#carrison fanfiction

[ccorneliast]

clouds in my coffee: chapter 2 - a carrison fanfiction

Rating: T Summary: Carrie Fisher is a published author who just got out of a toxic, long relatioship. Harrison Ford is a divorced father of two who owns a little coffee shop on 53rd street in New York.What will happen when they meet? Full of coffee, books and cuteness. Disclaimer: this is a real person fan fiction, so it all definitely came from our imagination and we’re not trying to offend anyone (you know the drill). The quotes in the fic are from “Surrender The Pink” by Carrie Fisher, so we don’t claim them. A/N:  here is the second chapter (finally!) that angie ( @soreidy27​ ) and i co-wrote! 

On AO3

I hope you like it and don’t forget to tell me your thoughts on it!

Hearing the now familiar sound of the tiny bell as she opened the door, Carrie let her lungs fill with the delicious and warm scent of freshly roasted coffee and pastries. In less than a week, this little, family oriented coffee shop had become a sort of safe place for her. The creative process was always spectacular when she sat on the corner table, her laptop and a mug of coffee on the ready.

Something unexpected began to happen, though. Every day, like clockwork, the  handsome, yet not so talkative, owner of the cafe would catch her eye, unknowingly becoming somewhat of a muse for her work. Who would’ve thought?

“Hiya doll, the usual?” Charlotte greets, in a sweet, southern drawl. Carrie offers her a soft smile as she nods, making her way to the usual table.

Then, out of the blue, an overwhelming need to run back to Paul blindsids her. It feels like… like LA with him. The coffee shop where they used to meet and pass their day, content (as content as she believed herself to be before she realized the truth of that relationship: a one sided, emotionally exhausting ordeal). Stop, don’t open that door.

The brunette chastises herself as she pulls her laptop from her purse and begins writing: the most effective distraction to her dead and buried love life.

“There was a tap at the window. Ingrid nudged Dinah, shifting into Drive, who looked up and saw Rudy Gendler through the fine, twinkling snow. “Do you remember me?” he called through the glass.

Something in Rudy’s face, in his presence, infused Dinah with feelings of longing and a sort of hope. His certainly shone through the snow.”

Carrie looks up from her laptop and takes a long sip of her just-brewed coffee. She just means to take a small break, one or two seconds. However, the shop’s owner catches her attention. No, not catches , that would be an understatement. The masculinity his flannel shirt and disheveled hair give him clashes with the swift, seamless way he runs the place, rushing orders around and brewing that unbelievable pot of coffee, ripping her attention away from her, dragging it on the floor of the coffee shop, all the way until she’s naked, vulnerable, bare.

She fixates on him, almost as though she’s studying him for science class, planning on writing a detailed report on all his mannerisms and facial features, complete with bullet points and a list of sources. A creature of solitude, huh?

“ Maybe no man is an island, but some sure look like them. All safe and dry and looming on her horizon. As she rolled down the window, she thought, if only she could be that certain, that safe, that dry, that apart. He became not, in that instant, so much her ideal mate, as her ideal. She wanted to become this person. If only she might cast her lot in with his and one day find their two lots inextricably confused. Dinah Kaufman is Rudy Gendler.”

“ You planning on taking a break anytime soon?” Carrie hears the gruff voice she hadn't been able to rid her thoughts of. With a subtle smile playing on her lips, she turns her head and feasts her eyes on the broad man before her. Dressing in a simple gray t-shirt and, for the first time since she met him, foregoing the apron, is Harrison Ford.

“How long have you been checking me out for?” Carrie asks, amused, and offers Harrison a sly smile, her brown eyes shining with mirth at the implication of her catching his attention. She still finds herself fascinated by the grumpy coffee shop owner: the way he seems unfazed by the people constantly around him, his aura of authority yet uncaring of what others did. It’s undeniably interesting to observe him, thrilling like watching your favorite movie for the first time. The mere thought that the object of her thorough observations would take a few seconds of his time spent looking at her enough to comment on her behavior is surprisingly flattering.

“What makes you so sure I was checking you out?” She can hear the amusement underlining his air of nonchalance. It almost causes a chuckle to escape out of her pursed lips. Almost .

“I - umm, want a refill?” Harrison asks her, clearly deflecting her question, embarrassed? Carrie gives him a small, secretive smile before turning back to her laptop, reading over the last few words she’s written, deciding that it was indeed time for a break.

“Sure,” she replies, pushing her mug towards her very own barista. He fills it up until he reaches the brim. “You know, coffee is like oxygen to me.” She muses, trying to strike up some twisted version of a conversation. “Without it I’d probably stop talking or walking or doing this thing I do with words, ya know?”

He chuckles lightheartedly at her silly attempt at small talk: “Writing, you mean?”

Seriously, Carrie? “Doing this thing I do with words”? “Yeah, the putting-words-into-sentences thing.” Yes, an extreme improvement.

He stares at her for a brief second, just hovering there in the moment, before he turns around: “I’ll leave you to it, then.” and walks away.

Carrie shakes her head at her sudden lack of wit and takes a big gulp of her black coffee. The refill is rather strong.

“He asked Dinah for her number and she wrote it on an old receipt with an eyebrow pencil of Ingrid’s and passed it to him. The snowflakes were falling slower now, larger. Rudy slipped the number into his pant pocket, nodded to Ingrid and to Dinah, the strolled off through the swirling snow. An explorer in this metropolitan wilderness. It had taken a blizzard to bring Rudy back into Dinah’s life; Lord knew what it would take to pry him out.”

“Hey darlin’, you want a bite to eat?” Charlotte startles Carrie straight out of her writing trance.

“Huh?” she questions, battling a migraine that hours of looking at the screen of her computer earned her.

“Food, dear. It’s eight o’clock.” She explains, pointing at the big, brown, wooden clock on the wall of Dorothy’s.

“Is it really that late?” Carrie asks rhetorically. “I must’ve got distracted with the time.” She smiles apologetically. “Sorry for hogging the table all day long.”

Charlotte smiles back and responds: “Oh dear, it’s fine by me. Good to have some female company here regularly, actually.” Carrie frowns so imperceptibly that the lady doesn’t even notice. “It’s Mr. Ford you should probably apologize to.” She says it in a sing-song voice, obviously a joke. It makes Carrie wonder though. A regular female company? Huh, I really have been coming here every day for the past week.

“I should get home, then.” she smiles, slightly embarrassed.

“Mr. Ford can fix ya a sandwich if you’d like!” Charlotte presses, a little too obviously so.

“No, it’s alright.” Carrie shoves her laptop in her purse and swings it on her shoulder.

Then, out of kitchen emerges Harrison, holding a paper cup of steaming coffee. “Bundle up, it’s cold outside.” he extends the beverage to her with a fleeting smile. Ah, caught it!

She looks at it quizzically though. ”For the drive home.” he explains, turning back around, resuming the closing-up process.

“Walk,” Carrie corrects as she takes a sip of her cup.

“What?” he mumbles, half paying attention.

“I walk home. It’s not far from here, actually.”

“Oh,” he breathes out, not really sure how to keep a conversation going with her.

“Anyway, how much do I owe you?” she asks, reaching for her wallet.

“Nothing,” he states, matter-of-factly. “A thanks for picking us.”

“Okay then.” she replies, pleased with his answer. “Thank you.” she smiles, wrapping her scarf around her exposed neck. Drawing his attention there, Harrison notices a small pendant hanging lonely around her neck. An initial, maybe? Some sort of symbol?

He doesn’t question her about it, though.

As she’s opening the door to leave, a cool breeze slips into the coffee shop. The little bell rings. Harrison turns around, finally, and fixes his gaze on her as she turns to the right and starts walking away.

“You should’ve asked her to stay. You should’ve asked her to eat dinner.” Charlotte says, focused on cleaning up the remaining tables. “It’s cold outside.”

“Come on, Charlotte.” He drags.

“Your momma would’ve liked her, ya know?” she insists.

“Relentless woman.” he laughs, closing up the blinds.

She’ll be alright. It’s not that cold anyway.

[friskynotebook]

Wherever You Go I Will Be Sure to Follow: A Carrison Fanfiction

This is what happens when plot bunnies don’t escape your head.

It’s taken me a while, but I finally found the time to write this down!

Thanks to my amazing space sister @hewouldve for the beta—you rock!

This story is technically set in the plausible verse, but it’s not relevant to the timing of the story. It’s set during filming of ANH, not too long after that fateful surprise birthday party.

The title comes from “Never Getting Rid of Me” from the musical Waitress. You can listen to it here.

With that said, on with the show!

“Hey, Carrie,” Harrison rumbled into the phone. “Any ideas for what you want to do for our weekend off?”

