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nolita-fairytale · 10 months

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give you my wild, give you a child | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x pregnant fem!reader oneshot

summary: your second trimester while pregnant with baby bear is way sexier than you expected.

warnings: smut, breeding kink, language, 18+ only, barely proofread.

word count: 3.7k

a/n: hi it's me with the second trimester sexapalooza smut i promised @starbritestarlite and @carmensberzattos. and with this new season, let me know if you want to be added to my carmy taglist!! i wrote this as a companion piece to the 'make my heart heart surrender' universe, specifically for the 'carmy as your baby daddy' headcanon/social media au series. anyways, i've been thoroughly enjoying season 2 and am sitting into the fact that i've created my own universe inside of their universe. god we love fanfic. anyways... this is nsfw so 18+ only.

Today 2:21 pm

Carmy “my baby daddy” Berzatto: On the way home for lunch.

You: Hurry, baby.

Carmy “my baby daddy” Berzatto: You good, sweet girl?

Your reply is almost instant, and Carmy wonders what could possibly come next as he sees the three dots appear below your message, indicating that you’re still typing.

It’s a link, his eyes widening as soon as it appears in his iMessage history with you.

You: Hottest Sex Positions For Pregnant Women | Cosmopolitan

Before he can notice that it feels ten degrees hotter in the room, that his face has turned cherry red, that his pants are beginning to feel unbearably tighter, he’s interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice.

“You good, chef?” Marcus asks, as he passes by, noticing the red tones that have risen to Carmy’s cheeks.

“Wh-, oh yeah!” Carmy answers, almost too quickly, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing.

Marcus shoots him a strange look, examining his boss’ face.

“Just uh… gotta go home for lunch.”

3:03 pm

“What took you so long?” you practically growl as soon as Carmy gets through the door.

He hasn’t even had a chance to close it properly before you’re on him like a moth to a flame. Dressed in the cutest pair of white shortalls, you’ve been working from home all day – or rather, mindlessly clicking through your e-mail while waiting for Carmy to come home all day, your mind preoccupied with the fact that Carmy hasn’t been home to give you exactly what you want.

What you need, may be the better description.

It’s as if the spirit of Eros himself has taken you over, unable to focus properly as your rapidly changing body needs is practically screaming out for one thing and one thing only:

To be properly and thoroughly fucked by the man that got you here in the first place.

“I-,” he begins, attempting to explain that he was running a little behind and got caught up giving feedback to one of his new line cooks before your mouth is on his in an all-consuming kiss.

Now that he’s here, you regret even asking him, careless for the why when it feels this good to have him pressed up against your body. Your lips are desperate, hungry, intense, as you tangle yourself into him. It’s as if you can finally relax, like you can finally take a breath, now that your husband is finally here.

He lets out a little groan of surprise against your mouth, as if you’ve charged towards him like the sexual equivalent of a tasmanian devil.

And in his defense, you have.

“Baby,” he whispers against your lips. “Should we-, can we even-, shouldn’t you be working?”

He’s not wrong.

You should be working.

But the unbelievable and insatiable need for sex – for sex with Carmy – is the only thing driving you these days, holding you hostage to its unbelievable and all-encompassing power. You’re like a woman possessed as you reluctantly pull away from him to put his mind at ease. Your lust-filled eyes look him over, his curls already wild from a long day at the restaurant, as you shake your head ‘no.’

“I finished all my work for the day and signed off early. Perks of being a start-up sellout,” your well-kissed lips inform him.

Carmy’s head spins in response to your answer.

Maybe it’s the prospect of the sex.

Maybe it’s the way it’s the way your mouth feels against him as you kiss down his jawline and his neck.

“Okay, but I gotta be back at the restaurant at 4:15,” he smiles in agreement, more than happy to oblige.

“That’s plenty of time,” you coo, nibbling on his earlobe.

This time it’s Carmy who initiates, using both of his hands to cradle your face before his mouth is over yours again. The kiss starts slowly this time as he inhales deeply, taking you in. You shift closer, pressing your slightly-rounder-these-days belly against his body once more. He moans, his hands immediately traveling down your body, to your hips as he breathes you in again, wanting nothing more than to stay like this with you forever. His touch ignites something in you and you allow yourself to surrender, lost in the feel of his hands against you. His hands are everywhere – your hips, traveling up your belly, dancing across your fuller-than-normal breasts – and finally the drawn-out unrest of your mind can finally find peace.

He’s starting to get used to this.

And he’ll admit that he really, really likes it.

Carmy changes positions with you so that he can press you up against the front door as you continue your passionate makeout.

Your first trimester had been hell – mornings spent on the bathroom floor together while you hurled the contents of your stomach into the toilet, days where you barely had the energy to get out of bed, nights where you were too hot to sleep that all you could do was lay on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, frustrated tears pouring out of the corners of your eyes – your body undergoing the hardest reset of your life.

So when the fog and tumultuousness of your first trimester subsided, it was a more than welcomed change – and in so many ways. You’ve traded mornings of flat ginger ale, saltines, and sympathetic back rubs, with mornings spent tugging on Carmy’s perfect curls while you cried out his name.

“You smell like sandwiches,” you giggle in between kisses.

“Ah shit. I should shower,” he sighs, reluctantly.

He knows your sense of smell has been heightened lately, and he can’t imagine that smelling like a spicy Italian sandwich would be much of a turn on for you. He begins to pull away, but there’s now way in hell you’re letting him go as you grab his hands in yours.

"No, Carmy, I can't wait,” you whine, the sound of your voice the most needy, beautiful thing Carmy’s ever heard in his life.

“You could join me,” he offers with a raise of an eyebrow, presenting a solution you can absolutely get behind.

“Uh huh. Yes please,” you nod eagerly, a girlishness to the way you answer him.

Please.

Your usage of the word’s got him harder than a rock and he loves this side of you. Your sex life had been great before the pregnancy, but there’s something different about it now. Something about how needy you’ve been – the only thing that can possibly quell the fire inside of you being him – has him unraveling at the seams.

How could he possibly say no when he’s more than eager to give you exactly (and then some, if it’s up to him) what you want?

Your fingers are still tangled in his, licking your lips as you add, “My baby daddy thinks of everything.”

Carmy shakes his head, tugging at your hands as he leads you towards the bathroom, mentioning that he still can’t get over the fact that you’ve chosen to call him that in front of everyone you’ve ever known. You remind him that it’s cute, and though he’s not sure he gets it, he lets you do it anyway because it makes you happy.

As you both reach the bathroom, you patiently wait as Carmy turns on the shower, running a hand through the stream of water to check the temperature. One minute he’s focused on the cool water coming down from the showerhead, and then next he’s caging you in between his body and the bathroom sink.

“You miss me this much, pretty girl?” he murmurs dreamily, his hand trailing up your inner thigh.

You nod, taking note of how perfectly his top lip fits in between yours.

“Yes, baby. Thanks for coming home for lunch,” you manage to get out, in between desperate kisses.

“No need to thank me,” he smirks, a newly-found confidence in his voice.

His hands are tugging at the hem of your shorts, as if he could slide the overalls down your body this way, a small pang of frustration welling deep in his stomach as he realizes that’s not going to happen. He kisses you with a fervor that makes you dizzy, as Carmy fumbles with the straps of your overalls. Trying his best to unclasp one side, he tosses the strap over your back, a clang sounding out within the four walls of the small room as the metal of the claps hits the porcelain of the sink.

Carmy lets out a groan as he tugs at the second strap, causing you to giggle.

“These stupid things,” he huffs, a look of embarrassment running through his brilliant blues.

“Here, baby,” you say, slipping one of your arms out of the tangled strap.

He groans as soon as his eyes meet yours again, more than happy to help you out of these damn things.

He pulls the overalls down with a rigor that stops right as the overalls drop to your waist, revealing your white tank top – one that you’re not wearing a bra underneath.

“Sweetheart,” he groans, his hands ghosting over where your nipples stand erect against the fullness of your breasts.

“You been like this all day?” he mutters against your skin, leaning down to drag his mouth over your still-clothed breasts.

“Mmmmhm. Needed you,” you moan, your eyes closing as you lose yourself in the pleasure he’s giving you.

He’s so incredibly hard right now it’s not even funny.

“Yeah?”

By the time you open your eyes again, Carmy’s on his knees, so gentle, so tender with the way he slides the rest of the piece of clothing over the bump that’s been growing inside of your belly.

“Yeah,” you confirm.

