Bridgerton Imagines

baby, baby, sweet baby // A.B.

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Female!Reader

Warnings: pregnancy, marriage and children, female centric labels - mother, wife.

Word count: 1.2k

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"He's so small," Anthony murmurs quietly, marvelling at the sight of his son in his arms. A small arm swings out of the blankets, a tiny hand reaches for one of Anthony's fingers, the fist wrapping around the digit, holding it ever so tightly.

You smile from your place by the bath, indulging in the sight of your husband already devoted to his heir. "Your mother and I were certain he would be bigger with the way I was carrying. He's still perfect regardless."

"Just like his mother," Anthony compliments, lifting his eyes from his son to meet yours.

"You're a flatterer, Lord Bridgerton."

"Only for you, Lady Bridgerton."

You tut, rolling your eyes playfully at your husband. Anthony turns his attention back to the bundle of blankets in his arms. The pregnancy had come as a surprise, no real decision to have children had been made, but ten months into the marriage, you announced you were expecting. Anthony never expected his life to change so drastically within a year, but twice now had it happened.

Anthony freezes momentarily as his son fidgets in his arms. His heir stretches his arms, his lips puckering as he tries to decide whether sleep or consciousness would be better. To Anthony, it seems the former wins as his son falls asleep, slow, relaxed breaths leaving him.

"It's time for his bath," You murmur, pulling your hand from the bath, satisfied that the water was the perfect temperature for your child.

Still so young, bath times had quickly become your favourite time of the day. After his birth, Violet and your mother had stayed for the first month, helping you both fall into a routine with your son. They had been there for his first baths; showing you the best way to support his head as you cleaned him. After their departure, the staff had asked whether you would like help, but you had declined, wanting to keep the moment for both Anthony and you.

The staff didn't need to know that Anthony still worried.

"Are you sure he's going to be okay?" Anthony asks; his tone giving away the worry currently knotting in his gut.

"Would it help if you got in the bath with him?"

"What?"

"Get in the bath, Anthony. Hold your son so I can wash him."

Anthony doesn't waste another moment; handing you your child before pulling off his shirt, stepping half-dressed into the tin tub. The water splashes over the edge of the bath as Anthony gets settled; frowning at the feel of his breeches sticking to his skin, but he would do this for his son. He holds out his arms, waiting for you to place his heir into his hold. His son coos as you adjust him in your arms; the soft blanket being pulled away, leaving him vulnerable to the cold of the room.

His son is solid in Anthony's arms; reminding him of the fact that he is indeed a father – he has an heir, solidified the Bridgerton line for the future to come.

The water soon grows cold. His son is clean, wrapped up in a fluffy white towel, cooing softly at his mother. Anthony's heart squeezes tightly in his chest as he watches you duck your head, rubbing your nose softly against your son's nose.

Anthony reaches for his child; feeling more himself when he holds him than he does when his son is held by another. He hadn't expected this strong paternal instinct; of course, he was protective over his siblings – particularly the youngers one, they hardly remembered their father and when Anthony prematurely inherited the peerage, he had no choice to step up as their adoptive father. However, the urge to protect and love his son rivals what he feels for his siblings. He didn't think it was possible to love someone as much as he loves you, but the moment he felt his son kick against your stomach, his heart had stretched – making room for the overwhelming adoration for his son.

He cuddles his son close, ignoring the cold now seeping into his bones from his wet trousers. Silently, Anthony rocks from side to side, watching you amble about the room, gathering your son's nightclothes.

"That wasn't so scary, was it?" You tease, an amused smile on your lips as you take your son from Anthony, letting him change into dry clothes.

"I'm your husband, you're supposed to bolster me. Not make fun of me," Anthony sniffs, crossing his arms.

"But you make it so easy, my love," You laugh quietly, taking care not to disturb your sleeping son.

Anthony brightens at the use of the term of endearment. He would always be your love; you would always be his darling. He finds dry clothing in a nearby drawer, dressing himself robotically as he watches you bounce your son in your arms. Anthony's eyes follow you as you wander the room, humming a lullaby, your voice gentle enough to soothe even the angriest of men to sleep.

"Let me take him," Anthony whispers, doing his best not to disturb the sleeping infant in your arms.

Standing on your tiptoes, you reach up, placing a soft kiss onto Anthony's cheek, jawline. "Fatherhood suits you," You compliment, drawing away from the love of your life to change into your own nightclothes, ready for the day to be over.

"Motherhood suits you, darling," Anthony returns, beginning to walk around the shared bedroom. Anthony smiles to himself when he catches sight of the faint flush to your skin; his words having settled within the marrow of your bones.

The room falls into comfortable silence as Anthony continues to walk around the room with his son in his arms. He hears the rustle of bed covers, your contended sigh as you slip underneath.

"Does he have to sleep in his own cot?" Anthony asks, breaking the silence as he glances between the lonely cot and the inviting bed.

"Both our mothers said it would best," You murmur, following Anthony's gaze to the off-white cot. Plush toys fill the corners, and a comfortable mattress covers the slats of wood holding the cot up. Yet, it looks so lonely and to leave your son there for the night... it makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.

"When have we ever listened to our mothers?" Anthony states with a quiet chuckle.

At his words, a large smile breaks across your face. You pat the empty side of your bed invitingly. "You've got me there," You laugh, "He can sleep with us tonight."

Anthony smiles as if he's won the greatest prize on earth; it sets your heart pounding in your chest and briefly you wonder whether life would always be like this – your small family and the love so clearly obvious shining from your every pore.

The covers are pulled away; Anthony slipping under the covers, taking care not to wake the sleeping babe in his arms. His son is settled on the pillows between you; the both of you turning to face the infant, drawn to him. You place a single hand on the infant's stomach, feeling the soft material of his nightdress.

It's as if Anthony cannot help himself; he runs a finger from his son's forehead to the tip of his nose, whispering, "Baby, baby, sweet baby."

The baby stirs for only a moment before slipping back into his slumber filled with nothing but sweet dreams and happiness. Anthony meets your gaze over the slumbering body of your child; a smile break across his face, so wide the corners of his eyes crinkle from the force of it. Pure happiness displayed on his face as Anthony's hand covers yours; pure happiness, pure love.