Star Wars filming had taken a toll on them both—the long days and . . . interesting action shots were grueling, to say the least. Now, finally, the cast and crew got a long weekend off, and everyone was celebrating—especially Harrison and Carrie. Considering it was their first weekend off as a . . . whatever they were, Harrison wanted to make it special for both of them.

He heard Carrie clear her throat, then pause. “I habe a code.”

Harrison furrowed his brow. “A code?”

“A code!” Carrie bit back.

Harrison could almost hear her cute face scrunch up in frustration. Suddenly, he understood.

“Oh, a cold!”

She huffed. “Yeah, a code.” She sighed. “I don’t wanna do anything this weekend—I feel shitty.”

“I’ll come over and take care of you,” he said immediately, without a second thought.

“Whad? Bud I’ll be no fud,” Carrie pouted.

“Oh baby, you’re always fun,” he replied slyly, giving her a rare wink. He shook his head, realizing he was winking to a blank wall in his empty flat. “But even if you weren’t, I wouldn’t be coming to have fun. I’d be coming to take care of you, wait on you hand and foot.”

Carrie smirked. “You’d waid on me hand and foot?”

“Yeah, I’ll pick up your tissues, make you tea—”

Carrie interrupted him with a sneeze.

“Bless you!” he chuckled.

She sniffled. “Look, maybe coming over is a bad idea. I’ll be fide.”

“What are you gonna do when you need to make food or take medicine?” he asked.

Carrie sniffled stubbornly—the only person, Harrison realized, who could actually do something like sniffle stubbornly. “I can do it by byself.”

He tried a different tactic. “Well, I’m gonna be bored here all by myself all weekend long—let me take care of you.”

After a long pause, Carrie finally responded. “Fide.”

______________________________________________________________________

The next day, Harrison arrived at Carrie’s rented flat armed with everything a small army would need to recover from the common cold: tissues, soup, tea, and chocolate. Juggling the boxes and bags in his arms, he managed to find the front door key and unlock her door.

“Sweetheart?” he called, making his way through the flat to her bedroom.

“Go away!” she yelled back, sounding stuffed up.

“Carrie . . .”

“I’b serious! I’b sick ad gross!”

“I brought chocolate,” he smiled.

“Cobe id,” she relented.

Harrison entered her bedroom, setting the tissues up beside her bed and laying a box of chocolates beside her. Carrie started sneezing uncontrollably, though she tried to contain it with sniffles. She plucked one of the tissues from her bedside table and held it to her nose, not wanting to blow in front of him.

Harrison turned to look at her. “Sweetheart, blow your nose.”

“Do!” she replied, muffled by the tissue and her congested nasal passages.

“Baby, you need to do it—you need to breathe. Why not?”

“Id’s gross,” she protested.

“But you have to do it.”

“You cad hear the sdot cobing oud ob by doze!” she whined.

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s kind of the point . . .”

“Harrisond!” She threw a pillow at him. “If you go outside, I’ll do it.”

“Really?”

Carrie bit her lip, looking up at him with her big doe eyes.

“I’ll make you tea if you blow your nose,” Harrison offered.

“Okay,” she agreed, shooing him with her hand.

He chuckled, leaving the room and heading to the kitchen. Carrie blew her nose, sounding like Niagara Falls was gushing out. He smiled a little, making her tea and setting it out with some more chocolate on a tray.

Harrison brought it back to her, finding Carrie nestled in the blankets.

“All clear?” he asked, smirking.

Carrie smiled back. “For now.”

He set the tray up on the bed, then turned on the TV resting on the dresser, finding an old movie for them to watch. Harrison crawled into bed with her.

“Do, go away! You’ll get sick!”

“Then you can return the favour when I’m ‘biserable’ in bed next weekend,” he replied, opening his arms.

“Ridiculous man,” she mumbled, snuggling close to his chest anyways.

They leaned back against the bed, watching the movie. Yet despite her best efforts, Carrie’s nose kept getting stuffier and stuffier, and Harrison couldn’t help but notice her more frequent sniffles.

“Carrie . . .”

“Do,” she replied, sniffling pathetically.

“Honey, you need to do it,” he told her.

“Do I dod’t,” she insisted.

“Then try saying my name without a ‘d’ at the end,” he smirked.

Carrie narrowed her eyes at him.

Without thinking, Harrison grabbed a fresh tissue and held it to her nose.

“Whad are you doing?” she asked, surprised.

“Come on, sweetheart, blow your nose.”

“Thad’s gross!” she protested.

“It’s not, baby. It’s normal—everyone does it, even me,” he replied, actually giving her a wink this time.

She smiled softly.

“Trust me?” he asked.

She hesitated, then blew her nose loudly. Harrison wiped her nose, then grabbed a clean tissue, holding it to her nose. She obliged, blowing again just as loudly as before.

He wiped her nose. “Better?”

She nodded. “Much better,” she replied. “Thank you.”

He threw out the tissues, then wrapped his arms around her. Carrie snuggled close, resting her head against his heart.

“Why are you pudding up with my sick, gross, sdotty self?” she whimpered.

The answer was on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated. He didn’t want to scare her with his . . . feelings, but at the same time, he’d never felt like this before—not even with Mary. This incredible young woman had turned his life upside down in the best possible way, and she made him want to be a better man. He couldn’t go back to the way his life was before—that much he knew was true. They hadn’t been . . . an item for long, and he knew it was fast, but he knew he had to be in her life for as long as she’d have him. And if telling her that scared her away . . . well, he had to try.

“Because I love you,” he whispered.

Carrie’s cold-filled snores filled the room. Harrison smiled softly and sighed, holding her close.

Looks like that declaration will have to wait for another day.

[anexlarrieblog]

i know the gloria gaynor thing is very easy to disprove n all but i still wanted to use it as an excuse to laugh about old folks on the internet bc god Their Mind. in my country there's an old man wilkinson who was in a high profile marriage to a woman who then openly admitted she hated his fucking guts all throughout so rip cringe marriage, and yet on the interwebs he keeps leaving likes on fans linking him their actual rpf fanfiction of him and his ex and fans b like "thamk u old man wilkinson chapter 2 coming soon!" bro i hope these are just courtesy likes and not you actually reading this shit WHAT LMAO!!! but the more famous and funnier example is carrie fisher with harrison ford (aka the star wars folks) where fisher openly claimed she'd tap ford any day despite them just being pals for several decades after an extremely short fling, and boy does everyone know bc she was absolutely unhinged about it on twitter. scrolling through what she posted and liked it's tweets not just about their star wars characters' relationship but like romantic edits of "carrison" (the real people ship) being in love and committed forever, and her liking dozens of tweets of people going "carrie omg like this tweet if carrison is real!!" and then just posting straight up harrison ford thirst trap on main. just not even pics related to her in any way, just photoshoots of ford looking sexy im scrolling through these like girl 💀 larries trying to claim ANYSHIT in this environment just once again proves their willful ignorance and utter inability to realise that CLEARLY, how some old folks perceive social media isn't what larries think it is, old people are free on the internet in ways i can only dream of achieving tbh. also applies to just how different people treat social media in general, not everyone is as terminally online as larries but it'll be a long time before they ever realise. there in fact, CAN be a situation where people spend their whole day "confirming" a relationship involving themselves and not meaning any of it, they're just too innocent about the nature of online shipping to realise what it means to some tinhats

Omg bestie this ask was wild 💀😭😂 but yes I get what you are saying lol!! The idea that Gloria gaynor is just sitting around confirming Larries conspiracy theories in some way is just mega lolz.

[carrisonfiesta-blog]

CarrisonFiesta

This is a Carrison & Han/Leia Blog run by 'CarrisonHan/Leia Group Support'. Our email is PraisetheFord75@gmail.com and is available for the entire Fandom to send prompts, edits or anything you would want displayed on the blog. This is a HATE FREE ZONE,  which means all are welcome except anyone who decides to hate on our fandom so if anyone wants to hate on us better keep it to yourselves because all negative comments will be deleted. This blog was created to be a fun place for all Carrison and HanLeia shippers to fangirl.

For those who love Carrison and HanLeia we have this amazing group chat full of amazing and talented carrison and hanleia shippers where we talk all things carrie fisher and harrison ford and have become a family, we have an amazing and fun time chatting so if you want to join please email us (the email on top) and we will gladly add you.

[chriska-partners-4-life]

#14 read/written for both Carrison and Han/Leia

14. Favorite fanfiction read/written.

Read for HanLeia I would most definitely have to say New Hope, Indiana. That story just hooks a person. I am forever upset with myself for not giving @cicatrick all the praise she deserved for the story, though there are not enough words nor time in a life to properly praise that story and the entire NHI universe

As for written HanLeia... I haven’t written much. or at least I don’t feel like I have. My favorite written I guess would probably be The Force Within, even though it’s a bit of a halted WIP... I need to get back to it, but finding the time and the muse at the same time is just... not there.

