firm grip, holding you down with a knee and large hands. Making you orgasm hard, entirely still, unable to writhe, all the sensation concentrated on where Anthony’s cock spears you open.
As the blood rushes in your ears, his teeth are biting on the cord of your neck, and with a few pumps, he releases with a throaty whine, pushing the deepest he has ever been, feeling like he piercing through your hilt.
He curses long, low guttural and again there is that bloom of viscous heat inside as he spills all his seed.
“Yes, my darling girl,” he slurs, “stay down, take it all,”
You cry out, and your instinct is to move, but both of them hold you down, so your fingers dig into flesh, and your toes curl as your body is thwarted from its shakes and shudders. Anthony’s weight is upon you as he recovers his breath, feeling even heavier than Benedict as he slumps,, panting into your neck.
“I understand what you mean now, brother,” his tone almost wonderous. “I do not wish to leave my seed anywhere else either, dear god; that was exquisite.” Delicately he pulls backwards so his softening cock slips out of your body, and you groan at the sensation, flopping your head blissfully on the blanket as he falls to your other side.
The gentle sounds of nocturnal nature around you fill your ears as it is just your joint breathing, soothing hands running over you, soft kisses and little intimate moments where you whisper to both of your boys.
“We may have made a baby tonight, my darling husbands,” you murmur.
The look they both give you is brimming with love and appreciation as you curl into both, taking a hand from each of them and placing them over your heart as you drift to sleep, cocooned in their safe embrace.
I'm so pleased you love this; it's complete filth, but then that is sort of my trademark, I guess lolol. Anyway, TYSM for your reblog; I greatly appreciate it! 😁🧡🧡
Hello!! I hope you are alright. Would you write for Benedict using the word canvas? ❤️❤️
One Word: Canvas
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
Warnings: none
Author's Note: Hi Nonny. I can't seem to stop doing fluffy meet-cutes for these prompts lol. Enjoy these 250 words. 😁🧡🧡
You cannot look away as his elegant hand feathers over the canvas.
“That is beautiful,” you exhale unwittingly, too taken with how the man has captured the majestic sweep of the landscape before you to realise you have voiced your inner thoughts.
He whips around, startled, obviously too absorbed in his work to notice your presence.
“Sorry, I did not mean to cause disquiet,” you apologise, heart fluttering at his handsomeness.
“Tis no bother,” he assures with an easy smile. “Mrs…?,” His prompt is polite as he places the paintbrush down upon his easel, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Miss,” you correct.
He looks taken aback. “But you are out on a walk, unchaperoned…?”
“Yes, and I would appreciate it if you kept it that way, sir,” you answer boldly. “If I have to sit through one more societal event, I may just scream,” you disdain, somehow unable to be anything but honest with this alluring man.
He laughs, a rich sound that warms you as much as the midsummer sun you stand in.
“Now that I can entirely understand,” his hazy eyes dancing with mirth as he then vows: “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Do you give lessons?” The words are out of your lips before you can stop them. “For art,” you clarify, gesturing to his painting.
He is the picture of intrigue. “Are you keen to learn?”
“Of so many things…” You answer, enjoying the kaleidoscope that flits across his face at your daring assertion.
Author's Note: Hi, my lovely! Thank you for this word. I hope you enjoy these 150 in return. 😁🧡🧡
“Just say it...” he laughs into your skin.
“Posterior…” you offer in a murmur, knowing your cheeks are darkened.
“No…” he chuckles richly, the warm tip of his nose running down your clavicle.
“Bottom…” you stutter, butterflies under your ribs.
He props up on one elbow on the pillow next to yours, entirely unfussed by his own nudity, lying atop the sheets that you are concealed under, an amused quirk to his eyebrow.
“We may not yet be married, but you can say the word bum to me in private,” he points out, still mirth-filled.
“Fine…. You have a nice bum, Benedict Bridgerton,” you confess softly, enjoying the way his pupils rapidly dilate as you pluck up the courage.
“Thank you, my darling,” he preens, thoroughly entertained. “As do you,” he adds, pulling down the sheet to slide his lips over your breast.
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I don't know how to phrase this but Anthony holding the readers neck.
Neck hold?
One Word: Neck
Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI
Author's Note: Hi Nonny. Here you go. 250 words of that jealous, sexy Viscount. Thanks for your prompt 😁🧡🧡
His grip on your neck is strong, not painful, but manifest in how you stand rod straight. His jacket lapels stiff against your shoulder blades as he crowds behind you.
“What did I specifically forbid?” Anthony rumbles, his other hand trailing a distracting path down over your belly.
“I have no idea of what you speak, husband,” you taunt, knowing full well it will only stoke him further.
His fingers snake between your legs, cupping you through your evening gown, as the other hand sweeps up into your hair, tugging gently so your head falls back onto his shoulder.
“Liar,” he accuses, but there is no vehemence there as he licks a hot stripe up your cheek. “You know I said you were not to talk to another man… and yet there you were…” he intones in a velvet purr as he roughly tugs your hem up over his shapely forearm.
