hardysbitch - Tumblr blog

[hardysbitch]

i need him to get me pregnant

[hardysbitch]

AND THEY’RE FUCKING CORRECT

[hardysbitch]

Do you ever think about Julie and the Phantoms and feel a violent urge to burn Netflix to the ground for cancel it after just one season?

[hardysbitch]

some of you were never standing on the edge of great and it shows

[hardysbitch]

hey guys! its been a while but i just wanted to share i just seen this little project to try and make Julie and The Phantoms into the top 10 in Netflix again!!!

Stream JATP on Netflix on April 30th!!

this is the tiktok i saw, like it and make sure to share it with your friends!! 💜💜💜

[hardysbitch]

April will start well 🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿

[hardysbitch]

i gotta romanticize this silly little life so i don’t romanticize killing my silly little self

[hardysbitch]

suffering from a condition called remembering too much and loving too much and caring too much and

[hardysbitch]

$50,000 immediately dropped into my bank account wouldn't improve EVERYTHING but boy it sure would be a grand, sexy little start to a good, happy life path, don't you think

[hardysbitch]

one question that has been floating around my mind lately is where the fuck did joe mazzello find the cardboard ben

[hardysbitch]

EXCUSE ME MISS HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BREATHE AFTER THIS??????!!! AND HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO JUST WAIT FOR THE NEXT PART??????????

When The World Is Free: Chapter 13 - С'est Lui Que Mon Cœur A Choisi

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: Teen-rated… non-graphic references to sex/sexual situations. ANGST!!!

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Beware, this has been coming; things have come to a head with the reader's family and Eloise. Thanks as always to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Aubrey Hall, UK, October 1939

It's a dreary Friday afternoon the following week when the phone rings in the hallway.

After a brief exchange, it appears the call is for you, much to your confusion - no one knows you are here. As you tentatively pick up the receiver from the family butler, the familiar tones of Solène ring out down a crackling line.

“Mon Cherie! Have you quite lost your mind!” her opening is quite abrupt.

“And hello to you too, Solène; I have missed you,” you chuckle.

“Yes, yes…” you can almost hear her dismissive hand wave. “Why did you not yet contact your famille?” 

Your stomach plunges. 

“I- I forgot?” you squeak the truth. 

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind with Benedict; it has honestly felt detached from reality. A parallel universe. And this is you landing back on earth with a resounding bump.

“Well, please call them. I have had too many telegrams and now two phone calls,” she explains. “They are quite worried about you! I had guessed you may be chez les Bridgertons but did not want to say. I’m sure you have beaucoup news to tell them that they need to hear from you pas moi.”

“I will call them,” you promise, even as you feel a pit of dread low in your stomach.

“Please do… now, how is married life?” she teases, and after deflecting with a joke, you spend time catching up. The knot inside you loosens as you exchange pleasantries, handing the phone over to Eloise when she appears at your side, eager to reconnect with her Parisian friend.

—

“I have to call my parents,” you profess a few hours later, watching water streak in rivulets down the French doors, the lake beyond a blur, the pitter-patter sound on the roof above you.

His lips pause on your clavicle, and his hands - warm through your cool silk slip - flex around your waist, but he says nothing.

“Just to let them know I am safe. Solène called earlier; they have been trying to get hold of me,” you explain, burrowing your fingers into his hair, delicately scratching your nails over his scalp.

“What will you tell them?” his question hushed and tentative.

“That part I haven’t decided,” you confess with a sigh. “There is so much to say; I don’t know where to begin…”

“I will be there with you,” he replies emphatically, pushing up to gaze down upon you. “Whatever you decide, I will be there, in support, silent or otherwise.”

His generous sincerity makes your chest bloom, devotion evident in his words.

“Thank you,” you whisper, staring into his hazy eyes, again your confession of love on the tip of your tongue. 

He cups your jaw, and you feel the cool metal of his wedding ring, which he has never once taken off in the four weeks since your marriage. “No need to thank me. You are my wife; it is what I must do.” His use of that word makes your heart leap.