Favorite Carrison that I’ve read? I don’t know that I have a favorite. The few Carrison writers that are out there are all incredibly talented. 

Favorite Carrison to write? It’s a toss up between Child of Love and the Perfect ‘verse. Child of Love took time to make it good. That birth scene really pushed me as a writer and helped me grow, even though I still have so much to learn. The Perfect ‘verse though is just so much fun to write when I have time and motivation to sit down and hammer something out. There is just something about it that I can’t get enough of. It’s one of those stories where if I wasn’t writing it, I would totally be like y’all asking about updates.

It’s hard choosing my favorite stories I have written because I am so self-conscious about my writing, and I’m really bad at comparing myself to others. I think that’s the reason I write more Carrison than HanLeia, because the pool is so much smaller in Carrison, whereas HanLeia has a huge amount of amazing stories and authors, I feel like I can’t compete.

Fandom Asks: Send Me A Number

[theorganasolo]

Building Up

Happy (Belated) Birthday @titasjournal! I know you read this yesterday but I decided to post it here too! 

A HUGE shoutout to @friskynotebook for being my beta, this would definitely not have been published without you!

Disclaimer: This is real person fanfiction and I’m not trying to offend anyone or disrespect them in anyway

Summary: Newlywed Carrison - Harrison helps Carrie cope with manic depression

Warning: mental illness, smut 

As always, much love to the girls in the gc!

It was a quiet November morning in the Fisher-Ford household—or so it seemed.

Carrie was in the bedroom finally stirring after an emotional night dealing with symptoms from her manic-depression. It was especially bad last night—she couldn’t stop the feelings of worthlessness.  I don’t deserve this life.  I don’t deserve Harrison,  I don’t deserve to be happy.  

Harrison had been out earlier, spending time with Ben and Will.  Carrie was feeling down all day and declined the invite, not wanting to take away the boys’ day with their dad.  Harrison had immediately become suspicious but kept his thoughts to himself, his sons practically dragging him out the door.  

When he returned home he found his wife sitting on the floor in the bedroom staring at the wall, a blank expression on her face.  

Harrison had immediately crossed over to her and sat down but she didn’t look acknowledge that he was there.

“Carrie, sweetheart, please look at me.”

Carrie slowly turned her head and as soon as she saw Harrison’s face, she immediately burst into tears.  Harrison quickly pulled her into his lap and rocked her—he knew being held in his arms and the rocking motion helped when she was feeling this way. Sometimes, they even did more than his words ever could.

“I’m . . . so . . . sorry . . . Harrison,” Carrie hiccuped.

“Sweetheart, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for.  Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Carrie, who was used to only letting out her emotions through her writing, reluctantly told Harrison the thoughts she was having.  Harrison was heartbroken.  

Have I done something to make her feel this way?

Carrie saw the look cross his face and she already knew what he was feeling, “Sweetie, no, it’s not you.  These feelings just happen to me sometimes.  I wish they didn’t but they do.  And don’t ever blame yourself for that!  Having you here, holding me really helps me, I promise.”

They spent the rest of the night in their bed with Harrison spooning Carrie, whispering reassurances in her ear.  The two finally fell asleep around one in the morning.

So when Carrie finally awoke around nine, she was surprised her husband wasn’t in bed next to her.  She pressed her hand around his side of the bed, discovering the sheets to be cold.

Curious, she got out of bed and pulled on one of Harrison’s t-shirts that had been discarded on the floor the night before.  Carrie loved the skin-to-skin contact during a depressive episode and Harrison was always quick to oblige to her requests.  Carrie quietly went down the stairs when she heard the sound of a saw coming from Harrison’s carpentry shed.  Smiling, she went into the shed, making sure to put on some slippers before stepping onto the floor that was covered in sawdust.  

When she stepped inside, she saw Harrison sawing some wood for what appeared to be a rocking chair.  Carrie coughed loudly to announce her presence.

Harrison looked up, and on seeing his wife, a wide, lopsided grin spread across his face, “Mornin’ sweetheart.  How are you feeling?”

“A lot better, I’m sorry about—”

“Carrie, don’t even finish that sentence. You can’t help feeling how you feel. And I’m happy to be there for you when you feel that way.  

“I know, but—”

“No buts. I’m your husband, and it’s my job to look after you.”

I’m your husband.  Words that Carrie had dreamed of hearing since she and him had their three month one-night stand, as she liked to call it, while filming A New Hope.  Their affair ended after filming but they remained friends and kept in contact with each other.  After Harrison and Mary divorced in 1979, Carrie was there for him to help pick up the pieces.  While filming The Empire Strikes Back, they both found themselves single and decided to give a relationship a try.  It was wonderful.  While they had their fights like every other couple, they knew they couldn’t live without each other—they were soulmates.  The two married in August of 1982 and were now happy newlyweds.

Carrie smiled to herself remembering their wedding but was drawn out of her thoughts hearing Harrison working on the rocking chair again.

“Uh, hotshot.  You are aware that I’m not pregnant right?”

Harrison, put down the saw, looking at Carrie, “I’m aware of that sweetheart—this isn’t for a baby.  I’m making this for you.”

“How is it for me when I don’t have a baby to rock?”

“It’s for when those thoughts start bothering you and I’m not there,” Harrison rushed out. “I know the rocking motion helps you feel better and I figured if I’m away filming or doing press for a film and you start feeling bad then this could help.”

Carrie was touched.  No one had ever gone to such lengths to her before, “Oh, Harrison I—”

“Look, if you don’t like it that’s okay, it was just a thought, stupid really, I—”

He was cut off by Carrie kissing him hard.

“I knew this would be the only way to shut you up,” she got out. They both chuckled.

“I take it you like it then?”

“I love it, and trust me, it will be put to good use.”

While embracing her husband, she noticed he was sweaty and shirtless, and couldn’t help but stare at and appreciate what was hers.

“Like what you see sweetheart?” he smirked

“Always,” Carrie practically drooled.    

Harrison, noticing that Carrie was just in his shirt and underwear felt his blood rushing south. “You know what wearing my clothes does to me,” he growled.

“Oh, I do.  That’s why I wear them.  You know, I can think of another way you can make me feel better,” Carrie coyly whispered.

“So can I.”  

With that, Harrison scooped Carrie up in his arms and brought her up to their bed.  The two quickly undressed.  Carrie crawled onto his lap, her warm heat encasing his cock, making him groan.  Harrison pulled her in for a searing kiss.

“Mmmm, oh fuck me Harrison.”

“Not yet baby, I’ve got plans for you.”

Harrison reluctantly pulled Carrie off of his lap and laid her flat on the bed pulling her legs over her shoulders, “You’ll enjoy this.”

Carrie was about to give a quick reply but her breath caught in her throat as she felt Harrison’s breather over her folds.  Harrison found her little nub, and immediately began sucking it earnestly as Carrie writhed on the bed beneath him, threading her hands in his hair.  The feeling of her husband’s mouth on her and the sight of him in between her legs was too much for Carrie as she felt a coiling in her lower belly.

“Harrison, I’m gonna-”

“Come for me sweetheart,” as he curled his finger inside her, finding that magic spot.

“Harrison, oh fuck, unnggg, I’m coming!”  Carrie bucked her hips against his face as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.  Harrison eagerly lapped up her come, before Carrie pushed his head away from over-stimulation.

Seeing Carrie flushed beneath caused his already hard dick to throb painfully.  Noticing his own need Carrie wrapped her small hand around his shaft and began to pump.

Oh fuck.  Harrison let out a groan before reluctantly placing his hands over Carrie’s and took them off of his dick.

“Sweetheart as much as I like that, I want this to last longer.”

“But I want to make you feel good too.”

“You’ll make me feel good by letting me come inside your hot little body.  I want to feel you come around me.”

Carrie groaned after hearing his words and pushed Harrison onto his back, before climbing on top of him and impaling herself on his cock.  They both groaned out loud at the feeling of becoming one.  Carrie threw her head back at the feel of her husband’s cock stretching her out.  

“Fuck, you feel so good around me,” Harrison grunted out.  She felt so impossibly tight around his member, but he was trying hard to control himself and let Carrie set the pace.

Carrie began to rise and fall on top of him immensely enjoying the sensations.  The feeling of him inside of her was causing her orgasm to build.  

Watching his wife writhe on top of him and the feel of his inner walls clenching around his cock felt fucking amazing and he started to thrust his hips up with a grunt.  

“Does this feel good?” Carrie moaned out.

“Good?  Sweetheart this feels fucking incredible.”  

Harrison felt that Carrie was close as her walls started to tighten around him even tighter.  He immediately pulled out and flipped Carrie on her back and started to pound into to her with a primal need.