You shimmy out of your overalls as Carmy jumps back to his feet, removing your tank so that the only thing you have left is the pair of panties you’re still wearing. Before he can kiss you again, you’re tugging off his shirt, a sacrifice, an offering to the bathroom floor.

“Should be warm enough, yeah?” you ask, gesturing towards the shower.

“Yeah,” he agrees with a nod, removing his shorts.

You feel all the blood in your body rush south as you see how hard he is already, swallowing hard. Carmy helps you into the shower, like the gentlemen he is, and you hope that’s where the gentleness ends.

Before you can say anything else, he’s pulling you towards him, wrapping one of your legs around his waist as the warm water begins to wash over the both of you.

“I’m so sorry, pretty girl,” he hums as his nimble fingers slip between your legs. He groans as soon as he feels how goddamn wet you are.

“Fuck, honey.”

“See? I told you I needed you, Carm,” you pant, letting out a high keening moan as he draws lazy circles around your clit. You’re already bucking your hips into his hand and he’s barely started touching you.

"You're so sensitive. So responsive, sweet girl,” he teases you, as he drags his fingers through your folds. You are so unbelievably wet that he’s not sure how he managed to get so damn lucky.

"I just want you to fuck me, Carm. I’ve needed it all day. I need you to make me feel good," you beg, completely lost in the way his fingers feel as he slides two into you already.

It’s like his touch sets fireworks off in your brain, setting your nerves on fire as you cry out.

"Yeah?” he taunts you, an almost amused tone in his voice as he sets the slowest rhythm. “Think that’s how we got here in the first place, pretty girl.”

"I know,” you whimper, moving your hips against his fingers for any kind of friction. For something more. For something faster. For something deeper. But at this rate, with how much he seems to enjoy teasing you, with how horny you are, you’ll take anything.

“But nothing feels as good as you, Carm.”

Your words go straight to his dick and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to leave you alone ever again – might as well quit his day job in exchange for this all-day never-ending second trimester sexapalooza you both seem to be caught inside of.

He’s practically choking on his words as he manages to ask you:

"What’s that, baby? Did you touch yourself while I was gone?"

You nod pathetically, moaning as he buries his thick fingers deep inside of you. He pauses, feeling the way your walls pulse around him as he stays inside of you, wanting to memorize this moment forever.

In any other circumstance, he’d make you fall apart on his fingers, and then his tongue before you even went there, but with your recent admission, he’s decided that he has to have you now. In one swift motion, Carmy pulls his fingers from you, releasing his grip on your leg, eliciting a whine at the loss of him.

Before you can even protest, he’s turning you around in the shower, and you can feel his hard-on pressing against your backside as he pulls you close.

“Sweetheart, you can’t just say things like this,” he taunts you, playfully, as he drags his cock through your folds a few times.

“Carm,” you whimper, bracing your hands against the shower wall. “Don’t tease.”

“What’s that?” he coos, pressing his thick tip against your clit.

“I don’t think I can take it. Please, baby,” you whine, so desperate for him to be inside of you. You push your ass back against him, offering your body to him for the taking.

“Fuck!” he grunts out, because he just can’t resist you like this.

You let out a sharp cry, as Carmy pushes himself inside of you, finally giving the thing you’ve wanted all day long.

Carmy sets a slow pace at first, burying himself all the way to the hilt, so that you can feel all of him – every single ridge, every single vein of his cock with each thrust – and with how sensitive, how turned on you are, you’re already seeing stars. His hands hold onto your waist, controlling the speed of your lovemaking, as you press your hands against the shower wall, bracing yourself. You want him everywhere, all around you, consuming you with every fiber of his being, as if all you can do is hold yourself up and let him know how good he’s making you feel.

Carmy’s lips are on your neck, leaving love bites across your shoulders, murmuring sweet nothings about how well you take him and how good you feel. And then he’s speeding up the pace of each thrust, pulling you back towards him. His hands are all over you: pressing you back against his chest, squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples as he takes care of you.

His wife.

The mother of his child.

The love of his life.

You turn your head just enough so that you can kiss him as Carmy’s hand reaches up to cup your face, making sure that he can kiss you properly too. This time you’re standing up taller, grinding against him, wanting to touch your husband more than you need to hold yourself up against the wall. Your hand slips behind you, grabbing at whatever parts of him that you can, bracing yourself against him, as if you could get Carmy even closer to you, while the other is guiding his across your body, your fingers tangled together.

He’s perfect.

This is perfect.

It’s what you’ve been aching for all damn day.

“I need you, Carm,” you moan into his mouth, as the consistent feel of him thrusting in and out of you has you delirious.

"You have all of me, baby,” he reassures you in the tenderest tone of voice he can muster, his other hand resting just underneath your breasts as he fucks you.

"More."

"More?"

He’s not sure what ‘more’ could mean at this moment, but the dirty talk is so hot that he’s more than willing to find out. He slows down his pace, dragging his cock in and out of you and the most delicious pace.

"Yes,” you pant, pulling away from the searing kiss, your head hanging low. Your hands return to the shower wall as you arch your back, bending at the hips so that you can take him deeper as you add:

“I want to make you a daddy."

His hips stutter for a second, caught off guard by what you’ve just said.

"You-you are, sweetheart,” he chuckles, slowing his pace down for a moment as he watches himself disappear inside of you over and over again.

“Carmy,” you groan, in response to his change pace.

You’re grinding your ass against him, begging him to speed up, but his hands return to your hips, stopping you.

The sight alone, and what you’ve just said, he thinks to himself, might kill him.

You whine as Carmy brings his movements to a halt, trying to get him to fuck you again. But he can’t let what you’ve just said go unrecognized as he stills your hips.

"What was that? You like walking around like this, hmm? Everyone knowing what I've done to you?" he asks you, holding your hips so that you can’t move.

You’ll give him anything to get what you want.

Even if it means saying it again.

“Yes, baby,” you sigh, and Carmy lets out another moan as you squeeze around him.

“I want to make you a daddy. Just fuck me. Please.”

“Oh fuck,” Carmy mutters, knowing he’s not going to last much longer if you keep that up.

He pulls out of you, and before you can protest, he’s slamming back into you in a way that makes you sob. He sets a brilliant pace this time, and you're arching your back, pressing your hands against the wall even harder – and all you can do, all you want to do, is take it. Hearing you chant his name over and over takes over him. He’s a man determined, with a single-minded focus on giving you exactly what you want.

He’s reduced you to a moaning, mumbling mess, as you chase both of your orgasms.

“Touch me, Carmy,” escapes your lips, and he’s more than happy to oblige, his fingers immediately coming to your clit.

He’s so goddamn talented, using his cock and his hands to make you fall apart.

You feel a familiar coil in your belly, and with the way you’re squeezing around him, Carmy can tell your close.

“Come on, sweet girl. Go ahead and let go for me,” his voice sturdy, confident, strong.

And seconds later, your eyes slam shut as you’re crying out his name, falling over the edge as your husband pulls the most delicious orgasm from your body.

“That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it.”

He’s right behind you – literally and figuratively – as Carmy’s thrusts become more erratic, finally letting go after exercising an impossible level of self control. He spills inside of you with a grunt, holding you against him as he pauses.

Breathless, you throw your head back, grateful that his shoulder is there to catch you. With the slightest turn of your head, you’re able to kiss him, placing the gentlest kiss against the corner of his mouth before Carmy’s hand comes up to lift your chin towards him again, so that he can kiss you properly.

“Holy shit, Bear,” you sigh, a sense of relief washing over you.

“Yeah,” he pants, trying to catch his breath with you.

You both take a beat, a moment to let your brains catch up with your bodies, just holding onto each other – savoring the way it feels to be in each others’ arms.

“I should uh… I should probably still shower,” Carmy starts, beginning to come back down to earth.

You turn back towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck, entertaining him with slow, lazy kisses in between words.

“But why don’t you dry off and get into bed?” Carmy suggests, using a quiet yet direct tone, almost as if it’s an order.

It’s as if he knows that, though the last orgasm he’d just given you had been world-rocking, there’s no way in hell you’ll be satiated today with just one.

“Really?” you ask, hopefully with a giggle.

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Heard, chef,” you tease him, eliciting a playful eye roll from him.

He releases you, giving you the time and space to wring out your hair and step out of the shower.

And as you do what he says, he rewards you for it, spending the rest of the afternoon with his face buried between your legs until he’s ready to go again.