You moan loudly as his fingers slide into your naked, soaked folds, snagging your clit in that way which has you sucking in a ragged breath. Your fingers flex, nails digging into his thighs as you reach back to pull him into you. Needing to feel him, smell him - his heat, his essence.
The only man you spoke to the whole evening was his own married brother. And he knows such. It’s all just part of this little game you play together.
“Time I remind you who you belong to,” he gruffs, practically throwing you onto your marital bed.
One Word Drabble Challenge: Benedict + Ice cream (technically two words but also one word?? Lol)
One Word: Ice-Cream
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
Warnings: none
Author's note: Hi lovely! I've, err, hyphenated it to make it work haha. Well, I was trying to keep it to 100 words, but this meet-cute is 250. Set during s1 when Gregory was still a bebeh. Hope you enjoy! Thanks for your prompt 😁🧡🧡
“I like strawberry the best!”
A young boy pronounces as he bounds out of the shop doorway, almost knocking you over. There is a pink smear across his cherubic face, which you can't help but chuckle at.
“You have excellent taste…” You offer with a wink, which seems to delight him no end.
“Gregory,” a refined, if not weary, voice rings out. “Wait a moment, I am still paying….”
You look up to see a most tall, handsome gentleman in a blue outfit.
“Pardon me, Miss,” he bows his head in polite greeting.
“Tis no problem,” you assure. “Your son really appears to enjoy ice cream.”
“Son?!” Gregory splutters, laughing.“That is my older brother, Benedict. Much older,” he adds, sticking out his tongue at the man for good measure.
“Oh my apologies, sir,” you stutter, feeling your cheeks heat rapidly at your faux pas.
“Please ignore my very rude little brother,” Benedict shoots him a pointed look before fixing you with a crooked smile that makes your heart skip. “But liking ice cream may indeed be genetic. I can heartily recommend the lavender.”
“Thank you,” you murmur, knowing your blush is growing with every moment, captivated by his hazy eyes but unable to look away. “I have never tried it before.”
“Then you simply must,” he insists heartily. “In fact, let me purchase it for you. Then, if you do not like it, I will feel no guilt,” he breezes, holding open the door expectantly.
Well, in S2, Anthony claims (to Edwina) that he doesn't really read books, but I think that's a slight simplification. The man has a full-on library for a start! Yes, most is probably inherited from his father, but I am certain he has read most of the books in there.
In terms of genre, I see him being drawn to adventure and historical stories. Particularly those on the high seas. I could see him being a big fan of Waverley by Sir Walter Scott.
What is key, in your mind, to capturing Anthony and Benedict when writing them in non AU fics so Regency era?
Hi Nonny
Tricky to say, they just live rent-free in my head lol.
For me, what's key is to watch the show (I use that as canon, not the books), and then I go from there - imagining how they may behave if put into other circumstances.
Probably not what you wanted to hear, but it's all I have in answer to this question tbh. 🤷♀️ Sorry! 😁🧡🧡
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Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU
Warnings: none
Author's note: Hi lovely! I hope you enjoy this 250-word slice of modern AU humour. Who doesnt love a man with a competency kink? Thanks for your prompt! 😁🧡🧡
“Anthony, don’t you have people for this sort of thing?!”
You are watching the sleek marble floor of his penthouse fill with water, while under the kitchen sink, head in the cupboard, and making noises you'd usually associate with the bedroom, Anthony is attempting to stem the flood. But arguably, handyman duties are not the natural milieu of a CEO.
“It's 1am, I don't want to bother Smith,” he puffs, a loud clang as he loses grip and the spanner flies against the drain pipe. “Fuck it,” is the resigned mutter that follows.
“Can I have a go?”
“Knock yourself out…” he sighs, handing you the implement and moving out of the way.
A lifetime of renting dodgy flats means you have some experience in this area - you certainly couldn't be any worse than he is. After a few moments of clenched jaws and silent thanks to your personal trainer, you are able to shift the hose coupling to the point where it is no longer spurting, more of a drip that you can put a bowl under until professional help turns up in the morning.
“There, that should hold for a few hours…” you declare, crawling out of the cupboard and dusting off your legs as you stand up.
When there is no response, you look up. Anthony is staring at you, heated arousal writ large across his handsome face.
You squeal in delight as he picks you up and rushes you to the bedroom to show his thanks.