“I hope it isn't only out of duty…” you can't help your insecurity from crossing your lips.

“Of course not,” he assures, eyes soft.

“Thank you, husband,” you whisper back, and something flares on his face, a change rippling over his handsome features. His fingers sink between yours, caging your hands onto the towel underneath you.

“Call me that again,” his voice taking on an odd, gravelly quality.

“H-husband?” you falter, a knit of confusion over your brow.

He growls and surges his hips roughly between your legs, igniting that fire you always feel inside for him.

Oh.

“Husband,” you repeat bolder this time, treating it like a jewel dripping on your tongue.

His lips are hot and insistent on yours, his tongue almost punishing, ravaging your mouth. Before you know it, your clothing is ripped from your body, and you are crying his name, fingers digging into flesh. His hold is possessive, almost feral in the way he takes you, swearing that you hear him grunt the word mine into your neck as you both reach completion.

—

You wait until Eloise visits a local friend the next day to make the dreaded call. It’s a Saturday lunchtime, early morning on the American East Coast, when you pluck up the courage, knowing your parents should be home then. 

The handset feels heavy in your palm as you raise it and dial the operator, giving your parents' number. Benedict hovers beside you, a reassuring presence you want to lean into as each ring echoes heavily in your ear.

“Hello?” 

Just the sound of your mother’s voice causes a flood of emotion through you; you slump onto the hallway bench, Benedict bobbing down to crouch before you, his expression concerned but silent, touching your knee delicately. 

“Hello Mom…” it's probably barely audible.

“My love!!!!!” she exclaims, and you can hear the wash of relief in her voice, the knowledge that her child is safe after weeks of uncertainty. It makes guilt burn even harder behind your ribs. “I'm so happy to hear from you! To hear your voice! Are you safe? Please tell me you are safe!” Parental concern colouring her every word.

“Yes, Mom, I'm safe,” you begin, a tremulant quality to your voice that you are unsuccessfully trying to wish away. “It's… it's a long story, but I ended up in England with Eloise. I'm sure Uncle Robert told you all about her.”

“Indeed he did. Well, I'm so happy you escaped France! I hear an invasion could well be imminent. I was so worried! Let me call your father...” Before you can protest, she is holding the receiver away from her mouth and calling out your Dad’s name. “Oh, and Stanley will be so pleased to hear the good news!!! We must tell him right away! He has been concerned too…”

The mention of your ex-fiance's name raises bile in your throat, and you instinctively reach for Benedict. Lace your hand with his upon your knee—an anchor you need. You don't know what to say about your ex, so you don't respond, hoping your mother will move on quickly in her relief, which, thankfully, she does.

You hear your dad’s familiar voice in the background and bite your lip, nervous that both will be listening.

“So when are you coming home, darling?” She continues after giving your dad an economic explanation. 

“I… I don't know that I can,” you stumble, knowing your lip is darkening under the worry of your incisor tooth.

“Whyever not? Just move up your ticket!” Your dad chimes in.

“I tried that while still in France; unfortunately, the company scammed me. I could not get a ticket to any sailings to America, so, for safety, I came to England with Eloise.”

“You got scammed!” your dad’s huff is indignant.

“Let's focus on what is important, Ron. She is safe,” your mother lectures, placating his ire as you mumble an apology. 

Your downcast eyes lift to meet Benedict’s as they seem to remonstrate between themselves on the other end of the line. His mien is benevolent, his finger swiping rhythmically across the back of your knuckles in a comforting gesture. You know he can hear the voices leaking out of the receiver jammed to your ear, if not the words, then the general tone.

“Well, I'm glad you were able to enter England with a visitor visa. I thought they had been suspended since the war was declared. Your Uncle thought he was among the last to be let in with one…” your dad comments, immediately honing in on what you have been dreading the most.