She needs to finish before I do.  

“You feel so tight and wet sweetheart,” he groaned.

“Unf, Fuck! I’m gonna come!” She cried out.

Wanting to have her come before he did, Harrison reached down to where they were joined and rubbed her swollen clit.  That movement did it for Carrie who clamped down around him with a shout of his name and rode out her orgasm.  

The feeling of her coming around him quickly did it for Harrison as he erupted inside of her with erratic thrusts and a loud groan escaped his throat.  He collapsed on top of her as they both caught their breaths.

Carrie was the first to speak, “Fuck that was good.”

“I’m glad I don’t disappoint,” Harrison drawled.  

“You could never disappoint me.”

Carrie snuggled into his chest and breathed in his scent.  

“I love you so much.”

Harrison looked down at Carrie, his heart in his throat, “I love you too sweetheart, I love you too.”

[wishfulfanficing]

Any advice on writing Carrison Fanfiction? I'm trying to write one myself, but...

YAY!!! My best advice is to just start. Write it all down, you can always edit later. And listen to that voice inside that tells you where to go, even if it’s not where you originally planned. 

Sometimes I listen to their scenes from SW or interviews just so I can get their voices in my head and try to imagine them saying what I’m writing. 

Write them as true to who they are to you. Sometimes it’ll flow easy and sometimes you’ll be like “WHAT ARE WORDS WHAT IS WRITING WHO IS CARRISON”. Take a break and come back to it. 

But yeah - just start and HAVE FUN!!!

[otterandterrier]

Whenever I see people talking about Carrison in terms of fiction I just... feel so deeply disturbed.

I know it’s not the only fandom that does this, just the one I see the most of these days. I know a lot of you are young (though a lot are out of your teens). I know you mean no disrespect to anyone. I know Carrie and Harrison “were a thing” once upon a time. Heck, I find them great to look at and, up until The Princess Diarist came out, it was fun to think of them in a secret relationship. Even now I’m interested in new pics or snippets about their relationship through the years.

But fanfiction, or headcanons, or speculating in terms of fiction about how they felt doing this or that, or what if they were still secretly together until last year, whatever...

I know you mean no disrespect, but it is disrespectful. Disrespectful to what we know for certain, thanks to Carrie, about the actual affair; to Carrie’s memory; to her family; to Harrison’s family; to their choices through the years. They are not fictional characters for you to play with.

Sure, maybe your fic won’t reach any of the people who might be affected by it (although real people shipping does have very serious and real consequences for actors). And no, I don’t go looking for this stuff and obviously scroll down as fast as I can. I can’t control what people post. But as I often see it in my spaces and have read more than I would have wanted to, I wanted to say that this is how I feel about it. It makes me feel sick, and sad, and icky. These are real people. Real people who as far as we know did not have a happy, fluffy, conflict-free relationship. Real people who went their separate ways and married other people and had children with other people. Real people who suffered during what we know of their relationship. It makes me sad to see people making up a different life for them, especially for Carrie. It disgusts me to see people writing about their imaginary children together and forgetting that they already have real, living children of their own.

I wish people understood that “don’t like, don’t read” doesn’t make the existence of rpf any better.

[ccorneliast]

the real thing - a carrison fanfiction

Rating: T Summary: Carrie and Harrison dance in France. Set in 1977. Based off of the new carrison pictures. Disclaimer: this is a real person fan fiction, so it all definitely came from our imagination and we’re not trying to offend anyone (you know the drill). A/N: this is for @leiasreys​, who asked for something based on those wonderful new pics. also, to the anons who requested it!

On AO3

I hope you like it and don’t forget to tell me your thoughts on it!

“Miss Fisher?” he repeats, louder this time. “Do you?”

The first time Carrie and Harrison were together in France was in 1977. The party was in full swing when they arrived, hand in hand. If Carrie’s memory wasn’t failing, that had been one of the first times (if not the first) where they actually held hands in a public setting. It felt amazing, for a lack of a better word.

“Harrison, Carrie, look to the left!” a man carrying a huge camera shouted. “To the left, big smiles!”

Harrison immediately stiffened and crossed his arms in front of him. Carrie’s hand travelled up to his bicep, lacing her arm through his.

“To the left!” the man insisted.

Harrison obliged, but Carrie didn’t. Her gaze was glued to her date for the night, the impossibly grumpy but oh-so-dashing co-star. He did look insanely attractive in his black suit and white shirt. She’d picked her black dress by chance, not knowing they’d be matching for the whole night, and she couldn’t have been happier that she’d done so. The pictures look incredible.

Sensing him getting tenser by the minute and the ease and carefree mood from a few hours prior dissipating faster than sand in a sandstorm, Carrie tugged on his sleeve and forced his gaze on hers:

“You’re barking up…” she whispers, smiling sweetly.

“The wrong tree!” his mouth metamorphoses into a wide grin.

It’s a sort of game they play. Out of all the games in their repertoire: cat and mouse in between takes, holding their breath the longest while kissing, hide and seek (that their hearts played every day), this was by far the silliest. They didn’t play it often, it was merely a way of alleviating unwanted strain. Yes, they finished each other’s sentences, but not in a cheesy, couple-y way. When they did it, the choice of sayings was never by chance, their voices always a specific tone and in sync. It was a coping mechanism sometimes too. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after all these months.

“Drastic times…” He offers, his arm languidly brushing her torso.

“Ask for drastic measures?”

He laughs and locks his hand in hers. “Call.”

“Ugh, you’re right.” She feigns hurt and defeat, cracking another lazy smile from his lips. “Alright hotshot, my turn.” She scours her mind for a saying she hasn’t used up already as he leads them towards the bar.

“Hit the…” she says, a little too loudly.

“Hold on, baby.” He says. Wait, what did he say?

He turns to the bartender and asks for a glass of scotch. “And the lady?” a thick French accent echoes.

“Oh, I don’t drink.” She replies. Harrison laughs.

“Come on,” his shoulder nudges her, inciting her have a drink. “My treat.”

She blushes at the thought of Harrison Ford buying her a drink. God, I’m hopeless. “Alright, a glass of wine, please.”

Harrison looks pleased enough, turning around to lean back against the bar counter. She takes a tiny tentative step to the right, stepping in front of him. He chuckles at her sudden demure posture and brings a warm hand to her cheek. She smiles, leaning into the warmth. Then, his other hand lands on her waist, gripping it just a little too hard. This gesture forces him closer to her, their faces only inches apart. She closes her eyes, leaning in ever-so-slightly. He leans in too. The room is filled to the brim with noise and chattering and music, but suddenly she loses all notion of English, French and musical notes. He’s the only word she really needs.

“Mister, your drinks.” The bartender declares. Damn.

Harrison clears his throat and pretends like they weren’t about to start making out in public: “Thank you.” He hands her her drink, stepping away from her somewhat.

“Could you please repeat?” He asks, his voice firm.

“Huh?” her look is of pure confusion.

“It’s your turn.” He waves with his hand towards her.

“Oh,” she exhales, taking a sip of her wine. “Hit the…” Carrie repeats.

He pretends to ponder her question for a second before answering: “Hit the hay!”

She furrows her brow and shoots back: “Hit the sack!”

“No one says “Hit the sack”, Carrie!” Harrison teases.

“Well, no one says “Hit the hay” either, Mr. Ford.” She playfully punches his arm and takes another gulp of her wine. She’ll be tipsy in no time.

“Agree to-“ she cuts him off.

“Agree to disagree!” he laughs as he realizes her silliness. She laughs right along with him.

“Come on kid, whatcha say you take this old man for a spin out there on the dance floor?” He sets their drinks down without waiting for her reply and their fingers intertwine. Guess that “baby” was a one-time thing then.

And to the dance floor they go.

She smiles so tenderly as his hands travel the length of her bare arms, locking them on her hips. Like clockwork, her hands wrap around his neck, her fingers dancing in between his brown locks. The song changes to a more upbeat tune thankfully, taking the pressure off of them to slow dance in the middle of all these strangers.

The tempo speeds up and Harrison twirls Carrie around, her little black dress swaying along with her movements. She’s only holding his hand at this point, but he tugs her back into his chest, so close, his hand resting on her back. She holds on to him. His other hand finds hers. He grips it tightly. Their faces regain their previous status of being mere inches apart. Their noses brush, softly.

Then: “A penny for your-“ he whispers, so close to her lips.

“Your thoughts.” Her heart practically jumps out of her body.

“No, not to complete. To answer.” His lips curve into a charming smile just for her. Just for me.

“Oh,” she stiffens in his embrace. I’m in love with you and I want you to take me right here on the dance floor, in a foreign country where we don’t know anyone. Instead, she murmurs: “I’m so happy.”