Pairings: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader
For your summer solstice entertainment, here is a collection of my fics set during the warmth of summer. 🌞 Many of which include al fresco shenanigans. Enjoy! 🧡
❦ smut ✿ fluff/humour ⚣ threesome ⟳ modern au
Updated June 15, 2026
Benedict Bridgerton
Multi-chapters
When the World Is Free (WW2 AU) ✿❦⟳ mostly set in summer 1939
One Shots
Lightning & Lilies ❦
Bella Notte ❦ / Notte D'Amore ❦ (sequel)
Electric ❦✿⟳
Riding Tandem ✿
Waking Up ❦⟳ / Aflame ❦⟳ (sequel)
White Rabbit ❦⟳ / Breathe (In The Air) ❦⟳ (sequel)
You are so kind, my friend! TYSM for reblogging and reccing this list of seasonal fics. And I always enjoy when you break out the flooooooshhh gif hehe. 😁🧡🧡
Pairings: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader
For your summer solstice entertainment, here is a collection of my fics set during the warmth of summer. 🌞 Many of which include al fresco shenanigans. Enjoy! 🧡
❦ smut ✿ fluff/humour ⚣ threesome ⟳ modern au
Updated June 15, 2026
Benedict Bridgerton
Multi-chapters
When the World Is Free (WW2 AU) ✿❦⟳ mostly set in summer 1939
One Shots
Lightning & Lilies ❦
Bella Notte ❦ / Notte D'Amore ❦ (sequel)
Electric ❦✿⟳
Riding Tandem ✿
Waking Up ❦⟳ / Aflame ❦⟳ (sequel)
White Rabbit ❦⟳ / Breathe (In The Air) ❦⟳ (sequel)
Pairings: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader
For your summer solstice entertainment, here is a collection of my fics set during the warmth of summer. 🌞 Many of which include al fresco shenanigans. Enjoy! 🧡
❦ smut ✿ fluff/humour ⚣ threesome ⟳ modern au
Updated June 15, 2026
Benedict Bridgerton
Mutlichapters
When the World Is Free (WW2 AU) ✿❦⟳ mostly set in summer 1939
So happy that you're trying again, i hope this little experiment works for you! 🙏
I want to try Grumpy + Anthony, if you feel inspired..
Thanks anyways, i shall still read anything you put out!
One Word: Grumpy
Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader
Warnings: none
Author's note: Hi lovely! I've missed seeing you around! I hope you enjoy this 150 words. I am indeed enjoying these little dabbles back into writing. Fingers crossed! 😁🧡🧡
You huff in annoyance as, once again, your ball ricochets off the pall-mall hoop.
“You were distracting me,” you pout at Anthony as he chuckles victoriously, hip cocked and mallet slung attractively over his shoulder, standing just beyond where you were aiming.
“Do not be grumpy now, just because you are losing, my love,” he taunts, moving with alacrity, trousers clinging very well to his muscular thighs as he strides towards you with a triumphant grin.
“I am not losing; this is merely a setback,” you sniff even as your heartbeat spikes as he pulls up entirely too close, his amber cologne invading your senses.
“Grumpy,” he repeats, eyes sparkling.
“Saboteur,” you throw back in a whisper, defences weakening with every moment he looms large before you.
“And you love me for it,” he claims, lips hovering over yours.
“That I do…” You concede, pulling him down for a kiss.
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Author's note: Hi, my friend! Ooof beard!thony. I'm trying to write circa 100 words for these, and this one is bang on! Thanks for your prompt 😁🧡🧡
“Is this some kind of strategy to distract me?” Anthony murmurs, his soft beard brushing your cheekbone.
“It might be, my lord….” you concede, smiling into his temple as you settle into his lap, looping your arms around his broad shoulders. The warmth of his skin seeps through his gauzy shirt onto your forearms as you add in a theatrical whisper: “Are you terribly upset?”
“I am simply livid…” he jests, turning to capture your lips with a real kiss while he pulls you snug into his body, the pile of paperwork on the desk before him now apparently abandoned.
Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)
Summary: Fifth story in the Regency Lessons series and it's time-jump time. Things have progressed with our throuple and the Bridgerton Bros are in a race to impregnate their lady…
Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, BREEDING KINK off the bloody charts, pregnancy kink, dirty talk, oral sex (m to f), light bondage, filthy baby-making vaginal sex, dom/sub dynamics. Emotions, talk of marriages, established throuple dynamics.
Word Count: 5.4k
Authors Note: This is set in Lessons universe, but at least a year after the previous instalment. If pregnancy or babymaking isn't your thing, please don't read this. This is a very belated birthday request fill for @iboopedyournose. I hope you like the way I've interpreted your request for breeding kink threesome with bondage. Thanks to @colettebronte and @chaoticcalzoneranchsports for betaing. Enjoy! <3
You pause in front of the portrait of a naked pregnant woman, taking a sip of your champagne. The intimate parts of her are mostly obscured behind translucent silks. Her pregnant belly is bare as she cradles it proudly, her skin glowing; everything about her looks almost ethereal yet so earthy and powerful. It is such a provocative piece you can understand why it is only being shown at private parties such as this one, hosted by Mr Granville.
“Like what you see?” the dusky voice suddenly at your right ear asks.
You inhale sharply, instantly responding to the mere sound of his voice, something very Pavlovian in it. “Yes, I think she looks beautiful,” you reply quietly, tamping down your need to throw yourself into him, begging for his fingers in your mouth.
“She does indeed,” he is standing so close behind you can feel the heat radiating off him through his shirt. “Would you like to look like that? Swollen so beautifully with a baby?”
It's not something you have thought about much beyond the abstract idea that you wish for children someday. But then, so many things in your life are about to change, and this could be one.
“Maybe,” you deflect.
