Chapter Text
Anthony was scrolling late at night, slightly drunk, half-curious after someone mentioned OnlyFans to him.
Wanting to see what the fuss was about he created an account and stumbled by accident onto LadyWhistledown.
He clicked.
And then choked on his whisky.
The video was silent. Tasteful lighting. Soft, luxurious sheets. The girl’s red hair cascaded over her bare shoulders as she straddled a chair, lingerie askew, fingers disappearing between her thighs. Her head tipped back in ecstasy, curls bouncing.
Unmistakably Penelope Featherington.
Anthony slammed the laptop shut and swore under his breath.
A half hour later, Benedict opened his front door to find his older brother looking like he’d just seen a ghost — or worse, Cressida Cowper naked.
“What did you do now?” Benedict asked, raising an eyebrow as he stepped aside.
Anthony marched in, pulled the laptop back open, and hissed, “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me this isn’t her.”
Benedict leaned over the screen, skeptical… and then his eyes widened.
“Oh… bloody hell.”
“I knew it,” Anthony said grimly. “I knew something was up with her lately. New wardrobe. New attitude. She’s… monetising herself.”
Benedict stared. “She’s brilliant. Look at the lighting. Look at the confidence. It’s like she’s playing a role. Lady Whistledown—of course she is.”
“She’s Penelope! Family friend! Our baby sister’s best friend. Do you realise what kind of scandal this would cause if Mother ever found out? Or Colin?”
“I’m more concerned about what it’s doing to my blood pressure,” Benedict muttered, adjusting the laptop screen again. “She’s… really quite flexible, isn’t she?”
Anthony smacked his hand away. “Don’t be disgusting. We need to talk to her.”
“Oh yes, let’s just pop by and say, ‘hello Penelope, saw your orgasm on the internet last night. Well done, by the way.’”
Anthony glared. “I’m not joking.”
Benedict sighed, and sat down with a dazed sort of grin. “Neither am I. Honestly, I’ll never look at her the same way again.”
“Good,” Anthony snapped. “Because she’s about to have a very serious conversation with her very pissed-off not-quite-brothers.”
He paused. His voice dropped low.
“And God help me if Colin ever finds out before we get a handle on this.”
They agreed — grudgingly — to wait until the weekend.
Anthony had said it first, jaw locked, pacing Benedict’s living room like a caged animal.
“We talk to her Saturday. Not before.”
Benedict nodded, though he was still staring at the paused frame on the laptop — Penelope’s flushed mouth open in a breathless moan.
“Right. Saturday,” he echoed.
He definitely didn’t sound committed.
They parted ways shortly after, each pretending they weren’t thinking about it. Each lying.
Anthony — 1:04 AM
The moment he walked into his penthouse and shut the door, he stood still in the silence, pulse thudding.
He lasted… twenty minutes.
Then he opened his laptop, typed the username, and hovered.
“£22 a month?”
He clicked Subscribe anyway.
His throat went dry.
Rows and rows of videos.
Titles like:
“For the ones who fantasize about being watched.”
“Red lace + slow touch.”
“My thighs were made for holding someone’s face.”
“Moaning your name for tips.”
Anthony sank into his chair as the first video loaded.
Penelope knelt on her bed, hair down her back, wearing nothing but a sheer robe. She looked straight into the camera — into him — and then let the robe slip off her shoulders.
Anthony’s breath stuttered.
When she parted her thighs and touched herself with a soft, desperate sound, he was done pretending he wasn’t affected.
His hand slid down, unbuckling his belt, his eyes locked on her.
He stroked himself hard, jaw clenched, watching every tremble, every gasp, every filthy little whisper she let out.
“Fuck… Penelope…”
He came faster than he expected — embarrassingly fast — groaning into the darkness of his empty flat as Penelope arched on screen.
And the worst part?
He opened another video immediately.
Benedict — 1:12 AM
Benedict made it only a fraction longer than Anthony.
He poured a glass of wine. Tried to sketch. Tried to distract himself.
No chance.
He typed the name in and subscribed with zero hesitation.
“Research,” he muttered to himself, fighting the rush of arousal. “I’m just… collecting evidence.”