“And we’ve got a special tonight. Lemon chicken piccata. We’re talkin’ major Berzatto family recipe, ok? So let’s make sure we’re talkin’ up, alright?” Richie announces, following it up with a reminder to all of his servers of the main talking point during tonight’s pre-shift meeting.

Carmy thinks he’s been stealthy as he attempts to sneak back into the restaurant, considering he’s thirty minutes late. He feels lucky that since everyone is preoccupied with the pre-shift meeting that they couldn’t possibly notice him slipping in this late. He hears the meeting end, making a mental note that tonight’s mise has been done right, praying that tonight’s service goes smoothly.

He has, afterall, been using up a lot of extra energy lately….

“Hey, Jeffrey. We were wondering when you’d be in tonight,” Tina comments, as she returns to the kitchen, ready to lead service tonight.

“Oh uh, yeah. Sorry, got caught up with some stuff,” he mumbles, avoiding her gaze as he doesn’t have an excuse or a cover story.

“Mmmhhhmmmm,” she sounds, passing him by, because it’s no secret what Carmen Berzatto’s been up to lately.

“Yo, cousin!” Carmy calls out, in search of Richie.

Carmy makes his way into the dining room, and as soon as Richie sees him, knowing what time it is – knowing that Carmy’s running late – he smirks. A blush runs over Carmy’s cheeks as Richie shakes his head with a laugh.

It’s as if Richie can see right through him, and suddenly, Carmy’s feeling incredibly exposed.

Richie wags a finger at his cousin, his laugh beginning to build.

“Ahhhh man, cousin,” he sighs, an amused look on his face as he continues. “No one warned ya, huh?”

“I-,” Carmy starts, searching for any and all excuses he could make up on the spot, to no avail.

“Men can’t resist a pregnant woman. Sheesh. Enjoy it while you can, jagoff.”

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comatosebunny09 · 4 months

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hurts so good | astarion a

summary: he’d gotten this devastating bright idea to ruin your life halfway through. stave off your pleasure for as long as he could, even if it meant you’d hate him in the morning. genre(s): erotica, romance warning(s): female anatomy, explicit language, bodily fluids, blood drinking, orgasm denial, brief anal play, cervix fcking, dirty talk, terms of endearment (love, darling), praise kink, drabble notes: heavily influence by this beautiful artwork by @looneylolita. screenshot credit

No time for pleasantries.

Just Astarion notching his hips to yours. Holding you so tight, the fat of your ass craters beneath his fingers as he fucks into you from below.

“Take your pleasure,” he rasps. “Take what you want from me, my love. Use me.”

The depth of his voice is enough to make you clench.

Like you haven’t been doing plenty of that already.

Each roll of his hips is languid. Deep. Purposeful. As if he’s on a mission to unravel every tangle of nerves in you with the slippery scrape of his cock. The head of it intermittently batters against your cervix, punching the air from your lungs.

You tremble so good for him, making his cock twitch and his body shudder.

You’re both saturated with sweat—or perhaps it’s slick? You gave up distinguishing the two after hours of this. This excruciatingly slow dance where you’re fucked within an inch of your life. He stops when your stomach pulls, and your mind floods with endorphins, and fuck.

It’s always with that wicked smile and the mischievous glint in his eyes that he tells you, “Not yet, darling. Gods, not yet. I need you to hold out for me a little longer. You can do that for me, can’t you, my love?”

As if it’s that easy a feat with his thumb running meticulous circles ‘round your clit, and his tongue flittering across your nipples.

The sultry gravel of his voice doesn’t help matters, mingling with the perfect amount of desperation. And the way he looks at you. Strips you down and exalts you like an idol to be worshipped despite the maddening thrust of his hips—

Gods.

You’re too drunk from the pleasure to argue—maybe it’s blood loss? It’s all so very frustrating. Confusing because hours ago, he was telling you to fuck him like he were your toy. And at first, you did, with hands pressed to his sternum for leverage as you bore down on him.

But he’d gotten this devastating bright idea to ruin your life halfway through. Stave off your pleasure for as long as he could, even if it meant you’d hate him in the morning.

Judging by the ethereal, orange glow seeping through your curtains, morning has already begun its sluggish creep across the horizon.

Astarion bucks his hips, bringing you back to the present.

You careen forward, catching yourself on your hands. You’re a panting mess, pupils blown wide, lips parting with the effort to breathe. You sift through the haze of your lust to glare at him.

His eyes crease with mirth in response.

“Astarion, what…what the fuck, man?”

He chuckles, something hoarse and abrasive that gnarls in your stomach. One of his hands smooths up your back to clasp around the nape of your neck. He brings you down to tempt you into a kiss, and he licks into your mouth, evoking a keening sound from your throat as his thumb tenderly skates along your cheek, betraying the devilish snap of his pelvis.

“Focus, darling,” he croaks into the space between your mouths. “Wouldn’t want you giving up on me after coming so far.”

It takes every bit of you not to smack him for being such an insufferable piece of shit.

You settle for growling something half-hearted, coming down onto your elbows, your hands bracing themselves on the crown of his head. You bury your face into the crook of his shoulder, pelvis rolling like waves dragging along the shoreline.

His hand pinches and pulls at your rear as you ride him, occasionally dipping between your ass cheeks to tease your puckering anus and fuck it all if he doesn’t know what it takes to push you to the outskirts of chaos.

He affectionately roots his nose against your neck, a groan rolling like thunder in his rib cage as he traps you in the circle of his arms.

“That’s it, love. Fuck me. Mmm, just like that.”

Behind shuttered lids, you feel the cold prickle of his fangs in your neck. You relinquish a sigh to the balmy air, your nipples sore and pebbled as they rub raw against the rigid pane of his chest whilst your hips rut against him at their own discretion.

Your senses are crowded with only him. The slow pull of your blood into his mouth makes your pussy quake, and you share dual moans from the feel of it. His hands glide down to your rear to steady you. To temper the pace as that sparkling feeling builds between your legs. You whimper with exasperation, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

“Astarion,” you gasp, fighting against his grip around your body.

You wince when he retracts his fangs, and he breathes something sweltering and erratic as he drags his flattened tongue up your throat, fingers reaching through the riot of your hair and pulling.

“I know, darling. I know. But you’re performing so wonderfully for me. Stay with me. Just a bit longer.”

You sigh, the sound wet and painful as if forced from your lungs. Maybe if you’re good and continue to play at Astarion’s game, he’ll grant you the luxury of your release.

Until then, you settle for rocking against him, praying to the Gods above for a most handsome reward.

masterlist

#astarion x female reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion smut #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #smut sunday #astarion bg3 #astarion fanfic #astarion

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littlemisskittentoes · 3 months

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sevenish sentence sunday

happy sunday, chickie wings!! massive thank you to @happiness-of-the-pursuit @hgejfmw-hgejhsf and @kiwiana-writes for the tags!

taking a break from angst from some fun smut instead! this is from a brat!alex oneshot that will hopefully be posting before valentine’s day!

Henry gives it another minute, waits until there’s a faint tremor to Alex’s limbs before he lifts away completely. Henry leans back on his knees and peels away from each place Alex’s skin brushes his own. He doesn’t bother tamping down his smirk when Alex’s eyes fly open. The keen leaking out of Alex is a muddled coalescence of confusion and protest. It does nothing more than stretch Henry’s grin. “You poor thing,” Henry taunts. “You didn’t think the paddle was the punishment, did you?” Understanding sinks into Alex slow enough for Henry to chart each degree of it play across Alex’s face. “One down, four to go, pet.”

tag, you're it! @inexplicablymine @read-and-write- @affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @leaves-of-laurelin @sparklepocalypse @wordsofhoneydew @nocoastposts @bigassbowlingballhead @gay-flyboys @gayrootvegetable @leojfitz @firenati0n

#smut sunday #several sentence sunday #sevenish sentence sunday #six sentence sunday #kittentoes writes #rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb fanfic #rwrb fic #firstprince #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3

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takearisk-xo · 11 months

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Who’s the dirty talker when doing the deed, Ginny or Harry? Everyone claims it’s Ginny but it’s such an obvious choice that in my head canon it’s Harry because it would be hilarious. He’s such a nice humble guy but when he’s doing the deed with her he’s got a filthy cocky mouth and Ginny loves every second or it.

i honestly think i agree with you, but more in the sense of harry losing himself in her to the point that he has no idea what he's saying. like i can't see him being a big talker or actively choosing (or premeditating) what he's going to say. it's more like he gets so caught up in the moment, and in ginny, that he can't help but tell her what she's doing to him.

and since it's smut sunday, why the hell shouldn't he?

under the cut because nsfw

"This one," Harry muttered, ghosting his thumb over her collarbone. "This freckle right here is my favorite."