Large hands encircle your waist. “Mmm, just imagine,” he begins, his chest pressing warm on your spine. “How beautiful you would look, your belly all rounded,” his hands slide up and cup your chest as you moan lightly. “Your breasts so full, and oh gosh,” one hand slides down to the apex of your thighs, cradling it through your dress, “the smell and taste of you, so ripe, so juicy. You would be divine,” he assures.
“Stop,” you scold gently, but it's too breathy, the carnal images he so easily paints with his words haunting you as you rock in his arms.
“Would you like me to impregnate you, my darling?” he murmurs, his teeth pulling at your earlobe. “I could fuck you so hard and deep and leave my seed inside you. Over and over. And you know my brother would do the same in a heartbeat.”
Your breath quickens at the thought. They have always been careful to ensure they do not release inside you; it's a strict pact you have in place that they have always respected and obeyed. But perhaps that may change with what is impending.
“My husband-to-be, you mean,” your eyes cut sideways, and he stiffens.
“Yes, of course, I sometimes forget you are soon to be the Viscountess,” he bows his head, a flare of something in his eyes you know is jealousy.
“Benedict…” you sigh, sensing he needs reassurance; you pull him into a quiet alcove. “You know this is the only way the three of us can be together, for always. I love you just as much,” you vow quietly, touching his cheek. “But you know well I cannot marry you both, at least not in the eyes of the law. There would be many questions if Anthony were to remain unwed much longer. You know it is much easier for you to live with us as an apparent bachelor at Aubrey Hall than any other arrangement.”
All the facts you lay out, well known to you both, don’t stop the imploring look he gives you.
“I will marry you symbolically in a ceremony in the woods, down by the lake,” you whisper, appealing to his bohemian romantic side. “I will wear your ring proudly, too,” you promise. “I am as much yours as I am his. And always will be. I cannot be without either of you.”
He beams and crowds into you, sliding his lips down your neck.
“And yes, I will bear your children, my love,” you sigh as his actions make you pliant in his hands, as they always do. You grab his face to ensure he meets your gaze, his eyes dancing. “Nothing would make me prouder than bearing both of your babies, so yes, my love, the answer is yes.”
You moan gently as he kisses fire across your skin, and your eyes drift back to the painting, the idea of being fertile, ripe, burgeoning with life somehow suddenly so alluring.
——
“Anthony…” you call, but he does not respond; he probably cannot hear you above the whirlwind of activity around him. “ANTHONY!” you repeat, raising your voice, and suddenly, the hubbub of movement and noise in the room ceases.
His eyes meet yours and flash. “Everyone leave the room at once,” he orders to the hordes of people doing god knows what, “my fiancee wishes to speak with me.”
You watch as all the people scurry from the room as if burned.
“There was no need to send them away quite so abruptly, my love,” you state gently.
“Is this not an occasion where you wish me to throw you upon my desk and rut you so hard you scream?” he flirts outrageously.
“For once,” you respond airily, “it is not.”
“Tis a pity,” he smirks, then perches against the desk, crossing his legs and arms. “Then what can I do for you, my love?”
“I want you to make me with child,” you just go straight to the point. He usually appreciates bluntness.
He drops the heavy accounts ledger he is holding, and it slams to the ground with an echoing thump.
“Correction, I want you AND Benedict to make me with child,” you amend.
“What on earth brought this on?” his tone warm but intrigued, ignoring the ledger completely.
“That art party we went to last night?” you offer casually. “There was a scandalous but beautiful portrait of a pregnant naked woman.”
“Did he fuck you in front of it and give you some ideas?” Anthony sighs with fond exasperation.
“No,” you giggle, “for once, he did not.”
“But Tuesday is your night alone together?” Anthony frowns. “Don’t tell me he shirked his duty? I am his older brother. I can have words….”
“Oh, he more than performed his duty, just not in front of the painting,” you clarify.
“In front of one of his paintings, then?” Anthony guesses.
And you giggle again. “Carriage, on the way home.”
“Figures,” Anthony rolls his eyes, “does he ever do it in a bed?”
“Not if he can help it,” you wink, and he laughs.
Then schools his face more serious. “So you want a baby?”
“I want both of your babies. I’d certainly be open to us all getting some good practice in tomorrow,” you shrug playfully.
“I have absolutely no problem with that,” his voice drops low as he raises a sultry eyebrow. “And the desk offer still stands if you want a warm-up?” he concludes, breaking into a handsome smirk.
“It’s Wednesday, our rest day; I have dinner plans with my dear friend Lady Eleanor,” you shake your head fondly. “Plus, I cannot give you a head start, darling; that wouldn’t be fair to Benedict,” you tease. “You can sort it out between yourselves for tomorrow.”
“Why do we have a rest day?” he pouts.
“You know full well, with three people, it is much easier to schedule around six days. I can go one day without either of you, you know,” rolling your eyes lovingly.
“Such a pity,” he sighs in mock annoyance.
“It is just for today, darling, and tomorrow you may complete inside me, so there’s that to look forward to…” and you breeze out of the room, blowing him a kiss.
——
Thursday night is one of your two nights a week with both of your wonderful men.