His hand works its way further around her, their bodies completely glued to each other’s.

“Carrie,” his nose nudges hers, compelling her to look straight into his eyes. Oh, so blue. “Kid, I- I, hum,” he tries.

Then, like a chant inside her mind: What? What, what, what?

“You’re it, kid.” He manages to spit out. “You’re the one I want.”

Wait a second… Does he mean that… He actually likes me?

“Wait, you actually like me?” she shakes her head, her hair cascading down her back. “I’m so confused.”

“Nothin’ to be confused for.” He sets her hand free only to graze his thumb along her bottom lip. “You know me inside out. And even though we’re together most days, I still want one more second with you.”

She shakes her head at the unbelievable words he’s speaking. It’s too much, too perfect, too good to be true.

“Let me get this straight,” her voice is smooth, like honey. “You… love me?” he suppresses a shy laugh, but nods. “You love me?”

“Yes, you.” This time he laughs, a whole, wonderful laugh.

“That’s,” she starts, still disbelieving. “Well, that’s really good.” She laughs along with him. “That’s really really good!” she laughs harder and he does so too. And they stand there, laughing their eyes out, as a flash goes off in their direction. Now, that’s a picture I’ll hang up in the living room.

“This is it, huh?” she giggles.

“You betcha,” his hand cradles the back of her head. “The real thing, the whole shebang.”

His warm fingers press against the smooth skin of her neck, propelling her forward. Her lips travel half the way to his, hovering there for a second. She savors this victory and she already knows how it’ll taste: sweet.

He holds her close to him, his lips pressing against hers softly. It’s an innocent kiss, a loving kiss. He makes sure to thrust every ounce of loving he has stored in him into this one kiss, channeling all the missed opportunities and all the passion he feels for her in this one lock of lips.  

So, when the man asks her again, so many years later: “Do you take this man to be your wedded husband?” Carrie nods. Then, she winks at his groom: “It takes two to tango.”

[ccorneliast]

i’m in the mood to write some short drabbles so send in your fic prompts and i’ll try to do as many as i can! list of what i write under the cut:

carrison, hanleia, frary, luke & lorelai, mileven (if you want something else, just ask!)

[ccorneliast]

Any idea what the name of this Carrison fic is: Harrison and Carrie have a baby girl and at the end they go in their room to watch Casablanca?

Yes, it’s one of mine actually!! Link here: http://titasjournal.tumblr.com/post/160134139010/carrison-has-a-baby

[ccorneliast]

in defense of rpf

rpf has been a highly controversial topic lately (especially in the carrison fandom) and I feel like some people who are against it don’t really understand/don’t really care about what rpf really is.

personally, writing carrison rpf make me happy: it allows me to be creative, share my stories with other people and develop a story that is very interesting (that of carrie and harrison ). Now, I get it: it might seem disrespectful to some of you. It would be disrespectful if I was writing with the purpose of getting Carrie, Harrison, or anyone remotely related to them to read it. It would be disrespectful if I was saying that what I’m writing actually happened. It would be disrespectful if I actually believed what I was writing. Hey, guess what: I don’t!! It’s a work of fiction, as in fan fiction. I do not state that what I’m writing is reality (in fact, I always make sure to make that 100% clear) and I sure as hell don’t mean any disrespect to anyone. And I know, blah blah blah I don’t mean disrespect but I might be disrespecting them. Well, I’m 99% sure no one related to them reads my fics and I for sure don’t write them with that intent. I base my stories off of real people, sure, but I take some of their personality traits to make up my own version of a character. I’m not delusional, I don’t think I’m writing as Carrie or as Harrison or as anyone for that matter. I write as myself, only I find their love affair (or platonic love story or abusive relationship, however you want to see it) extremely interesting and use that as a starting point for my fiction.

let me leave you with this: do you know those historical books/shows you love to read/watch? Well, they are based off of real life events of real life people. you still like those, right? even though they’re fiction based off of reality?

in conclusion, i obviously don’t mean to convert any of you to rpf (if you don’t like it, just skip it!), I just meant to shed some light on this matter as to what I believe and why I write it/enjoy it. i don’t condone anyone who is against it either!

thank you for reading my take on this and I would love to discuss this in a civil way down below, if anyone is interested. I always love hearing about other points of view!

[ccorneliast]

clouds in my coffee - a carrison fanfiction

Rating: T Summary: Carrie Fisher is a published author who just got out of a toxic, long relatioship. Harrison Ford is a divorced father of two who owns a little coffee shop on 53rd street in New York.What will happen when they meet? Full of coffee, books and cuteness. Disclaimer: this is a real person fan fiction, so it all definitely came from our imagination and we’re not trying to offend anyone (you know the drill). A/N:  I've been wanting to write a coffee shop au for these two for the longest time so I'm so excited to have found the perfect person to write it with! Angie ( @soreidy27 ) is a goddess! We planned this great fanfiction for y’all and I’m so happy to have the best co-writer ever! 

This first chapter goes out to one of favorite people, Ashley ( @hansoloorgana ) for all the support, love and cheerleading. We hope you love it!

The quotes in the fic are from "Surrender The Pink" by Carrie Fisher, so we don't claim them.

On AO3

I hope you like it and don't forget to tell me your thoughts on it!

The bag hanging on her shoulder weighed her down. Inside, a slick silver laptop and a little black moleskine waited to be used for the first time in months.

Carrie walked into a small coffee shop on 52nd street, the big, cursive letters in the banner read: “Dorothy’s”.

The strong smell of ground coffee beans and milk hits her instantly. The place is half full, a couple of students and a few adults sitting sparsely. A tiny bell sings as she closes the door behind her and looks around. Carrie picks a small, round table at the very end of the coffee shop, next to the cookie and muffin display. She walks hurriedly, brushing her hair off her face as she goes.

Breathe, Carrie. You’ve done it once, you can do it again .

She smooths her shirt absentmindedly, though it isn’t wrinkled at all.

“Hey doll, what can I get ya?” A somewhat short, blonde lady dressed in a brown apron asks in a thick southern accent. Her nearly wrinkled blue eyes run across Carrie’s features, the way her eyes move and the smile that plays on her lips giving Carrie an uneasy feeling that settles in her already stumbling stomach. I guess you do see everything in New York.

“A capuchinho, please.” Carrie gives the lady a small smile. Charlotte , the name tag read.

“Comin’ right up, doll,” she struts back to the counter and prepares her order.

While she waits, Carrie removes the laptop and the notebook from her bag. She sits them on the table and taps a pen on the wood.

He’s gone, she thought to herself. You’ll never have to see him again. That calms her down for a millisecond before her mind starts spiraling: oh no, I’ll never see him again. I’ll never feel his lips on mine, I’ll never say I love you again, I won’t have a date on national holidays!

The song that was playing on the stereo changes and British rock fills up the room. Something about finding the love of your life and never wanting to let go. Great!  

Carrie forces herself to focus on work. She opens up the untitled document on her computer and reads the last few sentences she’d written:

“Rudy stood with the door of the limousine open behind him. He’d thrown down the gauntlet of his indifference and now Dinah picked it up. She raised her hand in a wave.”

Words swim around in her head. What should Dinah say? It needs to be witty, sharp. It needs to be memorable, like the abso-fucking-lutely! at the end of the first episode of Sex and the City. This is Rudy and Dinah’s Carrie-and-Big moment.

“ Don’t be a stranger,” she called with gaiety.

Rudy smiled.

Carrie read the last paragraph over again. It doesn’t sound perfect yet. It needs soul.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she called with mock gaiety. “Don’t be Albert Camus.”

Rudy smiled. “The Outsider,” he called, correcting her. Dinah flushed.

“Here you go, ma’am,” a deep voice echoes behind Carrie, but she’s too deep in her trance to get her eyes off of the screen.

“Don’t be either of them. Don’t be anyone if you can help it,” she said, disappearing into her building.

Carrie’s hand grasps the small, white cup full of the energy she so needed.

“Suddenly her head popped back around the corner. “Actually, it can be either one,” she said hurriedly. “I think it depends on the translation.”

“Aham,” the same voice coughs behind Carrie. “You’re welcome.” That tone is unmistakably sarcastic.

Carrie spins around in her chair, in search of the mysterious voice. “Excuse me?”

It’s a man! , she thinks to herself. Well, of course it was a man. She was not expecting someone like him, though. Tall, tan and incredibly handsome, a man in the same brown apron wore a smug look on his face.

“Excuse you,” he cocks one eyebrow and grins. “When someone brings you what you asked for you say thank you.”

“Oh sugar, it's alrigh’! This pretty doll here was just too into her squibblin’.” The older woman, Charlotte , says to the man almost three times her size.