“I am not here on a tourist visa. Thanks to a wonderful member of Eloise’s family, I have been able to secure residency.” Your fingers grip Benedict hard now.

“What do you mean?” your Dad queries, sounding suspicious.

“In order to escape - which I know, Dad, is the most important thing - I had to make a rather drastic choice…” you try to emphasise the jeopardy before your confession.

“What kind of drastic choice?” he echoes your words slowly, and you can feel their suspicion down the crackling line.

“I had to get married…” your voice is so tiny you almost hope they do not hear. Benedict's other hand lands on top of yours, enveloping yours in his warmth, which makes you look at him so grateful, a glassiness to your eyes. 

There is a moment of shocked silence and then an explosion of indignant words and noises, to the point that you have to pull the handset away from your ear. 

It's alright, it will be alright, Benedict mouths silently, and you can't help but pitch forward and rest your forehead on his. One of his hands touches your cheek gently as you close your eyes, a tear swelling on your lashes.

“I did not plan for this, Mom, Dad,” you cut in, sitting back upright. “But it has happened, and now… I… I need time.”

“Need time for what? You get that marriage annulled right away, young lady, and get yourself back here to marry the man you are promised to!” your mother’s voice shrill and didactic. “You had better hope Stanley understands and forgives this transgression….”

Something about her choice of words lights a fire of outrage inside you. As if your life choices are not your own.

“Transgression?!” you spit back. “I was caught up in a country where war was imminent. I did what I had to to escape to safety. What would you want me to do!? Remain in a possible war zone?”

“How about not flit off to Europe on some ridiculous jaunt in the first place!” she yells back. And in that very moment, you realise how little they ever supported your trip, a plunging sense of familial support being ripped from under you. “We only agreed to this reluctantly as you were so insistent. And now look what you have done?! Possibly ruined your future by marrying god knows who instead of the man you have been due to marry since you were a child, y/n….”

“I married a wonderful man,” you defend instinctively. “He is twenty times the man Stanley could ever be!!” You practically roar, “and I do not regret a single thing. I wish to remain here. With him.” You huff, drawing ragged breaths as finally you look at Benedict again and see the desire writ large on his face. It makes you want to kiss him so much your lips tingle.

Down the phone, your parents are stunned into silence. You knew this news would upset them and how awkward this could be, your family being so intertwined with Stanley’s family, being the son of your father’s business partner. But also, you know you cannot lie and return to life there, even if things with Benedict do not work out. 

“I only knew one way my life could go,” you press on, a frenzy of bubbling emotions bursting from within like hot lava. “Well, I have seen something of the world beyond Long Island, and it has things to offer me that Stanely and Long Island could never. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I am not that girl, and even if I were to annul this marriage, I would not wish to marry Stanley. Ever.”

By the end of your somewhat dramatic speech, you are heaving breaths and clinging to Benedict like a liferaft in a tsunami, your whole life as you knew it crumbling around you. But that fire in your belly that you are finally recognising and standing up for what you want, pursuing what you want, not what is expected of you, gives you the strength of your convictions, painful as this moment may be. That and the man kneeling before you—he is a choice you know you would make over and over again. 

“Well, if that is your decision, then I am not sure what else there is to say,” your father intones icily. “Perhaps call us back when you have come to your senses….”

And with that, the line goes dead, and you collapse into Benedict’s arms, weeping bitterly.

—

Something changes after that phone call. Benedict doesn't leave your side, always seeking you out. Perhaps to check on you, somewhat deflated after the emotions had been wrung out of you, but apparently also to spend time together without intimacy. Just to be in your company. You only realise it when you are curled up reading on the sofa, and wordlessly, he takes a seat next to you, pulling your feet into his lap, opening his book with a soft smile. His hands swirl idle patterns over your ankle bone through your stockings as you both sit in quiet relaxation.

At one point, you brush his shoulder gently, almost unable to stop your need to touch him. Then he curls into you, resting on your chest. He chuckles as you rest your book on the back of his head and keep reading. There is no denying it has all the hallmarks of a couple in love, and yet you don’t comment; just accept it with a lightness inside that feels bubbling. 

