#fresh unwilting daisies

[l4long-winded]

o.s. fresh, unwilting daisies

summary: carmen gets possessive after your ex boyfriend stops by and leaves you a bouquet of daisies (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)

reflection: wrote this yesterday and edited it today. i have received a few requests in my inbox if anyone is interested in leaving me some more, i'll get to those as soon as i can. let's relish in the collective carmy brain rot together <3 please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

warnings: cursing, cynicism, reader has an ex boyfriend, inner monologue, carmen's pov, filth, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, possessive!carmen, jealous!carmen, praise, multiple orgasms, use of "sweet girl," reader doesn't like daisies (they're pretty, let's pretend, sorry to all the daisy lovers), past relationship, donna mention, office setting, p in v sex, dom!carmen (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 1,750

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid motherfucker. Who does he think he is? Waltzing into Carmen’s restaurant, the cuffs of his dirt infested denim jeans dragging over Carmen’s pristine floor, said denim jeans hanging low on his hips like an asshole who can’t even present himself to you as an individual who actually gives a fuck. Grant didn’t hold the common courtesy to put on a belt, and Carmen doesn’t believe the man owns one, but if he’s going to saunter in and try and request time with you, Carmen’s girlfriend, then he should at least be decent and dress like he’s attempting to win you back and not as if he just got home after a hard day’s work of laying down brick. Grant doesn’t have a job so that explanation for his asshole outfit and his asshole beanie and his asshole demeanor is not worth excusing him, especially not as he smugly leaned over Carmen’s counter and let his jacket covered elbows smear his Grant-ness all over the surface. Carmen had no choice but to wipe it down with high-grade sanitizer, scrubbing away as if he could scrub away Grant completely out of your and Carmen’s life, since they’re entangled with one another now whether Grant likes it or not.

Carmen shifts his tongue within you utilizing a bit more pressure, undulating the pink muscle in and out until he forms the shape of a well to scoop your slick and curl it into his fervent, perpetual mouth. He gulps you down into the back of his throat, exhaling against your folds at the satisfying, addicting drink equivalent to a desert traveler’s first and desperate swallow of refreshing water. Carmen breathes your scent since it permeates throughout his office space and your wetness coats his cheeks and the tip of his nose, inhaling and exhaling air that causes your thighs to twitch in his hands at the sensation. He ought to be kinder to you, you’re sensitive from the two orgasms he’s endlessly worked out of your cunt, and it’s not your fault Grant continues to be an annoying fixture in your atmosphere having denied his pleas time and time again, but every time Carmen locks eyes with Grant’s lazy, complacent gaze, Carmen feels a surge of jealousy within him compelling him to mark his territory and reinforce the notion of you being his and his alone. Sure, you dated Grant first, but in Carmen’s eyes, you belong to him like you’ve never belonged to anyone.

“Mine,” he utters, slipping his tongue out to lick his puffy, swollen lips clean, exposing his line of thinking as he presses a kiss to your clit, growling and slightly smirking to find the little button still pulsing for him with need. His fingernails dig into the meat of your thighs as you attempt to clamp them around his head, and normally he would let you, but he holds them spread and open for him so he can continue to lap you into the whining mess you’re becoming atop his desk. The downside is how each of those adoring and pleasant sounds are muffled due to your palm actively pressing down against your lips, “good girl” muttered because that’s what he told you to do for him when you started and you’ve done an excellent job of quieting yourself while he practically drowns himself in your cunt. He doesn’t miss the whimper you reward him with at the praise, his right hand generously kneading the flesh of your thigh as a sign that he’s almost done, to just hang on a touch longer and allow him his fill.

“One more,” he promises, “just one more for me, sweet girl, one more,” Carmen litters your pussy and inner thighs with kiss after kiss, stamps of pure affection to calm you down and ready you for his next onslaught. He peers up at you, noticing how your body is trembling just as much as your thighs are, half your ass hanging off the edge of his desk, your upper shoulders slumping partially into the wall behind. Poor thing. Close to sobbing, your eyes glassy from the tears of pleasure that never fall from them, your shirt riding up your stomach since he only bothered to take your pants off in his rush to have you when you came in to check up on him. You deserve his fingers, and he plays around with the idea of sliding them inside you, drumming them against your skin as he thinks about stuffing you with them as his mouth closes over your clit. He’s done it in the past, he knows it would drive you to that climax he currently craves in an instant, but from scanning your disheveled features and writhing frame, his crystal blues eventually attach to the vase of daisies at the side of the two of you, taunting him as they have this entire time.