You spend the early evening bathing in luxury soaps with your favourite scents, readying yourself for a night of untold pleasures. Sometimes you all meet in the bedroom, sometimes in the blue room, and other times, like tonight, you agree to al fresco. You cannot wait to play by the lake under the mid-summer moonlight.
You slip on an ivory silk robe and nothing else except the lariat body chains they each gave you. Dainty gold chains with their initials that wrap around your waist, the A and B matching charms hanging low over your belly, grazing your thatch of hair below—a secret you wear every day unseen beneath your usual clothing.
It’s a balmy evening as you approach the water's edge. There is already a soft blanket laid out and a decanter of brandy with three glasses—Anthony has ensured the staff have prepared for the evening. But neither man is to be seen yet. You settle on the blanket and pour yourself a snifter, enjoying the gentle roar of oil lantern flames dancing in the breeze set out on surrounding stakes.
This evening will be a first, letting them both leave their seed within you. Even though you have been together as a threesome for more than a year and done countless wonderful sensual things together, this is a huge step towards something new. You don’t expect to get pregnant on this first attempt, but the idea is beguiling nonetheless.
You pull open your robe and massage your as-yet-empty belly. Running your hands in swirls, imagining what it might be like to watch it grow and swell with a child—the ability to bring life into the world something so elemental and heavenly all at once. To sustain life through the wonder of your body swirls in your mind as you untie your robe and grab your breasts.
“I see someone started the party already, brother,” a familiar silky voice rings out, and your eyes pop open to see both of them standing there, watching you lasciviously. They are shirtless and only wear britches slung low around their hips, acres of lithe muscle and supple skin.
“Is that not our job, darling?” Anthony chimes in after his brother, already unbuttoning.
“Not that we aren’t enjoying the show,” Benedict adds pointedly, nudging Anthony as if to shut him up, and follows suit, removing his trousers.
When they both let their britches fall to the ground, you moan, seeing them both in all their resplendent naked glory, already half hard and looking so utterly delicious part of you wants to get on your knees and take them into your mouths. You go to crawl towards them, but Antony holds up a halting hand.
“Stay right where you are, lay back; tonight is about your pleasure, darling,” he practically purrs.
Your eyes flash with desire, and you do as told, removing your robe and laying back again, fully nude, running fingertips down the centre line of your torso, fingers playing with their jewelled charms that rest atop your lower belly.
“Then get down here,” you exhale, knowing their gaze is locked on your fingers as you slip them between your thighs.
They drop onto the blanket with you, the light breeze ruffling their chestnut locks. Both are so achingly beautiful with those strong Bridgerton genes. You can’t wait to bear a baby, babies, that look just like them.
They exchange a glance, and it’s their shorthand again—where they silently communicate how they will destroy you masterfully moment by moment. Benedict surges up and captures your lips in a passionate all-consuming kiss as Anthony slips between your legs, pulling your hand away and throwing your feet over his shoulders. Forcing your legs out wide, he laps a determined, deep plough of tongue all the way from the base of your slit up to your pulsing clit. It has you calling loudly into his brother's mouth.
“You taste fertile, my darling wife-to-be,” Anthony groans lewdly and pointedly, and you can’t help but giggle across Benedict’s lips.
“I am certain he is right,” Benedict smiles affectionately, swallowing your noises. “I swear I can smell the difference when you are ripe for us. Your scent is just a little headier, muskier; it makes my cock even harder than normal,” he ponders, kissing across your face as he utters his trademark filth. He knows just a few choice words can have you ready for him—every single damn time.
Anthony’s hand strays up to play with your belly charms as his tongue unfurls its magic. It doesn’t matter that you are with these two men, individually and together, multiple times a week; they never fail to arouse you to the point of aching with just a few expertly deployed moves. Their tongues, whether talking dirty or teasing your body, are your favourite part of them. Benedict shuffles lower and sucks one of your nipples into his mouth. Oh god, yes, it’s definitely their tongues.
“Darling, are we playing tonight, or are we just us?” Benedict asks, looking up from your chest with gentle eyes. Sometimes you like to play with your power dynamic and use your titles, other times since you have grown closer, you are just yourselves, no masks, no games, just you, Ant and Ben, your affectionate shortened names for them.
You stop Anthony’s ministrations between your legs with a tap on his shoulder, wanting his full attention on this question that Benedict poses.
“What would you prefer, my loves?” You ask them, ruffling Benedict's hair, enjoying the feel of its thickness running between your fingers and squeezing Anthony’s shoulder lovingly.
“I want to be Ben, just your husband-to-be,” Benedict says quietly, and you can’t help the little smile that breaks out. “This is where we will get married,” he asserts, looking around, “under the stars, just like this.”
“Yes, my darling,” you confirm happily, “I want that.”
“How about you, Ant, my love? Would you like to be you, or perhaps my lord or my beautiful boy?” you inquire.
“I want to be Ant, your fiancé,” he nods in agreement with Benedict’s idea. “Tonight, my darling wife-to-be, the only lesson is how to breed you like the wondrous Bridgerton you are about to become.”
“Breed me?” You inhale, wanting to be insulted by the term but finding it makes your clit burn hot.