"Mmm?" The corner of Ginny's mouth stretched into a smirk as she combed her fingers through his hair.

Kissing the aforementioned favorite, he trailed his lips down her body until he found another cluster on the underside of her breast. "Or this one."

Her breath hitched as he licked and sucked his new choice.

Nosing his way even further down, he found another constellation dusting the space above her hip bone.

"Or maybe it's these–"

The muscles beneath her navel squirmed and jumped as his breath tickled her skin.

Harry skimmed a featherlight palm up her thigh, testing and teasing until his hand settled at her center. Using the pads of fingers, he swirled his way up and down her opening, feeling the heat spread and drip.

"You're so wet," he whispered in reverence.

Ginny's breath quivered. "You tend to do that to me."

As much as he wanted a taste, he waited, propped up over top of her so he could keep seeing the look on her face. He slipped one digit halfway inside and Ginny's mouth fell open, her brows furrowed in surrender.

His restraint was well worth it.

He felt her softness stretch and yield to his ministrations. He added another finger and a raspy moan escaped between her lips.

"And tight." He groaned, his eyes fluttering as he imagined the feel of her wrapped around his steadily growing erection, instead of his fingers. "Fuck, Ginny. You're so tight."

"Faster," she keened in reply.

He didn't need to be told twice. Harry enlisted his thumb in the undertaking as well, circling and pressing her clit as his index and middle fingers plunged in as deep as they could go.

Ginny's hands moved from his elbows, to his shoulders, then to his neck. Her heavy lidded eyes caught his. Harry only had a split second warning before she pulled his face down and captured his lips in a frantic kiss.

Harry felt every sharp inhale, every shuddering exhale, every tremor that fluttered around his fingers.

"Come for me, Ginny," he murmured against her mouth. "Please, you're so pretty when you come..."

She whimpered, and her entire body tensed.

God, she was so close.

Quirking his fingers, and dragging them along her walls, he spent the next four seconds pulling every ounce of bliss he could from her until all of her muscles went taut.

Then with his name on her lips, she snapped.

Harry kissed her through it, muffling every cry and gasp with his mouth as he stroked in time with her shudders.

He kept going until she hauled his hand away with a whine.

"I could do that forever," he said in between kisses to her jaw.

Ginny huffed, halfway between laughing and gulping down air. "I'd let you."

He hummed, taking her ear lobe between his teeth.

Her hands shoved his shoulder and Harry gave in easily, falling sideways onto his back.

"But right now," Ginny breathed through a grin. She tossed one leg over his hips to straddle him. "It's my turn."

#thanks for this prompt that wasn't actually a prompt at all #i had no idea how much i needed it #smut sunday #hinny #anon #answered

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izzyspussy · 1 year

Note

So for horny Izzy asks, consider the following- Izzy and Stede kissing which escalates to making out which escalates to frotting between that curtain Izzy leans on in episode 6 so sexy like. Like Izzy is leaning on the curtain and Stede jumps up and kisses him and things escalate from there.

[EXPLICIT]

Izzy gives up on whatever intimidation he'd been attempting less than halfway through it. He's not good at it unless he's got a sword in his hand and the understanding of the other party that he'll use it - or else Edward at his back - and after months more on this godforsaken boat after everything, he doubts Bonnet would be cowed regardless. Whether out of stupidity or courage, Izzy supposes it doesn't particularly matter anymore.

He sighs, lets his shoulders drop, and just stands there a moment. He could try a different tack, but he's not really very good at anything else either. His only hope is to be forthright and earnest and just hope Bonnet feels generous.

"I just want-" He's cut off when Bonnet surges forward. Izzy snaps his mouth shut and flinches preemptively, but Bonnet doesn't snap an elbow into Izzy's nose nor rip the curtain aside to slam him against the archway like Izzy is expecting.

Instead, his lips land on Izzy's through the curtain, shockingly soft after the abruptness of how he'd moved. Izzy gasps, breathing in Stede's breath filtered through the sheer fabric.

"What the fuck?" he says, much quieter than he intends, with all his consonants filed down into safe blunted points.

"Well," Stede starts, tone officious and reasonable. He must not have actually had any excuse prepared, though, because he doesn't finish. He shrugs minutely, and kisses Izzy again.

Izzy - for whatever reason - allows it. He leaves his lips lightly parted where they'd fallen in his initial shock and lets Stede wet the fabric between them until it sticks. Slowly, hesitantly, mind spinning wondering what the fuck he's doing - why the fuck - Izzy starts to kiss back.

Stede doesn't give Izzy even a moment to comprehend his own actions. He makes a rough, aggressive noise in the back of his throat and shoves his tongue forward into - well, sort of into Izzy's mouth. Izzy helpfully bites down when he pulls away, keeping the pocket of fabric in his mouth so that Stede can press more in on his next thrust. So he can actually get inside. Stede does so after not even the space of a single breath.

The curtain is pressed flat up against the roof of Izzy's mouth, adding a rough and falsely delicate texture to the smooth, bold passes of Stede's tongue. It's a kiss that should be wet and sloppy, that is made drier but much sloppier from the fabric soaking up their spit. Izzy's chin and cheeks are slick with it, his beard wetted as if he's been mouthing at a cunt instead. It's strange to be gagged but not gagged. Makes Izzy's head spin faster.

Stede wraps his arms and the curtain around Izzy, a reinforced gossamer cocoon that makes Izzy feel small and contained and unhidden. He moans, his voice embarrassingly high. Stede groans back. His grip tightens around him almost to the point of pain.

Izzy tries his best to cling back despite the resistance - bondage, really - of the curtain wrapped around him. Around his upper body he's all but fully bound, but below the circle of Stede's arms the curtain still hangs mostly loose. In lieu of arms around his shoulders or hands at his waist, Izzy hooks a leg over Stede's hip. Obligingly, Stede shifts his grip to hold Izzy by the ass. The curtain rod creaks ominously. Stede squeezes.

They press together as closely as they can, the curtain alternately slipping and straining between them. It's wet around almost the entirety of Izzy's face now, gone sheerer there because of it. Stede's expression is less obfuscated now. Izzy can see the somewhat wry tilt of his mouth in between every new kiss - and the wild heat in his eyes above that. He does look a bit crazed there, after all. He scrapes his teeth along Izzy's jaw, harder than Izzy would have expected of him if he'd ever thought about it. He bites Izzy's lip twice as hard as that. The curtain goes slicker, hotter, coppery as Izzy's own blood bleeds along the fibers into his mouth.

The both of them make strangled, animal noises when their groins finally meet. Stede's cock is hard, obvious and hot through the thin fabric of his prissy little breeches - less rich by half than what he used to wear, and stolen, but still. He rubs himself between Izzy's legs, aggressive here too, not so much rough as insistent. Izzy groans again, whines, grinds forward just as firmly. There's a desperation in him he's only ever felt in terror before, but without a trace of that familiar fear. He's losing his mind. Whatever madness Stede has that makes him such a lucky fucking idiot, he's passed it on to Izzy.

The curtain, it seems, could only handle one madman at a time. To a background of pops, snaps, and rips, the swaddling around Izzy's upper half loosens. The curtain is tearing free of its eyelets and wooden rungs. It doesn't seem Stede notices at first - and Izzy has no plans to alert him. He rolls his hips into Izzy, Izzy struggling to get the angle right so he can actually get some friction through these inflexible fucking trousers-

Stede stops. Izzy growls roughly, scraping out his throat. If Stede puts a stop to this to throw a fit over his fucking curtain when he's the one who fucking started it, Izzy might actually tear his fucking head off of his stupid, unexpectedly strong shoulders. But it seems the curtain is not Stede's concern.

He stutters, "You're- You're not getting-?"

"I don't have one," Izzy corrects quickly. "I'm- Keep going." Stede still hesitates, and Izzy takes the moment to stop his head going round, to take a fucking second to breathe. He pulls back - just barely. Stede is hunched over to reach Izzy's mouth with his, so when their noses brush so do their foreheads.

"Or," Izzy says. "You could let me in."

He lets Izzy in, and acquaints himself very well with the ways Izzy's body does show its arousal.

Izzy expects Stede to take the curtain down, later, replace it. But he leaves it up, torn and blood stained. Practically shows it off, in that annoying, manipulative, implicit way he has. Smug. Real fucking proud of himself any time he catches Izzy's eyes stuck there.