“Still, that's no reason to be rude.” His words and his condescending tone made Carrie raise a perfectly pluck eyebrow as her eyes focused on his grayish blues, defiance blatantly shown through her freshly roasted coffee hues.

Because of the indignation swirling in caused by the man's accusations, the brunette lost her train of thought and creativity on her writing.

“I was never meant to be rude, as you put it.” Carrie gestures around with her hand. “As this very lovely lady said, I was focused and I do apologize, however that is also no reason for you to speak to a stranger, who is also a paying customer, like that.” Carrie responded back, her eyes taking in the disbelief at her words subtly playing on his scruffy yet undoubtedly handsome features. I guess no one ever talks to you like that. She thought silently in her head with a bit of satisfaction, taking his shocked expression at her comeback. The perfect payback for his interruption.

Charlotte and the man exchange glances. His expression softens as the blonde woman grips his arm once, through his cotton shirt.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he offers. “I could’ve been less rude.” The man tries his best at a genuine smile, but fails miserably. Nonetheless, it’s adorable to observe.

“‘S alright.” Carrie mumbles. She cannot take his eyes off of him, it’s insane. Now that they’re not fighting, it’s incredibly easy to get lost in his sharp features and plump lips.

“Harrison,” he extends a hand at her. Under normal circumstances, she’d think this extremely unprofessional, however her recent single status plays tricks on her mind and makes her take his hand in hers. “Harrison Ford. I own this place.” He’s proud, you can tell.

“Carrie Fisher.” The skin on his hand is rough, no doubt from working all day. It’s warm though and his scent of coffee and pastries is intoxicating.

Silence. His head nods as if asking her to go on.

“I’m a writer,” she tells him, her lips like a pink line on her face. “Obviously.” She laughs, motioning towards the computer and notebook. Charlotte smiles knowingly and turns around to leave. Funny, I forgot she was here, Carrie thinks.

“So I see,” Harrison laughs back, his eyes the tiniest bit crinkled. Their hands are still intertwined. We should let go . And so she does. Her hand falls to her lap slowly, never touching anything on the way. She keeps it there, unmoved, a token on of their meet-cute. “Well, best get to it then,” he smiles.

She nods and turns back around, facing her computer screen. “Nice to meet you, Harrison.” She tried his name for the first time, tentatively.

“Yes, nice,” he says it like he’s pondering the words. Then, he replies: “Nice to meet you too, Miss Fisher.”

“She smiled her best enigmatic smile at him and was gone again. Rudy watched the space where she had been for a brief moment, smiled to himself, and then was willingly reabsorbed into his car.”

[ccorneliast]

Bubble Pop Electric - A Carrison Fanfiction

Rating: M Summary: Carrie is desperate for Harrison to come home after some unfinished business on the set of A New Hope (set in 1976). Disclaimer: this is a real person fan fiction, so it all definitely came from our imagination and we’re not trying to offend anyone (you know the drill). A/N: this is for maria. i love you girl

On AO3

I hope you like it and don’t forget to tell me your thoughts on it!

“Harrison?” Carrie’s voice is high-pitched.

“Yes, doll?” Harrison questions through the receiver.

“Come on, Harrison. When you gonna get here?” she jumps from one for to the other.

“Alright, hold your pretty horses.” He chuckles at her lack of patience. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Hum, Cuddles?” She clutches the landline to her ear.

“Yeah, Carrie Frances?”

“You might want to hurry, cause tonight is the night.” She’s nearly trembling in anticipation.

“Oh, and what night might tonight be?” His voice is brought down to a lower register.

“Ugh, just get over here, would you?” she puts the telephone down and screams in glee.

               She walks to the kitchen and pours herself some much needed wine to soothe her excitement. Drinking wine makes her feel grown-up and sexy, exactly what one would need to feel like whilst being in an affair with Harrison Ford.

Carrie carries her glass to the small living room and sits patiently, sipping her drink. She thinks of changing her outfit to something more provocative, but there would be no use anyways since the clothing (hopefully) wouldn’t stay on that long. She leans back on the couch and observes the ceiling soundlessly, as though she’s never seen anything so interesting.

But that’s boring. In an effort not to be the girl waiting for the guy at the door, she decides to put some music on. She chooses one of those Beatles records her first boyfriend, Simon, had gotten for her.

Energetic British rock fills the room. She dances in her jeans and t-shirt, flailing her arms from one side to the other, her head vigorously bobbing to the music. Anything to get her off edge.

After the first song ends, she’s already out of breath, so she flops, belly-first, on the couch. “She loves you” starts playing on vinyl and she sings along to it in her head. She makes it through to the first chorus until her thoughts drift off to Harrison. Again:

Mr. Ford’s performance on set today was rather breathtaking. After Leia blurted “Get this walking carpet out of my way” and George called out: “Cut”, Harrison grabbed Carrie’s hand and, in one swift motion, pulled her against a wall and brought his lips to hers. His mouth didn’t really give hers any choice (not that her mouth would want anything else other than that anyway) and his hand gripped the back of her neck. His warm hand sent shivers down her spine and the fact that they were in their Han and Leia costumes only made it even more exciting.

Before the making out could escalate to anything else on set, they both left, separately why of course, and Carrie was left to wait interminably at her apartment.

I know he’s on his way now, but jeez Louise I mean today now. I can’t wait, I want to play now.

His beautiful face is burned in her mind. A hero’s face. The way two strands of hair fall on his forehead and his hazel eyes… it’s always so thrilling to guess what hue his eyes show on that exact moment. Her favorite is when his eyes are this particular shade of blue so she can drown in him like she’s always wanted.

She’s antsy, she can’t sit still, wanting by the door for Harrison. The heat inside her apartment is nearly unbearable (is it really hot inside though?) so, she opens a window and sticks her head out. Then, she sees something wonderful: what she’s been dying to lay her eyes on for a whole hour.

“Baby!” she shouts, propping herself on the window. “Come on up!” she points at her watch and cocks one eyebrow.

“Sure thing, Miss Fisher.” He shouts back from the street, winking at her.

She runs to the door and opens it promptly. Within a few minutes, he’s there in front of her in the flesh. The first couple of buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned and tan skin peaks through, almost as though it means to tease her.

She wastes no more than two seconds before jumping on top of him, clinging to his shoulders for support. He chuckles at her charming eagerness.

“Damn, I should’ve arrived earlier,” he jokes and she nibbles at his neck. “Or we should’ve just done it on set.”

“And risk getting caught?” she fumbles with the remaining buttons and quickly tears the shirt off of him.

“As you always say,” Harrison moves closer, nudging her chin with his nose, pressing a soft kiss to her jaw. “Location, location, location.”

“’Nough talking.” She says, pulling him into her room and onto the bed.

“What were you doing while you waited?” he mumbles into her skin as he battles with her underwear.

“Thinking about you,” she offers, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her.

“Hum,” he moans into the soft skin of her abdomen. “Thinkin’ about how it feels when I do this?” he asks, proceeding to locking his lips on a patch of skin right next to her belly button. His hand runs along her exposed leg, almost as if he’s the electricity going through her body.

“I like that, yeah,” she sighs, bringing her hand to his head, softly caressing his hair. He moves a little and rests his knee against the inside of her thigh while she adjusts her leg around his waist, pushing him closer to her body. He bends his head down, kissing her for just a moment. The kiss is short yet lingering, the softness of his lips still all-too-present on hers. They hardly kissed during sex, at least on the lips, but she gave the matter no thought. More important things were happening further down.

He braces one palm next to her shoulder and wraps the other around her leg, easing back and pushing into her: a firm, slow thrust that propels her into a quiet desperation. Carrie arches her back and lets one hand fall to her stomach, her cheek pressed to the cool pillow.

Carrie’s hand moves aggressively between them and his eyes flutter closed as he grips her shoulder tightly. He sets an increasingly faster pace, an urgent rhythm that consequently turns his thought process to mush. She feels herself drift farther away from this bed, from this room, into somewhere way more complex, where all she feels is his delicious weight on top of her. He drops his head to the crook of her neck, placing his burning lips on her milky skin, his breath ragged and heavy.  

Carrie gasps and cries out his name as his hips collide with hers and her hands travel aimlessly the length of his body – his arms, his shoulders, his scruff. Harrison would grin under normal circumstances for bringing her there already, a sort of selfish joy in that small victory, especially when she pants and says: “Harrison- I’m- I’m-“ in breathy gasps.

Harrison takes no longer than another few seconds to get there himself, his body humming and alive beneath her fingertips. He rests his forehead on her shoulder for a moment before he rolls over to her side, wrapping an arm around her. She shuffles and grasps the sheets, pulling one over them. She then lets her head fall right on his chest, his skin sweaty but oh-so-delightful.

“That was…” she murmurs into his shoulder. His grip tightens.