However, his warmth and weight soon make you drowsy; you are not sure when, but you fall asleep. You suspect he does, too, based on the rude awakening you receive shortly after.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!?”

You startle awake, your book sliding off with a thump to the floor as Benedict seems to do the same, his head rising in shock.

Eloise is standing before you. Mouth hanging open, an utterly stricken and horrified look on her face.

You want to curl up and die. There is no way to deny what has transpired. Your arms are wrapped around his, his head on your breasts. There is no way this pose is anything but intimate - not one either of you might have accidentally slumped into.

“I can explain…” you being, your voice a rough croak from sleep.

But Eloise does not stay around to hear it. She storms out of the room, the door slamming so loud behind her that a row of framed photos rattles against the picture rail. You curse ruefully, kicking yourself for being so cavalier today after weeks of being so careful. The call earlier really throwing you for a loop. Benedict twists to sit up, head slumping into his hands, wiping his palms down his face with a harried expression.

“I suppose it was bound to happen eventually,” he monotones after a pause, but his knee bounces with nervous energy. “She’s going to tell Mother…” he adds, sounding defeated, almost scared. 

And you know you can wait no longer to divulge it.

“Your mother already knows,” you admit quietly, pulling yourself upright to sit beside him.

He swivels with almost comedic speed, his face a picture.

“She approached me a few weeks ago,” you shrug. “I could hardly lie; I’m a terrible liar,” you remind him delicately.

“Mum knows….” his tone disbelieving, mouth agape.

“She said you, her children, are all terrible at hiding things from her,” you elucidate. “And….” You tremble as the words form on your tongue but feel powerless to stop them from spilling out, “… she said she knows when you are in love.”

Again, his head whips to you, and he looks panicked. “She said that?!?”

“Yes…” you look down at your hands wringing nervously in your lap, the ring on your left hand feeling like a weight.

“I… I…” he stumbles, seeming at odds.

And before you know it, he is on his feet, too and has swept out of the room in an apparent hurry.

As the door clicks shut behind him, a dread fills every nook and cranny of your being, suddenly terrified that everything you have come to treasure in the last few weeks has just been ripped violently from under you. 

Join my taglist here

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @hanji-emo-blog @Huffelpuffforlife @0x1harmonia0x1 @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[hardysbitch]

i need more of this shit

your head fell back as you softly moaned, buck's hands gliding all over the right spots. he slid his hand down to your panties, feeling the damp heat of your pussy through the thin material. you moaned softly, pressing yourself against him as he kissed your neck.

fingers tangled and tugging into his hair as he kept on sucking on some spots on your neck, his turn to let moans leave his mouth.

you knew the two of you were quite loud, and usually you two wouldn't do this at your workplace, but the rest of the team was on a call.

you bit your lip, shivering with desire as you felt his fingers slip inside of your panties and into your wet folds. he was right; you were soaking wet for him. you reached down, ready to unzip his jeans, eager to touch him as he had you, but he pushed your hand away.

“we should stop,”

your plea rang loudly in buck's ear, but he shook his head.

you sighed a little in disappointment as he pulled his hand out of your panties, actually listening to you. but when buck noticed the pout on your face, he leaned in for another kiss.

you whimpered softly as he slid his hand under your shirt, feeling the warmth of your skin against his palm. his fingers found your nipples, twisting them gently while he continued to kiss you.

''no bra, huh?" he asked, breaking the kiss.

you felt your cheeks redden a bit at the realization, "oops?"

he grinned down at you, leaning in for another kiss, but just as things were heating up, the sound of approaching footsteps shattered your intimate moment.

frantically, you pulled away from each other, straightening your clothes and trying to compose yourselves as best you could.