#jack facts #jack chats #this ask is from ten thousand years ago lmao #anyway #smut sunday #my fic #ofmd #stizzy #izzy hands #stede bonnet #lemon

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lux-scriptum · 2 months

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Silent: they have to be really quiet/hold the moan?

Listen. Listen. I didn't expect to get a response. So how about a hefty snippet (read: the first half) from Elliot and his future bf's meetcute I've been working on for months. I know its cheating, but- eepy and I dont wanna write. Plus this took me months and I'm proud of it

The tiles of the single person bathroom were cool against Elliot’s back. Where his strappy crop top and playful half-jacket didn’t cover, his heated skin pressed right up against it. He barely managed a squeak of discomfort before he was crowded further against the wall. His companion’s mouth found his; he wound his arms over broad shoulders as a thigh pressed between his own. A hand gripped his waist. Tugged him closer. The movement made it impossible to not grind down impatiently. Elliot’s next sound was more a whine than anything else.

To his utter embarrassment, the man chuckled at his little whimper. A calloused thumb swiped over his hip bone. When he pulled back to complain the man just switched to nibbling on his jaw. His breath huffed out. Fine. Fine. He wiggled instead. “C’monnnn,” he half-whispered as he was forcefully held still.

Brown eyes twinkled down at him. Then up at him as the man sank to the floor. Those warm, electric hands slid over his skirt and then under.

“Oh, fuck,” Elliot breathed. He couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to.

All he got in response was a raised eyebrow as his lacy boy shorts ended up around his ankles. He refused to be embarrassed by how the sapphire color complimented the embroidery on his miniskirt and jacket. It had seemed a good decision at home, and he wouldn’t allow the dingy light of a bar bathroom make him second guess himself. Even if amusement had tipped the mouth that had been pressed against his moments ago up into a half smile.

“Think you can be quiet?” The whisper was pressed against the strip of skin revealed by his crop top. “I get the feeling you don't want to be interrupted.”

Honestly, this man could have asked him anything in that moment and Elliot would have nodded. There was something about the crinkle around his eyes, the hair slipping from the halfhearted bun to get in his face, that made Elliot’s heart do little flip flops. The hand gripping his thigh slid up teasingly; Elliot bit his lip in an effort to keep quiet.

Another kiss was pressed to his skin, this time to his hip. Finally, finally, fingers closed around him. Despite himself he bucked into the touch with a sharp intake of breath.

“Shh. Be still.” This time there was a scrape of teeth. A question, no real bite yet. Elliot responded with a little twitch. His teeth bit into his lip deeper. It was in vain. A tiny moan escaped anyway at the teasing stroke he got. Those brown eyes flicked up to his. The laughing crinkles got deeper. And then his skirt was pushed further up and the man's mouth was around him. This time he let out a strangled cry, one he quickly muffled with his own hand. Clearly he’d flirted with the right man. The man with his face between Elliot’s legs knew exactly what he was doing. Every flick of his tongue, every long drag down Elliot’s length, every finger dug into his thigh just so, was enough Elliot was trembling. He didn’t even have a name to pant.

A whimper bubbled up faster than Elliot could stifle it. He grabbed at whatever was closest and found himself with a handful of yellow and orange tye dyed hoodie. The man pulled off with a quiet chuckle. “I know you can keep quiet,” he teased. And then he dove back in like he hadn’t been interrupted. The squeak Elliot let out as he took Elliot down to the base was strangled. There was no moving against this guy’s hold, but Elliot couldn’t help twitching anyway. Surely his nails had to hurt, but the man hadn’t flinched.

It took less time than Elliot would have liked to come. The entire time the man between his legs never once looked away. He did, however, brace his hands on Elliot’s hips to keep him from sliding down the wall. There was a gentle reverence in the way he slid Elliot’s lacy boyshorts back up Elliot’s trembling thighs. He pressed another playful kiss to Elliot’s hip as Elliot tried to remember how to breathe. Even after he stood he held on for a few moments longer, as if he didn’t trust Elliot to stay upright in his stilettos.

“You good?” He asked, running a thumb over Elliot’s bottom lip. Elliot nodded mutely. “Good. I’ll be at the bar when you’re ready, okay?”

Elliot nodded again. He watched this stranger, who had just blown his mind, casually grab a smooth black stone off the sink on the way out. As soon as the stone hit his pocket the sounds of the bar came rushing back. Before Elliot could form enough of a thought to splutter at him, he was gone and the door shut again.

Well. Alright then. Elliot leaned on the sink as he let the noises of people having their drunken fun wash over him. His reflection stared back. Blue eyes wide. Makeup still in place only because Elliot didn’t waste time with subpar product. Lips bitten a little raw, and cheeks a hectic pink. His black curls would never dare to think to be frizzy, but they certainly weren’t the perfection he’d walked into this bathroom with.

Too few moments passed before someone knocked with more aggression than necessary on the bathroom door. That was enough Elliot gathered himself. He snagged his purse off the ground where he’d dropped it. The woman impatiently waiting shouldered past him like he wasn’t even there. Rude. Rather than let it ruin his good mood Elliot flounced back towards the bar proper to pay his tab.

#elliot #shhh dont tell c i dropped the whole first half #or do their validation feeds my ego like nothing else #my writing #smut sunday #asks #elliot wanting to be described and wanting his clothes described is gonna be the death of me btw #i am not naturally good at description im better at dialogue and action

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farore-or-less · 11 months

Text

Smut Sunday

Here’s a part of the next chapter for Forgotten Instincts! It takes me a long time to post a chapter, especially with how busy I’ve been this year. I’ve had a great semester and I’m getting married in June! Lots to do 🥰

Enjoy reading below the cut!

The arch in her back sends shivers down his spine.

Draping herself on their bed like a towel, she smoothes her palms over the fresh clean sheets until she’s laying flat on her stomach, wet skin dampening the soft linen from the bath they took together in their clawfoot tub. She stretches out in the way she knows is hypnotizing; seducing him to abandon those mundane tasks he said he was going to do by lifting her ass off the bed just slightly—just enough to steal his second glance and capture it. His gaze drags all along her bare body; from the curve of her backside, to the scars on her toned shoulders, to the uneven tan she has on her arms and up to that smile turned impish and irresistible, beckoning for his attention, no—demanding it.

“Stop that,” Link smiles back, trying to hold onto the little restraint he has left and losing. “You’re making it hard—I mean difficult—to ignore you.”

Her eyes dart down to his groin to see for herself. He’s already growing hard again, blatantly obvious beneath the towel wrapped around his waist, and she smirks at him. Lazy and graceful and utterly suggestive, Zel places her chin in her palm, then bends at the knees for her ankles to hover in the air above her backside.

“Then don’t,” she says.

#zelink #botw #fanfiction #forgotten instincts #smut sunday #breath of the wild #totk #Zelda Fanfiction #zelink community #Link and Zelda #hateno homestead

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indecentpause · 2 months

Text

Smut Sunday: We Can Sleep When We're Dead

today we're doing a smut Sunday instead of a Sunday Six! I got the idea from @calicohyde, I don't know if he came up with it or if it's a tumblr thing, but either way, here it is!

Jordan and Darcey haven't seen each other in a week. Their work schedules have them overwhelmed. So when they finally get a day off at the same time, they have a lot of catching up to do.

He nearly trips over his feet rushing up the stairs to their hallway, and he’s so excited he fumbles the lock once. But he’s barely entered the bedroom when Darcey grabs him and throws him on the bed. Jordan shrieks in surprise, laughing when he hits the mattress. “What happened to that power nap?” Jordan grins. Darcey snorts and climbs over him, pressing down against Jordan’s body with his own. “You did say you didn’t want a nap,” Darcey says lightly. “But if you’re tired—“ “Oh, fuck no.” It bursts out a little more insistent than he’d meant it to, and Darcey barks a surprised laugh. Jordan wraps his arms around Darcey’s neck and pulls him in, muffling the laugh with a messy kiss. They immediately melt into each other, kisses starting short but insistent, until Jordan hooks his thumbs into the waistband of Darcey’s sleep pants and pulls his hips in, knocking their thighs together. Jordan tips his head to the side to bite at Darcey’s neck, hard enough to leave a mark. Darcey shivers and a soft, happy sound tumbles from his mouth. Jordan continues to bite and kiss and lick at Darcey’s neck, his shoulder, his ear. When Jordan nips a little too hard at Darcey’s chin, Darcey inhales sharply and gently pulls his head away. “Shit, I’m—“ But but before Jordan can finish his apology, Darcey’s attacking Jordan’s neck, kissing and licking and nipping. Apology accepted, apparently.

read We Can Sleep When We're Dead on ao3!