“What?” he questions. She giggles, content. She then rolls over and onto him, straddling him, both legs on either side of his torso.

“Bubble,” she says as she kisses his lips. “Pop,” she nibbles at the sensitive skin of his earlobe. “Electric.”

[ccorneliast]

A Heart In Barcelona - Chapter 5: A Carrison Fanfiction

Rating: T  Summary: Carrie and Harrison go on a weekend getaway to Barcelona during filming of The Empire Strikes Back in the late seventies. Something happens on that trip that changes their lives forever. Disclaimer: this is a real person fan fiction, so it all definitely came from my imagination and I’m not trying to offend anyone (you know the drill). I did take some creative liberty on what concerns the timeline, so stuff that is mentioned/places they visit may not have existed in the seventies, I apologize in advance; I do use/paraphrase some parts from Carrie’s books, as a way of making it feel more like them.   A/N: This is going to be the last chapter before the Epilogue (and before this story comes to an end). I hope you’ve enjoyed this so far and if you did be sure to shoot me a message! Chapter 5 goes out to my love Angie ( @soreidy27 ), because I know how much she likes inner-thoughts and stuff like that. This is also your late bday present, itch. I hope you like it, I love you passionately. Shoutout to the carrison groupchat, your girls rock!

On AO3

I sure hope you enjoy this chapter and, if you do, please don’t existate on sharing your opinion and reblogging!

It was a queer, sultry friday night, the night of the wrap party for The Empire Strikes Back, and Carrie and Harrison had silently agreed to keep their distance, as rumors of their involvement didn't show signs of dying down.

“Carrie, so glad you could make it!” one of the producers joins her right at the entrance.

“Couldn't miss it,” she smiles satisfactorily at her employer.

“Great, great,” he smiles back, looking around the room. “Enjoy the party.” he says, as he walks away, distracted by this one and that.

“Enjoy the party,” she huffs to herself.

The last few days Carrie's been in hiding in her London apartment, not wanting to go back home to LA, to be lectured by her mother, nor to New York, to Paul. As if he'd still want her after the news broke.

“Carrie!” Marilou rushes towards her. “Finally a familiar face.” She exhales.

“Hey,” Carrie hugs Mark’s wife, and she squeezes back.

“I lost Mark right about the time we walked in,” she laughs, though curtly. “It's fine, I found you now!”

“Yeah,” Carrie smiles, though her head is still dizzy.

“So, how've you been?” they sit down around a table, Marilou sipping on her wine. “Mark mentioned you've been sick lately.”

“He did?” She mentally kicks Mark. “I guess I've been. I'm feeling good today, though.” another smile, a smaller, edgier one, forms on her lips.

“Hum,” Marilou ponders. “Alright.”

“How are you? How is little Nathan?” Carrie turns her body towards Marilou’s, crossing her legs.

“He’s good, won't stop screaming and crying, but I think that’s normal.” She replies. “I must find Mark so he can show you some pictures!” She promptly gets up to find her husband, leaving Carrie to herself.

Not long after that, a voice echoes behind her:

“Hey, kid.” it’s deep, raspy and slightly demanding. It's Harrison.

“Harrison,” her tone is monochromic.

“What happened to “Hello, lover”?” He teases, but there's no hint of smile or playfulness in his voice.

“Take a seat, lover,” she obliges. “Better?” She raises one eyebrow.

“Nah, I don't want to sit down.” He shoots back. “They're playing our song, care to dance?” He cocks one eyebrow at her, but doesn't offer his hand.

“Save it,” she waves him away. “We don't even have a song,” she looks at him straight in the eye and listens closely. “Unless you and I have slow danced to “Take me On” before without my knowing.”

He grins.

“We'll wait for the next one, kid.” he promises. “I have the whole night.”

“Well, I don't. If you'll excuse me,” she gets up to leave, but his hand on her arm stops her.

“Carrie, I know you're hiding something.” His breath is hot against her ear. “Be a good girl and tell me.” he’s still gripping her arm, and she inhales shakily. How does he know?

“Well, hotshot, I have positively no idea what you're talking about.” She frees herself and puts her hands on her hips. “Please, let me go.” her tone is strong and assertive.

“Please, you dug yourself a hole and haven't come out in days. And I know you can't resist me for more than thirty two hours, we've tried that before.” it could sound like he's teasing her, making her deliberately uncomfortable, but his voice is very much matter-of-factly.

“Arrogant much, Mr. Ford?” She can't seem to get out of this one.

“Carrie…” he mumbles, pulling out a cigarette. He lights it in one swift motion.

“Don't smoke that around me, Harrison,”

“What's gotten into you?” He asks, frustrated. “Usually, you steal it from me in a second.”

“Yeah well, maybe I grew up a little.” It stings.

He looks at her worryingly for a second before laughing: “You almost got me there, sweetheart.”

Two second of excruciating silence fall between them.

“So, where's Paul?” he asks. There it is, jealousy.

“He’s working in New York,” she answers, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“Pity,”

“Jesus Christ,” she’s exasperated. “Will you leave me alone if we dance?” She runs a finger along his jawline, the stubble scratching her skin.

“Can't charm your way out of this one, dear.” But he takes her up on her offer nonetheless.

His big hand steadies her, pressing against her waist. Her cheek lays against his chest, her hands running up and down her back.

“Don't,” he warns.

“Harrison,” she calls. He separates their bodies and looks down at her. “Harrison, we should've never gone.” Her voice shows her panic.

“We shouldn't have gone where, dear?” He furrows his brow, confused but satisfied at the same time.

“Barcelona. Harrison, we should've never gone to Barcelona.”

“What’s our number?” Carrie fidgets from one foot to another.

“Twenty seven.” he answers. “Just sit down or something. Rest.” Harrison motions to a black, leather couch. Intimidating, to say the least.

“Alright,” she sits down, but keeps her eyes on him.

“Look, I gotta return a call,” he says. “Mary called,” he continues. “Maybe something happened with the kid-,” and he stops right there. Sore spot.

“Yeah, of course,” she manages a smile and watches him walk away.

Meanwhile, she clutches the paper tightly and fixes her gaze on the white wall in front of her, almost as she’s looking through it. Carrie can almost see the woman lying in that hospital bed, a white, paper-thin robe covering her. She could feel the excruciating pain she must be feeling (Carrie had never met anyone that’d gone through the procedure, but she imagined it hurt) and the sudden regret. The feeling of coming home knowing who you were the day before resembles nothing of who you are now. Or maybe she’d feel relieved. The woman might feel relieved, not having the burden of raising a child in a home that never quite was .

But what if it had been a boy? Would he have had his brown hair, his hazel eyes, or would he have had her fiery personality? Would his father have taught him how to build a wooden table for his mother, or would she have been late to work for picking him up from football practice?

Carrie pushes those thoughts aside as she rummages inside her purse, looking for her lipgloss. She applies it carefully, not taking her eyes from the small, compact mirror. As she finishes, her gaze averts to across the room. A lone woman, much like Carrie herself, smiles reassuringly towards her. Carrie observes her barely noticeable bump and her mind spirals again.

Was it a girl? If it was, was there the slight possibility of her inheriting her father’s family’s blue eyes? Or her mother’s chestnut hair? Hopefully, she’d have the sensible qualities of her dad, with a sprinkle of her mom’s craziness. After all, a little craziness never hurt anybody.

Of course all this back and forth was pointless, she knew it was a girl. He didn’t know though, she kept that secret for herself. She’d have that.

But she didn’t want just that, it occurred to her. She actually wanted all of it, the hard parts, that staying up late and vomit everywhere, and the easy parts, watching her take her first steps and speaking her first words.

“Harrison,” Carrie got up and rushed to him as he entered the waiting room.

“We have to talk,” he says. “I changed my mind.” his face is flushed and his heart is racing.

“What?” she furrows her brow.

“I was talking to Mary and the kids and well,” he takes the two remaining strides that separate them. “I changed my mind.” he smiles and shrugs.

“Thank God,” she throws her arms around him and he, though startled, holds on to Carrie. “I changed my mind too,” she whispers. “Oh, also,” she tells him. “It’s definitely a girl.” He smiles into her hair.

After they part, their eyes search each other’s, looking for the next logical step. Then, a ding sound erupts from above them: number 27.

“Fuck that,” he says. “Let’s go home.” Yes, home…

Four months later, Harrison and Carrie meet up at the hotel booked for the press interviews in New York. When he sees her for the first time in a while, it takes nearly everything in him not to run and crush her body to his.

They kiss. It’s a slow, lingering kiss, very different from the kisses they shared under the Barcelona sky. Those had been rough, demanding, but impersonal. These felt like a beginning more than anything else, a sweet, honey-covered, shiny beginning.