"what's going on here?" eddie's voice cut through the air, laced with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

you and buck exchanged wide-eyed glances, both acutely aware that your compromising position had been exposed. flustered and caught off guard, you looked down, thinking of what to say.

buck, quickly plastering his signature grin, answered . "just adding some spice to the kitchen, eddie. figured we'd heat things up a bit."

eddie arched an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "looks like the kitchen's serving more than just food now."

before you could retort, the rest of the team streamed into the kitchen, taking in the unexpected scene. hen's eyes widened in surprise as she caught sight of you and buck, a mischievous glimmer dancing in her gaze.

"well, well, what have we stumbled upon?" hen's tone was teasing as she shot you and buck a knowing look.

chim and bobby exchanged amused glances, while ravi let out a low whistle, a mixture of amusement and admiration coloring his expression.

[hardysbitch]

Hi, Tumblr. It’s Tumblr. We’re working on some things that we want to share with you. 

AI companies are acquiring content across the internet for a variety of purposes in all sorts of ways. There are currently very few regulations giving individuals control over how their content is used by AI platforms. Proposed regulations around the world, like the European Union’s AI Act, would give individuals more control over whether and how their content is utilized by this emerging technology. We support this right regardless of geographic location, so we’re releasing a toggle to opt out of sharing content from your public blogs with third parties, including AI platforms that use this content for model training. We’re also working with partners to ensure you have as much control as possible regarding what content is used.

Here are the important details:

We already discourage AI crawlers from gathering content from Tumblr and will continue to do so, save for those with which we partner. 

We want to represent all of you on Tumblr and ensure that protections are in place for how your content is used. We are committed to making sure our partners respect those decisions.

To opt out of sharing your public blogs’ content with third parties, visit each of your public blogs’ blog settings via the web interface and toggle on the “Prevent third-party sharing” option. 

For instructions on how to opt out using the latest version of the app, please visit this Help Center doc. 

Please note: If you’ve already chosen to discourage search crawling of your blog in your settings, we’ve automatically enabled the “Prevent third-party sharing” option.

If you have concerns, please read through the Help Center doc linked above and contact us via Support if you still have questions.

[hardysbitch]

Anyone who reblogs this post will have their user written on a poster saying "We Stand With Palestine" that I hope to put up somewhere in the village I live in, or the town that the village is next to.

[hardysbitch]

Happiness Will Come To You.

[hardysbitch]

JULIE & LUKE || for @bethschapel

“ I think we make each other better. ”

[hardysbitch]

Everything You Hear ❁

finnick odair x fem!reader

synopsis: celebrity escort, finnick odair makes weekly visits to the noble woman you serve. sometimes, things between them get really loud at night. you hate to admit just how many times you've put your ear to the bedroom door, imagining he is yours instead.

w.c: 1k+

highlights: {minors dni} in-universe, implied sex-trafficking, sexual content, voyeurism, secret pining made known, confessions

When Finnick Odair knocks on the entrance door of your lady’s Capitol penthouse, you are to answer immediately and allow him inside, give him a place to sit and food to eat. In your care, he does not want for anything while your lady is away. You are to ensure that he is comfortable and ready for her arrival.

Which is just what you do when he drops by unannounced while she’s away at a banquet. You recognize the sound of his closed fist beating against the door. He knocks only twice and then waits. Opening the door, you find him leaning against the wall with his legs crossed and hands in his pockets. His sea-green eyes scroll up your body, landing on your face.

You curtsey. While Finnick is a familiar face to you, he is a celebrity to all of Panem and worthy of your respect, even if he’s your lady’s escort. You’re not entirely sure why she has a relationship with someone like Finnick. She never speaks of that with you, and you don’t ask. It’s not your place to ask of such things.

“Finnick,” you say timidly as he walks past you towards the long sofa in the parlor. “Is there anything I can get you?” In the past, you had called him Mr. Odair to show your reverence for his celebrity, but after a while, he insisted you use his name. That still makes you feel special every time you think of it.