You can read the novel these characters are from for free

here on Ao3 or

here on Wattpad!

Smut taglist: @thetruearchmagos @athenswrites @faeriecinna @apocellipse @only-book-lovers-left-alive @winterandwords @revenantlore @drippingmoon

these are the people who interacted with the post about being tagged in these fics. if you want to not be tagged next time, or just want to be tagged in general stories or one specific story instead, please don’t hesitate to let me know.

if you want to be added to this specific taglist, you can do so here!

#my writing #writeblr #amwriting #smut sunday #one shot #moodboard #excerpt #pwp #gay character #darcey walker #jordan delgado #transgender character #two heartbeats on one page #holding our hearts in our hands #tags and warnings on the page of the fic

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nolita-fairytale · 8 months

Text

don't want to walk alone | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader | chapter four: the honeymoon pt. 1

summary: the infinite undressing and undoing of mrs. berzatto -- or how you and carmy spend your mini-moon at the langham hotel.

warnings: so much smut so this chapter is 18+ only!! also the smut is from carmys pov and im shaking!! husband!carmy who comes with a warning label of his own, swearing, lots of tooth rotting fluff, marriage, no use of y/n, second person pov, she/her pronouns

wc: 4.9k

listen to: the official don't want to walk alone playlist

a/n: surprise! i decided to split the honeymoon into two chapters because it was getting way too long and i refuse to cut any of it so there's that.

on another note: this series, this world, is so special to me because it is my first: first series on tumblr, first series for carmy, first time writing fanfic again as an adult that i actually followed through with. it was the universe that got me through unemployment. the fic that helped me fall in love with writing again, so i will always hold this world near and dear to my heart. but aside from occasional one shots here and there, it may be time to let them ride off into the sunset, into their happily ever after. let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist.

part three | masterlist | part five

Before he can even get the door properly closed, you’re all over him, your mouth covering his own with kisses that feel like promises, as your hands multi-task, fumbling with the door to get in closed the rest of the way.

“As much as I loved celebrating with our friends and family, I’ve been waiting for this moment all damn day,” you say, in between kisses, satisfied as soon as you hear the clicking sound of the door locking.

“Hmmm and what’s that?” Carmy asks you, coyly.

His lips curve into a cocky smile mid-kiss, and he hears you chuckle, knowing exactly what buttons to push to wind you up.

“Getting you alone, Mr. Berzatto,” you giggle underneath your breath, taking a few steps away from him.

Carmy watches you in awe, his eyes traveling from your kiss-swollen lips, to the way your hands begin to trail down your body, to the careful steps that you take backwards. His breath hitches in his throat as he watches your fingers delicately undo the first button on this goddamn blazer dress he thinks he’ll never be able to get out of his mind – not after tonight, that’s for sure. He watches them dance over the second button from the top down, peeling it open, as a bright pop of red begins to peek out from underneath your dress.

“Carm?” you ask him, your eyes flickering down to your hands as you undo the third button, then the fourth, before returning your heated gaze to him.

“Yes, baby,” is all he can reply, as if he’s under your spell already.

Carmy gulps, his pants feeling incredibly tight, the air noticeably thick as he watches your little strip tease.

It’s just a few more buttons before your dress falls open, revealing the crimson red set you’re wearing underneath.

Red Floral Lace. Mesh. See-through.

“Come get me,” you beckon, as you let the dress fall to the floor.

“Fuck,” he growls on an exhale, before charging towards you.

It’s all hot, all-consuming kisses as he pushes you back onto the California king-sized bed, eagerly following as he lays his body on top of yours. Long gone is the sport coat he was wearing earlier, and he thanks whatever deities he may owe this to that he really only has to get three articles of clothing off.

Carmy pulls away, because he’s gotta get one goddamn good look at his wife.

His wife.

His breath picks up, as he drags his fingertips over the straps of your red lace bra, down to the mesh cups, watching your face twist in pleasure as his fingers run over your already-perky nipples.

“You like?” you ask him, a small amount of vulnerability in your voice as you do.

“Do I-, baby, have you seen yourself?” he stammers, in disbelief that you could even ask, only to be met with a smirk because you know you look good.

But that’s not what you’re asking. You want to know if Carmy likes it, because you have much more where this came from – lingerie, you mean. And instead of telling you, Carmy has bigger and better plans to show you instead. He begins to leave hot, open mouthed kisses along your neck, across your chest, nipping at the top of the bra cup with his teeth when he gets there.

Carmy’s eyes move to yours, watching you for a reaction so he knows that he’s giving you exactly what you want. To his delight, you hiss in pleasure, arching your back as an invitation, offering your body to him in a silent effort, begging for more.

“This why you put on this dress?” he rasps, in reference to the fact that you had insisted on doing an outfit change from the courthouse to the reception. His tongue snakes out, running over the mesh fabric that barely covers the nipple of your left breast.

You moan, letting out a small giggle in between breaths, as you cook up a witty reply.

“‘S not like I could wear anything underneath my wedding dress. Had to come up with a plan B,” you counter him, just another part of your seduction.

Carmy lets out a well earned-groan and it’s music to your ears as he continues to move down your body, worshiping you with his mouth, his tongue, muttering to himself that he’s not sure whether he would’ve preferred that – you in your wedding dress, nothing underneath – or this, all fire and lace.

But he doesn’t have time to think, settling on the fact that as long as he gets to have you, he’s not sure he cares.

“This is so fucking sexy, baby,” he groans, shaking his head in disbelief as he sits up on his knees, taking you in. He almost forgets to breathe for a moment, as it dawns on him that you’re his, and that you’re here, all spread out for him tonight, aching for him and only him.

Before you can get in a word, he’s pushing your legs apart, settling down in between them to get exactly what he wants. You let out a gasp of surprise, considering he hasn’t taken off our panties, your eyes fluttering shut as he pulls them to one side instead.

“Fuck,” he hears you whine, as he buries his face between your thighs. “Oh my god, Carmy.”

His favorite thing.

Tasting you. Bringing you the kind of euphoric pleasure that makes you feel high.

He loves the way you say his name, and how it changes, when his tongue traces tight circles around your clit; how it changes when he flattens his tongue up against your wet heat, painting broad strokes; how you cry out when he’s busy tracing abstract shapes across you till you’re completely lost in your own pleasure. Carmy moans against you, as he feels you thread your hands through his golden locks, and the sensation of your fingertips running along his scalp goes straight to his cock.

“Carmy, don’t stop!”

And how could he? How could he deny you the one thing you’re asking for? His mouth on you, bringing you higher and higher, winding up that coil buried so deep inside you that it has to explode, knowing that it’s him and only him that makes you feel this way.

You’re pulling at his hair, grabbing at the bedsheets, bucking your hips up into his mouth, writhing underneath the weight of his hands that hold you in place. He can’t keep his hands off of you, desperate to feel the way your body responds to him at every touch – holding your hips down, pressing your legs wider, grabbing at your breasts as he dips his tongue inside of you.

“Oh my God. Carmy, fuck. Don’tstoppleasedon’tstopdon’tyoudare-!”

The feeling of your orgasm ripping through you completely rendering you speechless as you come. Carmy slows down the movements of his mouth, working you through your orgasm, wanting you to know that he’s here for you, that he’s got you as you come down. He uses his tongue to clean you up, watching you carefully as you try your best to catch your breath, committing this image to his memory.

There are two places he feels like this – triumphant, untouchable, on top of the world – in the last push of a hard won dinner service, and when he’s right here, between your legs, in the falling action of your climax as he waits for you to come back to him.

Carmy waits for you, watches as your eyes begin to flutter open, your breath still heavy, as you look down on him.

“Shit. Who knew married sex would hit so differently,” you pant, let out an incredulous laugh from how hard you just came.

Carmy grins up at you, and he loves the way it feels as you pull him towards you once more. Your hands are desperate, needy, impatient as they tear through the buttons on his shirt, practically dragging the top over his head and tossing it onto the floor with a vigor he knows only comes from how much you need him.

“You good, baby?” he asks, cockily, because after years of this, he thinks he’s earned the right to know just how good he always makes you feel.

“Just need you, Carm,” you rasp, propping yourself up so that you can chase his mouth with yours. “Need you so much. Need you inside of me.”