But the second the first video started, his breath left him.
Penelope in black silk.
Penelope on her stomach, hips lifted.
Penelope riding a pillow with slow, needy movements, biting her lip to keep quiet.
Benedict groaned aloud.
He sat back on his bed, undid his jeans, and wrapped a hand around himself, stroking slowly as he watched her move.
“Good God, sweetheart…” he whispered, licking his lips as she moaned. “Look at you…”
He watched four videos in a row.
He paused only to catch his breath — then kept going.
He came hard, hips jerking, head thrown back against the pillows, her name torn from his throat.
Anthony — 2:00 AM
His screen made an alert noise and he looked over.
🔴 LIVE — “WhistledownAfterDark. Come play with me?”
He shouldn’t click her livestream.
He absolutely shouldn’t.
But he did.
Benedict — 2:01 AM
Benedict joined the livestream too.
Of course he did.
Penelope was smiling and adjusting a robe to show the valley between her breasts.
“Evening my darlings…” she whispered seductively.
Benedict was already stroking himself lazily when he saw it.
ColinB has joined the stream
He froze.
“No… no, no, no—”
Because of course it was Colin. The name was there, clear as day, the little icon beside it showing he’d been subscribed since day one.
Anthony saw it too, his hand going still against his thigh.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
And worse — Penelope smiled.
Soft. Knowing. Familiar.
She adjusted the camera just slightly. Sat back on her knees. Said:
“Lots of new subscribers today,” she bit her lip. “Go ahead and tell me what you want…”
Benedict groaned.
Anthony clenched his jaw.
And Colin typed:
ColinB: Beautiful as ever.
Penelope didn’t say his name. Didn’t break character. But the way her smile curved? That was recognition.
MrBB: The green suits you. Show us more.
Benedict’s voice, practically. Teasing. Controlled.
Anthony read the message and tensed — that was him. Had to be. Benedict’s fucking velvet tongue showing up in typed form.
He didn’t comment.
Didn’t need to.
He tipped instead.
ALord tipped £75
Penelope gasped, a real little sound, thighs shifting under her.
“Oh—generous tonight…”
Other men flooded the chat.
Hundreds now.
HardyHarHar: Bend over, baby.
DukeOfH4Real: God, those tits.
RFIsReal: Ride a pillow. Please. I’ll tip double.
Smythe-Smith69: You’re gorgeous, sweetheart.
The names blurred. Benedict and Anthony barely noticed.
Because Penelope was shifting, now — thighs parting slowly as she sank back into the pillows, green satin barely covering her.
She moved her hand between her legs with such unbearable softness, it made Anthony’s breath stutter.
Made Benedict bite down on his knuckle.
MrBB: Touch yourself and let’s hear you.
Penelope moaned at that. Eyes fluttering shut. She obeyed.
ALord tipped £100
Anthony didn’t care anymore. He needed to see it. Needed her to fall apart again, like last time.
ColinB: That’s it, darling. Let us see.
Anthony nearly flung his laptop.
Benedict laughed, breathless, stroking harder now.
Penelope’s voice trembled.
“You make me feel…” she gasped, fingers sliding beneath the waistband, “so desired…”
She came hard, minutes later.
Back arched.
Hair fanned out like fire.
Body shuddering on the sheets.
The viewer count climbed past a thousand.
The tips exploded.
Anthony came in silence, hand clenched, sweat at his brow.
Benedict groaned into his own wrist, shuddering.
And Colin — fucking Colin — was already typing:
ColinB: You’re amazing. Every time.
The Bridgerton Brothers Group Chat
“The Gentlemen”
Gregory:
So.
How long have all of you been jerking off to Penelope?
Gregory:
Also, your usernames are pathetic.
Gregory:
ColinB. Really?
Gregory:
ALord???
Gregory:
MrBB is the only one with marginal class and even that’s obvious.
Gregory:
She’s not blind. Just polite. Idiots.
Gregory:
So yeah.
I saw you in the stream.
Every one of you.
Gregory has changed his group name to “Perverts United.”
Gregory has left the chat.