His smile is so wide and so bright. You don’t understand why he looks so happy to see you. To him, you are nothing. In comparison to him, you are nothing, just a servant of the woman he pleases.

“Just a glass of water with—”

“Three ice cubes,” you finish for him.

He smiles again, oh so brightly. “You remembered.”

You give a soft nod before disappearing into the kitchen. You fetch a clean glass for him and fill it with cold water from the filter. You drop three, exactly three, large ice cubes into the glass, and walk back to the sofa. When you deliver it to Finnick, your hands shake. It’s rare you’re so close to him. Beside him you’re blinded by your adoration for him and his glorious presence so much so that you forget yourself and lose track of how long you stand there before him. By the time you realize you’ve been staring, he’s sipped half the water.

Finnick pats the cushion beside where he sits. “Have a seat.” It’s not a question. He’s given you a command. And you have no choice but to answer him. You’ve never sat beside his golden body in all of the times you’ve entertained him briefly.

His white shirt hangs open just a tad too much. Finnick wears one necklace that’s shaped like and arrowhead. Is it meaningful to him? Or just a fashionable expression. What you know with certainty is the chest that bears it is strong and so lovely. Has your lady ever taken a moment to appreciate his beauty like this? Or simply enjoyed the pleasure of his company.

“Why are you nervous?” he asks, turning his body toward you.

He must have picked up on the way he makes you tremble so. Or how you can hardly look him in the eye when he’s talking to you, trying to protect yourself from falling for him even more. Someone like you could never fall for Finnick Odair.

“It’s nothing,” you dismiss, too afraid to reveal your heart to him.

“I think I know,” he says smugly.

“I promise you, you don’t.”

Finnick leans back and stretches his arm out on the sofa top. “It’s all in the eyes. You can’t hide it.” He leans in close. “Just admit it. You feel something for me.”

Inching away, you shoot him a spiteful glare. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

“Comes with a price, you know.” He gets even closer to you. “It all makes sense to me. I come here all the time. I’m nice to you. I flirt with you. It’s only a matter of time before… you want me.”

You laugh lightly, uncomfortably because… it’s true. He’s a perceptive guy. He certainly didn’t win the Games at fourteen because of his good-looks and old-world charm. But you realize that-- all the times he looked at you just a little too long, offered you a bite of his food, or complimented you—he meant to woo you. You’re sure he has some ulterior motives, for why would he want anything to do with a servant girl.

When his fingers lightly graze your shoulder—it’s the first time he’s ever touched you—you let out a whimper. You get this bubbly, hazy feeling in the pit of your stomach. How you’ve longed for his sweet touch.

“But you see… you’re a little different than those on my weekly ‘to-do’ list. You can’t offer me anything in return. But I think—I think that’s kinda nice, don’t you? You’ve always been kind to me when I’ve offered you nothing in return but a little flirting. You’re a sweetheart, you know that right? Pretty too.”

Your face heats up. You feel it on your cheeks when he calls you pretty.

“So… call me sometime? I know you have my number. You’ve probably have it memorized, right?”

Of course, you do. But you’d never admit to it. “Finnick, what are you saying?”

He leans over you, his chest touching you back as his lips move close to your left ear. “Everything you hear… if you want it, can happen for you. I wouldn’t mind. Intimacy when both parties have no secret motives… is a luxury I’m not typically given.”

“You’re offering me… sex?”

He shrugs. “If that’s what you think is happening in the other room. It’s up to you.”

You search his face for answers. His mysterious smile tells you nothing at all. How could someone like him not be afforded the luxury of intimacy. From what you’ve heard, he’s intimate with many. You wonder what he means by secret motives. What could he mean?

“Just think about it,” he teases, “when your ear is pressed against the door, and you hear her crying out my name. That could be you, anytime.”

Those words sink in, crashing into your soul. For a long time, you’ve yearned for him. You suppose he understands exactly why.

The things you’ve heard when you push your ear to your lady’s wall or the door. The beautiful sounds of what happens in the other room. Is it finally your turn?