“I know, sweet girl. I-,” he begins to say, before freezing, as if there’s an alarm going off in his head, his voice full this time as he swears, as if he’s just forgotten a really important date:

“Ffffffffffffffffuck.”

“Everything okay?” you ask, sitting up this time in response to his sobering pitch.

Carmy can feel the heat rise to his cheeks as he flushes red, completely embarrassed that he’s put the heat of the moment on pause for this, knowing fully that he won’t be able to stop thinking about it now.

“Yeah just I just gotta-... give me like… five seconds. I promise,” he nods, though his eyes silently plead with you.

You shake your head as Carmy leaves you, his footsteps rapid and hurried as he practically sprints over to where you left the suitcases in the hallway. He swears underneath his breath, rummaging through his bag before finding a certain plastic tupperware, a feeling of relief washing over him. He can hear you laugh as he runs through the room, tucking it safely in the mini fridge, and he can only imagine that it’s quite the sight to see.

By the time he returns to the bed, cheeks flushed, and an apologetic look in his eyes, you’re sitting up on your knees, waiting for him with an amused look on your face.

“Do I want to know?” you ask, skeptically.

“You’ll thank me later,” he chuckles, still embarrassed. Shyly, as he steps towards the edge of the bed, he works up the nerve to ask, “Will you uh.. Think we can pick up where we left off?”

Still stunning as you were moments ago but now with that post-orgasm glow, you wrap your arms around Carmy’s neck, pulling him in closer so that he’s standing across from where you kneel.

“You can come back to bed. But lose the pants, jerk,” you reply, feigning disapproval.

He nods, eagerly taking off his pants as he joins you back on the bed in only his briefs.

Carmy’s intent on making it up to you, his mouth back on yours as soon as possible, lowering you to the bed as his hands grope at any exposed flesh he can. He’s dragging the straps of the red bra down, but refuses to take it off completely. Keep it on, he insists, because he can’t get the image of you riding him in it out of his mind. It’s not till he’s tearing your panties down your legs, tossing them somewhere on the floor that you know he really means business this time.

“No more interruptions,” he promises you, as he settles in between your legs, his briefs long gone and his hard, aching cock desperate to feel you.

As Carmy presses into you, reeling over the fact that every time feels like the first – it’s that glorious, that wondrous – you know, without all the trauma of your actual first time. You’re all tight, wet, heat pulsing around him and for once, he doesn’t have to think for a moment.

Carmy’s always been a thinker – an overthinker, really, calculating each and every move with strategy – rarely ever a doer because that’s just not who he got to be. But with you, inside of you, it’s all instinct, and breath, and I love yous, both in pursuit of your shared pleasure. In these moments, he gets to be a doer, responding to your every moan, taking the lead when he knows what will set you off, showing you just how much you turn him on with every kiss, every touch, every thrust.

It doesn’t take long for you to push him onto his back, reminding him that he has some making up to do for the earlier coitus interuptus and that he should let you fuck him instead.

But as you climb on top of him, turning around so that your back is to him, he swallows, admiring the view you’re so intent on giving him. He can picture it clearly, exactly – your head thrown back, biting down on your bottom lip, brow furrowed as you sink down onto him – even though he can’t see your face.

Instead, he listens to the way you whimper his name as you begin to move your hips, traces the curves of your body as you settle into a satisfying rhythm, digs the pads of his fingers into your hips and your ass because he just can’t not touch.

It’s music to his ears as you let out a keen-like moan when he begins to meet your hips with thrusts of his own, speeding up the perfect rhythm you’ve set. He can feel you squeezing around him, chasing your own high as you fuck yourself on him, and he can feel that familiar tightening at the bottom of his belly.

“Fuck,” he grits out, his jaw tightening as he can feel it coming.

All it would take was a few more thrusts, a vigorous pace, take hold of your hips and showing you just how he wants it. But instead, Carmy sits half way up, reaching out for you as he stills your hips against his. His movement causes you to shift as you realize he’s sitting all the way up, wrapping an arm around your waist, the new angle causing you to squeeze around him.

“Baby,” you whine, beginning to grind your hips in circles where you’re connected.

“I wanna see you. I wanna see you cum again,” he requests, his voice tender yet intent, as if he plans on embedding the words into your skin. And as he leaves little kisses against your shoulder blade, his words go straight to your heart.

“Okay,” you agree with a soft whisper.

Carmy sits back just enough to let you switch positions, before propping himself up on both hands that rest behind him. With the softest smile he thinks he’s ever seen, you climb back onto his lap. Grabbing the back of your head, he pulls you to him, kissing you like he wants to give you the world and then some. Your hands smooth over his strong shoulders and inked arms, then you’re reaching down between the two of you, guiding him back into you as you take him once more.

He swears his eyes roll to the back of his head as he feels you again, beginning to move your hips in perfect harmony together. This new position is passionate, intense, intimate. Your hands are cradling the back of his head, kissing him like he is oxygen, as he surrenders to you, to the moment, to the dance between you.

“I like this,” Carmy finally says, as he notices the way the straps of your bra hang loosely off your shoulders.

“Me on top of you?” you smile, devilishly.

“This,” he repeats, his eyes hungrily taking in the image of you on top of him in this sexy lace little thing, as he toys with the red elastic. “But that too.”

You grin before pressing your lips against his once more, because he truly has no idea what else you have in store for him.

“Feel so good, sweet girl,” Carmy grunts out, his thrusts becoming deeper, harder, sloppier as the feeling returns. “You feel so good.”

You throw your head back in a moan, and he knows you’re letting him set the pace. He’s so goddamn close to cumming, as the two of you chase both of your highs this time.

“I love you, Carmy,” he hears you whine, your head leaning against his shoulder. “So much. I love you, baby.”

He can feel it – feel you – and he knows you’re close.

“I love you,” he manages to get out, in between a clenched jaw.

His hips stutter, and you’re tightening around him, losing all control, surrendering to your release as you cry out. Watching you come undone around him, feeling you contract and release around him, calling out his name till your voice is hoarse is what brings him there with you. Carmy continues to fuck up into you, filling you, as his hands begin to slow down the pace of your hips.

You’re magic to him – somehow just as and more electrifying as the day he met you, the day you told him you loved him, and today, the day you both said, “I do.”

“I think you’re right,” is what he says, in between pants, finally breaking the tension. “Married sex is a whole ‘nother level.”

“Cheers, Mrs. Berzatto,” Carmy toasts to you.

“And a cheers to you too, Mr. Berzatto,” you reply, clinking your champagne flute with his before drinking.

After coming back to reality – recovering from your joint discovery of just how damn good married sex is – you and Carmy spent a few more precious moments in each others’ arms, sharing languid kisses and whispered words. And after cleaning up, you both came to an agreement that if this weekend is anything like how it started, you will absolutely be in need of fuel – Carmy encouraging you to order a few things for room service off the hotel’s late night menu.

So here you are, drinking clinking glasses of fancy champagne over overpriced burgers and truffle fries, as you begin a new journey with your husband, thinking to yourself that there’s no other way you’d want this to be. Wrapped up in his Ralph Lauren Oxford shirt that you’d gleefully pulled out of his suitcase after your quick rinse off in the shower, Carmy’s got one of those looks of deep admiration in his eyes while he listens to you you wax philosophical about something or other.

It’s not that he’s not listening – it’s just that he cannot get over the fact that you made it here – something his twenty-five year old self probably never would’ve believed.

“Any chance you’re still hungry?” Carmy asks, a hopeful look in his eyes as he watches you polish off the last bite of your burger.

“Actually, yeah. Someone wore me out,” you answer cheekily, with a flirtatious shrug.

He smiles, “Good. Stay right here.”

As you watch Carmy jump off of the bed, beelining for the minifridge to retrieve whatever he put in it earlier, you note that it’s the second time that he’s left you tonight whatever the hell it is he’s keeping in that goddamn plastic tupperware. With an arched eyebrow, you ask:

“Watcha got over there?”

Carmy climbs back onto the bed, kneeling as he offers the square-shaped box to you, careful not to knock anything over on your shared room service tray. He begins to peel back the plastic lid, pulling it away from the storage container, earning a well-won sound of surprise from you as you realize exactly what it is.

“Tiramisu?” you gasp, completely moved by your husband’s gesture. “Carm, when the hell did you have time to make this?”

He gives you nothing but a boyish shrug, before gathering your two unused spoons that came with the silverware sets that room service brought up with your late night dinner.