“Oh yes,” Benedict chimes in, “we are going to breed you, darling. You will sire a whole house of Bridgertons. You will never be without our seed—it will be dripping from you every day.”
“Ben,” you stutter, grabbing his bicep as your whole cunt is suddenly slick and pulsing at his crude language. “Tell me more.”
His responding grin is predatory as Anthony chuckles and slinks back between your legs.
“Do you know how many bedrooms there are in Aubrey Hall?” Benedict’s voice is a gentle tease as his nose runs teasing patterns over the swell of your breast.
“I don’t,” you admit, honestly.
“Twenty-four,” Anthony answers for you from between your thighs as he sucks a line down from your inner knee.
“Even with all of our siblings and their future children visiting, that still leaves at least, hmm, twelve bedrooms just going to waste. Until we fill them with our little brood.”
“Benedict, I am not birthing twelve children,” you gasp, half in shock at the very thought, half because Anthony’s tongue curls rough around your clit.
“Maybe not,” he admits, kissing across to your other breast, “but I think we should at least try….”
“Six each, brother?” Anthony chuckles, joining in, lifting his head and resting his chin on your pubic hair, shooting a killer smile.
“Get back there. Have you not heard that female pleasure aids conception?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow.
“Then we will have to make you come at least twice tonight; ‘tis the most prudent path to double our chances,” Anthony retorts with a wink sinking down with a devilish look on his face before his tongue makes you cry out, and Benedict's teeth graze over your nipple, making you cant up into his mouth.
“You’ll have to carry me all the way back to the house if I have many more than that, remember,” you warn, bemused.
“Darling, I would carry you to the ends of the earth and back,” Benedict pledges, the romantic poetry just pouring from him as he surges up and kisses your lips, plundering your mouth with his tongue. “You have bewitched me. Since that very first day in my brother's study, I have been yours.”
Benedict is always more emotional and partial to declarations of love than his brother, whose feelings run just as deep but does not effuse about it so openly—preferring to express his adoration privately and through beautiful, thoughtful gifts.
“Save it for your individual days, brother,” Anthony hums drolly over your flesh. “We have a very special job to do tonight.”
“Indeed we do,” Benedict concurs, picking up one of your hands and entwining your fingers with his.
Then their efforts become more focussed as Anthony sucks your engorged nub deep into his mouth, moans vibrating your sensitive bud as Benedict bites your nipple in just that way you like—an insistent suckling hold that pulls your skin taunt and is a line right down to your throbbing clit being so utterly wrecked by Anthony.
It always stuns you how quickly these two, working in tandem, can rocket you so high, so dizzyingly fast. You are vaguely aware your hands are in both of their hair as you climb so high. Eyes screwed shut as they both mouth filthy encouragements into your skin.
“Come on, darling,” Anthony pleads, “I want to feel you drench my face.”
“Do not stop,” you chant repeatedly, twisting luscious strands of chestnut locks around your fingers.
Benedict’s lips are hot on your ear, biting the lobe as he senses you are so close. “Break for him,” he breathes, “come on, my love, give him that sweet nectar to drink.”
The filthy poet never fails to give you that extra nudge, and sure enough, with a staccato of breaths, they have to hold you down as you fight to buck against the convulsions deep inside.
Anthony growls at you to stay still, even though you know he loves it when you writhe over his face, his jaw clamped hard between your spasming thighs.
“Does that feel so good?” Benedict’s silky voice vibrates your ear.
“Yes, oh god, I need one of you inside me, please,” you twist to look into his face as beseeching as you can, still flushed and mindless from your orgasm. “But please tie my hands first,” you stutter breathlessly, offering your wrists up to him, pressed together. “Above my head.”
“I thought we were not playing tonight?” Anthony says quietly as he lands on the blanket beside you, his face shining with your juices.
“Please, just, please,” you beg, turning to him, “I need it. Use your chains.”
As they flank your body, both of them make a low noise at the idea of binding your hands with your golden chains that bear their initials.
Benedict’s large hand slides down your dewy torso and into your thatch of hair. Then slowly, while you pant lightly and keep your eyes locked on Anthony’s intense stare, Benefict unhooks one chain and tugs it gently from around the dip of your waist.
“Your turn,” he says quietly to Anthony, and you realise they are removing their own chains. Somehow that choice makes you burn even hotter for them, squirming slightly.
Anthony’s hand follows the same path as you breath heavy and hold Benedict’s gaze this time as Anthony unhooks the chain with the A charm and drags it up along your skin, a corner of the letter scraping gently over your flesh, catching your nipple as you gasp.
Then they take an arm each, raising them above your head. Both then bind your wrists as your gaze flits between them, watching their handsome faces.
“Thank you,” your murmur reverential, testing the hold and feeling the precious metal bite into your flesh as they both dive in for a heated kiss, Anthony reaching you first and Benedict settling on your neck until they can swap positions. It’s a deep kiss that is musky and sweet with the taste and scent of your climax.
“Who gets the privilege of being first, my love?” Benedict asks silkily.
“You do, Ben,” you whisper, and his whole face lights up. So often used to being second.