“How’s little Rose doing?” Harrison caresses Carrie’s stomach through the smooth fabric of her clothes.

“Better now that you’re here,” she pecks him on the lips.

“For a writer, that one was pretty weak, kid.” he teases, but returns the kiss.

“Pregnancy brain,” she laughs, and he pretends to accept her excuse.

“We should go, Mark’s waiting for us at the restaurant.” he grips her hand and they slide inside a cab.

She lets her head fall against his shoulder in a carefree manner she’d never tried before. He adjusts himself on his seat, but this time it’s not to distance himself, it’s to make her feel more comfortable.

Then, out of nowhere, Harrison asks: “Do you think we should get married?”

“What?” shock coats her voice.

“I mean, shouldn’t we?” he asks again. “It makes sense, with us having a baby and all.” his hand grips her arm softly.

“I guess…” she ponders it. “I don’t us to marry just because we’re having a baby though.”

“If you don’t want to get married, we don’t have to.” he offers her a smile.

“It’s not that I don’t want to get married,” she raises her head and faces Harrison. “I just want you to get married to me because you want to.”

“Hell, kid,” he huffs.

“I’ve seen enough failed marriages to last me seven lifetimes.” she tries to ease the tension.

“Hum,” he guides her back into his embrace, resting his head on hers. “Why do you think those marriages ended?” he asks.

Carrie has to be careful of what she says: “Well,” she starts, tentatively. “Most of them ended in cheating.” she awaits his reaction.

“Right,” he exhales.

“Hey, baby,” she places a warm hand on his face. “I don’t mind if we don’t get marrie-”

“What if we promise?” he interrupts her. “What if we promise right now to never cheat?”

“That’s kind of like saying our vows, huh Harrison?” she jokes.

“Alright, then,” he faces her and takes her hand in his: “Carrie,” he clears his throat exaggeratedly. “I promise to never love any other woman other than, well, you-” he laughs, nervous. “I promise to give everything to little Rose and any other children we may have,” she raises her eyebrows. “And I promise to take care of you,” his words are muffled as she kisses him. “Forever.” his words never do sound outside their lips. Her hand grips his hair and his hand cradles her flaming cheek.

“I promise all of that to you too, baby,” she laughs into his ear.

“That’s easy for you to keep, you don’t like women,” she takes a second to understand his poorly-thought-out joke.

“Alright, I promise to never love another man other than you,”

“That’s better.” he smiles and she throws herself on top of him.

“Did we just get married?” she whispers, incredulous.

“I think we did, kid,” he laughs. “Hell, we just got married!”

[ccorneliast]

A Heart In Barcelona - The Epilogue: A Carrison Fanfiction

Rating: T Summary: Carrie and Harrison go on a weekend getaway to Barcelona during filming of The Empire Strikes Back in the late seventies. Something happens on that trip that changes their lives forever. Disclaimer: this is a real person fan fiction, so it all definitely came from my imagination and I’m not trying to offend anyone (you know the drill). I did take some creative liberty on what concerns the timeline, so stuff that is mentioned/places they visit may not have existed in the seventies, I apologize in advance; I do use/paraphrase some parts from Carrie’s books, as a way of making it feel more like them.   A/N: Here you have it, people: the last chapter in this fic that I poured my heart into. I hope you all enjoyed this wild ride and I wanna thank every one that read this, that commented, reblogged, liked or even literally just read my words, it means the fucking world to me. Special thanks to my girls over at the carrison groupchat for the handholding throughout all of this craziness.The Epilogue is gift to all of you, but especially to my space twin, the love of my life, Cassidy ( @theorganasolo ). I hope I gave you the ending you made me promise to give to you. I love you passionately. 

On AO3

The most beautiful part of the ceremony was when they shared their “I do’s”. Truly, the way that her face glowed and his eyes sparkled with stray tears. It felt almost invasive to watch her little girl sharing her first kiss as a married woman.

Children danced around them, laughing in absolute happiness. Twinkly lights enveloped them while the guitar played the first song they’d ever danced to, every strum feeling like the very first time. The autumn leaves falling down around them, each one its own fingerprint of oranges, yellows and browns. The brand-new breath of life onto the lifeless, that’s how it felt. Their closest friends and family gathering for no reason other than to celebrate their love in its sum.

“Grandma, come see my drawing!” four-year-old Hunter says, tugging at Carrie’s skirt.

“Alright, let’s see that work of art,” she answers, being led to the little kids’ table.

“Guess mine!” he asks, pointing at the plethora of drawings displayed on the table. Carrie looks at them and soon realizes she couldn’t tell them apart at all. How is she supposed to know which one is Hunter’s? “Grandma!” he’s getting impatient.

“Okay mister, but first I have to look at all of them,” she says. She picks the first one up, but there’s no reaction from the little boy. She continues on to the next one, and then the one after that. Then, something amazing happens: his whole body lights up and stifled laughter escapes him mouth, that mouth that is so like Rose’s, so like Carrie’s.

“It’s this one!” Carrie exclaims.

“How’d you know, grandma?” he asks.

“Baby, that’s obviously mommy and daddy and…” she turns it around slightly. “And your grandad and I?” she laughs at the awkward height difference. The boy smiles, satisfied.

Behind them, the clinking of glasses erupts.

“If I could have everybody’s attention, please,” Mark shouts. He then gets up and starts:

“Dear Rosie, you make such a beautiful bride,” people nod in agreement. “And I think I speak for everyone when I say that you two are absolutely perfect for each other.” Coby rests his hand on Rose’s waist and they share a knowing smile. “But before you two kids were the perfect couple, we had your parents to look up to.”

Carrie’s body stiffens. She looks for Harrison in the crown of people in attendance. Right by the cake, there he is. He looks at her too.

“Though everyone tells the story about the two movie stars who fell in love on the set of their movie,” Mark continues. “We who are present here today know that there’s more to it than just that.” Now, Mark looks at Carrie and smiles. She looks at him through her half-hearted smile and asks Where are you going with this?

Harrison starts walking towards Carrie, taking long strides in her direction.

“The truth is, dear Rosie,” his expression softens. “Is that we wouldn’t have their love to look up to if it weren’t for you.”

Harrison grabs Carrie’s hand and she forces a smile. He comes closer, she can smell his unmistakable scent.

“You were what made them whole.” Mark finishes. “To Carrie and Harrison.” And everyone chants back:

“To Carrie and Harrison.” And champagne drowns in their bodies.

Harrison’s grip tightens around her fingers. She looks up at him:

“What?”

“I need to talk to you.” His face is tired, shaped by the years.

“Can’t it wait?” she smiles to the guests that breeze past them, but mumbles to him.

“No, I need to talk to you now.” She goes with him, his tone much too tight too ignore.

They walk down the pathway to the lake, right in front of the family’s summer house, where Rose had begged to get married in ever since she was old enough to think about marriage.

“Look, I know you’re unhappy.” Harrison starts. That shocks her. “And I don’t like that.” They sit down beside each other on the grass. He helps her down. “I don’t like that one bit.”

She looks at him incredulous. She was so good at acting, though.

“Kid, this ain’t easy for me either,” his voice falters. “Hell, it’s never been easy with you.”

“Thanks a lot, Harriso-“ he cuts her off.

“Will you just listen? Just listen for a second.” He gestures with his hands. She nods.

“I know that we’re two people that live inside our changing minds,” he looks to the water. “And most of the time we only know to touch and go. And that makes you unhappy,” he whispers.

“I tried to be the best I could for you, but this is all I got, kid.” He says. She exhales for a few moments, she was not expecting this on her daughter’s wedding day.

“Is that what you wanted to say?” she raises her head and stares at him intensely.

“Well, hold on a minute,” he’s frustrated now, she can tell. “We always fall in love till it hurts and bleeds,” he gets closer to her face. “And you were never a saint, either.” And you loved in shades of wrong.

“But when I’m around you, Carrie, my armor falls,” his gaze is forceful. “You’re like a cannonball, every time you enter a room.”

“I want to do this right, because I know that what you and I have, kid,” his hand travels to her cheek. “It’s worth fighting for.”

His hand falls at her expression. He then withdraws something for his pocket.

“Let’s play good and right with each other from now on.”

He opens the small velvet box. A diamond ring sparkles inside of it, so alone and cold.

His hand brushes hers and she can’t possibly move.

“Carrie,” she looks at her then bare ring finger, now crowded with flicks of light. “What do ya say?”

But there’s only one thing she wants to know.

“Why is it pink?” she asks. He smiles, an excited smile, and brings his lips to hers. They brush at first, but then his lips taste hers and it feels just like it always has: brave and wild.

“Sweetheart,” her head falls on his shoulder. He looks into her chestnut eyes, the beginning of a golden age. “It’s not pink,” A state of grace, if you will. “It’s rose.”