“Had a little extra time at the restaurant this week,” is all he says, which you know is a lie.

You send a skeptical look his way, because rarely does he ever have extra time at the restaurant where he’s just hanging around. Sure, a tiramisu isn’t wildly difficult to make, but it’s been off of The Bear’s menu for years now.

And you should know. You’re the one who put it on there in the first place.

“Thought you didn’t bake,” you challenge him, as you pick up one of the spoons off of the room service tray.

“Yeah ‘s about the only thing I can do… considering it requires little to no baking at all,” he shoots back, picking up his spoon as well.

With no hesitation of being first, you dig your spoon into the soft cocoa powder covered cream and espresso soaked lady finger dessert, before raising your spoon to your lips for a first bite.

“Ohhhh, baby…” you practically moan, your eyes closed as you throw your head back in pure bliss.

Carmy snorts with laughter, but he’s satisfied with your reaction, knowing that he did a damn good job with it.

“Would you two like to be alone?” Carmy teases you, pointing his spoon to the tiramisu then back to you. “Thought this was our honeymoon.”

You lift your head, rolling your eyes playfully, before going back for seconds, “Don’t be jealous. You’re still the only one making me moan like that.”

And suddenly, the room feels about five degrees hotter, as Carmy feels heat rise to his cheeks. But he’s not quite ready to go there again, just yet, so instead he just explains:

“I know we both promised we wouldn’t do any of the food today, but I couldn’t help myself. I had to show you how much I love you in the only way I know how.”

“It’s not the only way,” you tease him with a smirk, as he shakes his head incredulously.

You can tell you’ve made him blush, which is only a little bit funny considering the dirty things that came out of his mouth barely an hour ago. But the silver lining is this, and it’s not lost on you: after all this time and all of these years, it’s good to know that on your wedding day, you still know how to flirt with your husband.

Carmy’s eyes are fixed to the tiramisu as he focuses on digging his own spoon into the tiramisu, inhaling the spoonful right away.

Damn. It is good, he thinks to himself, though he’s usually quite hesitant to give himself a compliment.

“So what were you and Sugar talking about?” Carmy asks, curiously changing the subject.

“Oof. You really wanna kill the mood with that answer?” you counter him, and he can hear the reality of the situation in the way your voice drops.

“That bad?” he pries, hesitantly.

“No,” you’re quick to reassure him. While you’re not sure you want to ruin a perfect night by talking about Donna, you also feel like there’s no escaping it either. “Sugar and I’s talk was great but… she was upset… about your mom not coming.”

With a quick raise of his eyebrows, Carmy nods along, only slightly disappointed by the answer.

Leave it to Mom to ruin a perfectly good day without even showing up, he thinks to himself.

“Are… you… okay about it?” you drag out, cautiously.

“Yeah,” he answers with a curt nod. You’re not convinced, eyeing him carefully as Carmy chooses to charge through.

“Didn’t really expect her to come anyways. Would’ve been more drama than it was worth.”

“Bear,” you sigh in response to the impossible situation, because there’s no way that he’s not at least a little disappointed.

He shrugs, his eyes evasive of yours as he scoffs dismissively, shaking his head.

“Welcome to the fuckin’ family, I guess.”

You really don’t want to get into it now – not on your wedding night – so you shut your mouth even though you’re not exactly satisfied with his response. You know Carmy has every right to not want his mom there knowing that everything he’s said is true, but it still hurts your heart that he’s closed off his heart to her like this – that it has to be this way.

You let out a heavy exhale, before digging back into the tiramisu, pushing the thought out of your mind. And just when you think you’re done talking about it, Carmy presses you once more, his voice softer this time as he asks:

“What’d you uh… say? To Sugar?”

You take another breath, a sympathetic smile on your lips as you explain:

“I told her that I was sorry… that things are the way that they are, but I really just think she just needed someone to listen to her.”

“Yeah.”

A half beat.

“And I told her that… well, I told her that… we get to change things. You and I. Her and Pete. With the baby coming and everything too and… and us. Getting married, you know?”

Carmy hums in response, nodding his head as he processes what you said. Returning his gaze to you, it feels like he’s looking right through you, his blues so intense as he softly speaks again.

“I like the sound of that.”

“Me too.”

You wait a beat, then another, noticing that your champagne glass is almost empty. You reach for the bottle, topping off Carmy’s flute first. You search your mind for something else to talk about, because you think he may actually be done talking about Donna this time, a small laugh escaping your lips as you think about today.

“Hmmm?”

Your eyes move to Carmy’s, then back to the almost-empty champagne flute that you’re refilling as you smirk with, “Bold move putting me on the spot like that with the vows.”

He laughs, a blush running across his cheeks as he shyly replies:

“You know, we got there, and I uh… well, I wanted to. Should I uh-, you know… think we shoulda talked about it before?”

“No, I actually kind of liked it,” you reassure him, raising the champagne flute to your lips once more. You take a sip, before continuing to flirt with your husband. “You’re gettin’ the hang of this whole… romantic gesture thing, Berzatto.”

“Anything for you, Berzatto,” he shoots back, emphasizing your new last name in a way that makes your heart flutter at the reminder.

You hum a satisfied hum in response, relaxing a little more into where you sit on the bed.

“Though if I had known ahead of time, I guess I could’ve prepared something. ‘S too bad,” you say playfully, causing Carmy to smile.

“We could do it now,” he offers, his voice going up at the end like it’s a question, and there’s something so boyish in his charm that it makes your heart melt.

“Hmmmm,” you begin, pondering where you’d like to start. He had promised to love you forever, and you him, but as you think about all the ways you want to love him, a smile spreads across your lips.

“Okay,” you accept, ready to play along. “I promise… that on the days you want breakfast burritos… that I will go to the place you like a few blocks down from ours.”

“Even though you think the place across from our place is better and closer?” he asks, unable to hide his shock as his eyebrows raise then lower.

You giggle, “Even though I think the place near ours is way better and is so much more convenient to get to, Bear.”

“Wow uh. Okay then,” Carmy says, taking this as an invitation. “Then I promise to always make sure to check that they put extra green salsa in the bag for you, no matter where we get the breakfast burritos.”

You grin, nodding your head alongside a, “You’re too good to me.”

This time, you take a moment to think it over, taking it more seriously now.

“I think… we should promise… to always have each others’ backs; to always be each others’ teammate.”

Carmy nods his head in agreement, “Yeah I uh… I think that’s great, babe.”

Two of you settle into a comfortable quiet, eating tiramisu and drinking champagne, while Carmy continues to steal glances your way when he thinks you aren’t looking.

He takes a beat. Then another, before propping his head up on his hand where he lays on his side across from you.

“What about this?” he proposes. “We promise to love each other, even when we disagree.”

“Even when you’re being a dick,” you tease him with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah. Even when I’m being a dick and you’re fuckin’ fed up with me,” he agrees with a head nod. “What else?”

“That we grow old together,” you say, without question, before painting him a picture of what you dream it could look like.

“And we promise to take care of each other when we’re cranky and smelly, and you’re telling the grandkids about your glory days as a hotshot chef….” You take a beat, giggling at the thought. “... while I roll my eyes because you’re yelling at someone to bring you your old chef’s knife so that you can show them that you still know how to perfectly Brunoise a carrot.”

“Oh, you’re gonna have to pry my chef’s knife out of my cold dead hands,” he warns you, humorously.

You laugh, “Honey, I knew that when I signed the marriage license.”

“I think we’ll be those grandparents, don’t you? The ones that pass on all of our recipes to the kids and the grandkids, and even when we’re not there anymore, we live on in everyone’s kitchen,” you conclude, and you can’t take your eyes off of him. “You know? You and me.”

“Yeah.”

You exchange a silly laugh, because neither of you know where to go after this, your and his hearts warmed by the thought of growing old together. You’ve been together for years now, but in so many ways, it still feels like you have so much life ahead of you; a life with Carmy that you’re only just getting started.

Carmy waits a beat, allowing your shared laugh to subside.

“I like the sound of this. Of us,” he declares, his voice soft yet sure.

“Me too, Carm. Me too,” you agree.

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weird-an · 1 year

Text

Billy stumbles and falls, the impact knocking the air out of his chest. He tries to sit up, the world turning around him. Everything is blurry, except Harrington who’s standing above him. Hazel eyes pinning him down to the floor.

“Plant your feet next time, Billy,” he says, a mischievous tone in his voice. Leaning a bit forward, glance heavy on him.