You turn to Anthony as Benedict shifts to lay between your legs. “Thank you, my darling Ant, for my wonderful orgasm,” you compliment and watch as his face turns boyish with pride.
You cry out as Benedict spears into you, splitting your open, causing the gentle ripples of your orgasm to flare again, and he drops his head onto your breastbone.
“Christ, there is nothing like your little fluttering cunt is there?” he groans into your flesh.
“Give it to me, Ben,” you twist from kissing Anthony to declare. Then turn back, desperate for more hot kisses.
His tip feels somehow harsher than normal, a hot spike as he begins to move, your walls clinging to him almost vice-like. It feels so good your eyes roll, and your mouth goes slack against Anthony’s.
He brushes a gentle hand through your hair, watching you through hooded eyes, gently murmuring praise and compliments as you take Benedict's hard thrusts.
“We will plant our seeds, darling, deep in here,” Anthony breathes, a hand sliding down to your belly just above where Benedict’s body meets yours as he surges into you. “Do you want that?”
“Yess,” you hiss, mesmerised, fingers twirling in your own hair, “please.”
“Oh, our perfect little broodmare,” Anthony exhales shakily, surging his leaking cock against the hip he holds open for his little brother, who now curls down over you, biting a nipple. “Do you know how proud we will be? Making your beautiful body swell, your breasts growing so large and sensitive, your belly growing round. With our baby. A little Bridgerton. Or maybe more. We want to plant you with two babies right now, one for me and one for my little brother. Can you do that, darling, for us? Take our seed so good?”
“Yes, Anthony,” you pant, utterly enthralled by his filthy talk. That is usually the expertise of the man now biting your nipples and growling as he fucks you so harshly that your body jerks on the cotton blanket you lay on.
“Let him,” Anthony continues with slightly gritted teeth, “let him fuck you harder than he ever has before.”
“Yes, my lord,” you answer, under his spell, and his nostrils flare as you use the title you call him in play.
He curses, then grabs one of your chain-bound wrists above your head, fingers sliding possessively between yours and forcing the back of your hand down onto the ground.
“Yes, that's it, do as you are told, little one,” he growls through clenched teeth.
And you feel a frisson of something frantic, like you all need something with a little edge. A gust of breeze flutters over your skin and leaves quiver on the trees around you.
“Fuck her harder, brother,” Anthony orders into your clavicle, and you feel it buzz into your bones.
Benedict growls in response and hooks the leg, not being held by Anthony over his flexed forearm. Pulling you open more, feeling so vulnerable, your hands bound, your legs held obscenely wide open by each.
Suddenly the moment feels charged as Benedict snaps his hips so forcefully that you whimper on every stroke, revelling in the sweat splashing from his damp forehead curls onto your breasts. Anthony is sucking on your neck with almost painful intensity as Benedict drops down and bites your flesh over your tricep, making you writhe and call his name. The gold chains binding your wrists dig into your flesh as you move, bringing an edge that just pushes you higher.
You encourage him, calling him sir, begging for more, squeezing his cock with your pelvic muscles as he pounds into you mercilessly. And that constriction is the catalyst he needs. He curses long and low, feeling huge as he spears so deep he nudges your hilt, and you sense a change in him that usually signals his withdrawal. This time his eyes fly open, pupils blown, and expression wild as he grabs your jaw firmly.
“Are you ready?” He barks possessively.
“Yes,” you hiss, realising he is going to climax without waiting for you.
His last few hot desperate thrusts are so harsh your whole insides feel rearranged. Then he stills, and for the first time, you hear that guttural groan right into your ear as he begins to spill inside you, a hot wave that blooms deep inside, feeling like so much more than he has ever come before. It’s a new sensation and feels just wonderful.
“Yes, take it all, my darling girl,” he shudders, and that gravelly tone pulls you over a small edge, you clamping down on his spurting cock as he groans and spasms into you some more, hipbones digging into your inner thighs. His weight is almost crushing as he becomes motionless, your thighs burning from the stretch.
“That’s it,” Anthony whispers against your temple, “lay still and open, darling, let his seed into your womb.”
Those words echo drowsily in your head as you feel Benedict’s cock gradually soften inside you, and he slips out slowly with a slick tide of juices that run down over your bottom cheeks.
“Fucking babies into you is my new favourite thing. Do you have any idea how exquisite it is to come inside you? Fill you up? I never want to come anywhere else ever again.” Benedict gusts as he falls to one side of you, still breathing heavily, and you realise it's a novel experience for him too. “God, I love you,” he admits shakily, landing a kiss on your cheek.
“I love you too. Thank you for my baby Benedict,” you nuzzle his face and kiss him sweetly as his body relaxes, utterly spent.
You twist to look at Anthony, and his eyes sparkle as he climbs between your legs, his cock hard, glistening, and leaking in his fist. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, my lord,” you answer.
He thrusts into your soaking cunt, still leaking profusely from Benedict. He feels even larger and harsher somehow too, and on reflex, you clench around the invasion, feeling the verdant earth beneath your bottom and shoulder blades softened slightly by the blanket.
“My darling girl,” his voice ragged, broken. “You are so exquisitely puffy and swollen. That was quite the mounting you got, wasn’t it? Are you ready for more?”
You croak your assent, and then he begins to move. He isn’t slow. In fact, he starts pounding so hard you gasp, the sensation almost too much, and Benedict's hand slides into your hair, over your bound hands, and you clutch it as he rolls closer, nuzzling your face.
“Feel it all, my darling girl,” Benedict rumbles.
“I am, sir,” you nod and bite your lip. “I can even feel your seed inside me still,” you add with a moan, the chains on your wrist abraiding your skin, leaving marks.
“Good,” he gusts drowsily and warmly in your ear, a hand swirling patterns on your hip. “Let it in, darling, all the way in.”
As a cloud clears the moon, the atmosphere feels softer again, the frantic moment of before ebbing into something more profound; even as Anthony takes you hard, it’s more in an undulating wave, hitting your hilt with a rhythm that feels hypnotic, your cunt clinging to him like a glove, as Benedict's sonorous voice is back at your ear.
“That’s right, get ready, darling girl. We need you to keep this line going. In your belly, you will grow the next viscount. You will bare the heirs of this family. Just you, my wonderful wife-to-be.”
“I want all of your babies too, Benedict,” you breathe as Anthony ploughs on. “I want to give the world more like you. Talented creative, empathetic, loving souls who bring joy to every room.”
His eyes mist over as you declare your truth. “I love you so much it hurts,” he murmurs into your cheek, voice thick with emotion.
“I love you too,” you want to grab his face but can’t; instead, you seal your pact with a sweet, almost chaste kiss filled with affection; even as Anthony takes you towards a big blissful moment, you hope you will hit together.
“Now declare your love to him too,” Benedict orders softly, “you know he needs to hear it, maybe even more than me.”
You nod and turn all of your attention and heart to the Viscount. Still holding Benedict’s hand tangled in your hair, not wanting either to feel left out on this momentous night.
“Viscount Anthony Bridgerton,” you use his title and full name, your pleading tone making his eyes bore into yours. “I love you so much, my lord, my husband,” you state categorically.
He groans and falls over your body, covering you, his scent and heat all-encompassing.
“Darling darling wife, my Viscountess,” he exhales over your lips, his thrusts turning slow and languid, his hands grasping your thighs and pulling your legs up and out, utterly under his command, pinned. “I love you so much,” he sounds almost choked with emotion, and part of you wishes you had your hands to hold him to you.
“Do you want to be freed, my love?” Benedict asks softly, always seemingly able to intuit your needs before you even articulate them.
“Please,” you request, turning to give him a grateful peck as he reaches up and loosens both chains, leaving one delicately but loosely wrapped around each forearm, your wrists pulsing mildly as they are freed.
Instantly you move your arms, wrapping one around Anthony’s back, your nails and the gold chain scraping down his skin as your other hand rounds Benedict's shoulder and into his hair, stroking and petting.
Your hand sliding down, mapping his contours, over the swell of his muscular bottom makes Anthony groan and bite your neck, spearing deep into you as your nails dig in, tilting your pelvis and rocking him deeper into you until you feel that ache so far inside.
Then he pushes up onto his hands and thrusts hard, setting a punishing pace. Every fibre of your being wants this, ratcheting high and fast as each stroke crushes your clit into your frame. Unable to form words except to curse and babble mindlessly. You feel your whole body tense, a release so imminent you grit your teeth and chase it hard.
“That’s it darling, come for me, milk me,” Antony commands, flicking a thumb over your clit, and you are gone.
Yelling and screaming as his cock is the solid mass you convulse around, your entire being spasming, and you feel Benedict’s firm grip, holding you down with a knee and large hands. Making you orgasm hard, entirely still, unable to writhe, all the sensation concentrated on where Anthony’s cock spears you open.
As the blood rushes in your ears, his teeth are biting on the cord of your neck, and with a few pumps, he releases with a throaty whine, pushing the deepest he has ever been, feeling like he piercing through your hilt.
He curses long, low guttural and again there is that bloom of viscous heat inside as he spills all his seed.
“Yes, my darling girl,” he slurs, “stay down, take it all,”
You cry out, and your instinct is to move, but both of them hold you down, so your fingers dig into flesh, and your toes curl as your body is thwarted from its shakes and shudders. Anthony’s weight is upon you as he recovers his breath, feeling even heavier than Benedict as he slumps,, panting into your neck.
“I understand what you mean now, brother,” his tone almost wonderous. “I do not wish to leave my seed anywhere else either, dear god; that was exquisite.” Delicately he pulls backwards so his softening cock slips out of your body, and you groan at the sensation, flopping your head blissfully on the blanket as he falls to your other side.
The gentle sounds of nocturnal nature around you fill your ears as it is just your joint breathing, soothing hands running over you, soft kisses and little intimate moments where you whisper to both of your boys.
“We may have made a baby tonight, my darling husbands,” you murmur.
The look they both give you is brimming with love and appreciation as you curl into both, taking a hand from each of them and placing them over your heart as you drift to sleep, cocooned in their safe embrace.