The notecard sticking out flashes Grant’s name. You don’t even like daisies, you’ve told Carmen, but Grant used to get them for you when he fucked up numerous times throughout your relationship. No matter how much you hated to accept them and therefore reinforced the habit, you would always vase them and frown as they started to immediately die the next morning. That’s who Grant is. He didn’t bother to at least buy you fresh and lively daisies, but the ones right on the verge of dying. Today, months and months into your and Carmen’s relationship, Grant stopped by with vased daisies under the intent of getting you back and they’re actually fucking beautiful, Carmen admits, but they’re pissing him the fuck off. Every glance to them sitting there has brought about this carnal desire to part your legs further for him. The flowers are taunting him, milky and lemony, an assorted arrangement plopped into a blaring, golden vase that Carmen’s mother would definitely keep if she had been gifted it herself, muttering something about hidden treasures, son while storing it away in her cabinet’s hoarding of dishes and “fine china” she gathered from the thrift store. They’re nice. Too nice. Carmen should get you some flowers, he decides to himself, flowers that you would actually like without some underlying motive, simply because he cares about you and because he wants to see your smile light up when he personally hand delivers them.

Fucking Grant. His fucking daisies are taking up too much fucking space on Carmen’s desk and he hates it, he hates that he had to move them from the front of the restaurant into his office so they wouldn’t obstruct the customers, he hates the contents of the notecard begging you to be Grant’s again as if you were ever his in the first place.

“Mine,” Carmen grunts again, lapping up your slit with the full flat of his tongue, dragging it to relish in your taste, in the moan you choke out against your hand, his nose catching between your folds. He glances up at the flowers, the line “want you to be mine again” ringing in his ears from when you read the note aloud to him. Well, fuck you, Grant, he thinks, it’s his tongue and mouth on your cunt and it’s his cock that’s going to be plunging in and out of you tonight on his couch, in his bed, in the shower as you brace yourself with your hands planted on his tile walls.

Fucking cry over it, motherfucker. Fuck your flowers. I’m the one fucking her.

And something… miraculous(?) happens. A single petal falls from the flowers as Carmen licks at you. He watches it swish and sway through the air, descending down until it lands right next to his hand, right on top of your thigh, his thigh.

He pushes his head in further, yanking you by your (his) thighs to meet his mouth as he simultaneously swipes away the petal like it burned you. You squeak out in surprise, your opposite hand flying down to grip the curls in his hair as you sputter above him. Carmen seals his mouth over your clit, done with the teasing, done with his thoughts, and all he wants is to send you over that blissful edge he’s pushed you towards already, stroking you with rolls of his tongue and strong suckles of his suctioned lips. You don’t even last a minute, swaddled pleas of something resembling his name being cried out into your hand, your head bumping into the wall behind as you cream around nothing. He glances down, petting your cunt with merciful, languid brushes of his tongue, in awe of the mess you’re soaking out onto his desk. He drops his jaw lower to catch all of it, close to licking your essence right off the surface if it weren’t for how you’re currently teetering on it. Carmen stands up, unbuckling his belt hurriedly as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, your cunt’s release once on his lips and chin now transferred to the digits and knife tattooed over it.

“Wha-… Carmy?” You ask as you sit up, only for him to pull you by your hips back into position for him. You look so dazed, fucked out beyond belief, and as he manhandles you to spreading your thighs all over again, his elbow knocks the vase of daisies with enough force to send them crashing down to the floor. The glass breaks into scattered shards, causing you to jump, but Carmen doesn’t seem to have noticed. He’s just lining himself up and pushing straight through your walls, well lubricated with his spit and your cum, having been loved on long enough for your shared coworkers to begin questioning your and his whereabouts. You actually yelp this time, grasping at his broad shoulders as you adjust and clench around him. He latches his lips to yours to mute your noises, thrusting away, pounding the cunt belonging to him and no one else, growling as he bites at your bottom lip.

As he steps his feet apart from one another to open your knees up for extra access, glass crunches under his shoe, water splashing under the sole of the other, and a few daisies are crushed as he fucks you with a quickening pace. He’s not worried about it. He’ll get you some tulips or maybe some sunflowers, something pretty for you to look at as he has you bent over the kitchen table tomorrow morning.

#l4l.writes #carmen berzatto #fresh unwilting daisies #the bear series #carmen berzatto x reader #jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto imagine #the bear hulu #carmy the bear

[alabamasweettea]

the daisy

Requested by @jungkookck! I really loved writing this, hope you enjoy! <3

Fandom: The Illusionist

Pairing: Eisenheim/fem!reader

Tags: fluff, canon divergence

All your life you've been a fly on the wall. Sophie's sister. The other von Teschen.

When you met Eduard, he made you feel like you. Not the spare daughter, not anyone's sidekick. You.

"You can call me Ed." He was nearing fourteen, loitering around the door of a perfume shop just to see you. You smiled over the stacks of dainty glass bottles in the window, catching his eye. His clothes were too large, probably handed down from a sibling. Or father.

But you didn't care. His eyes were big and brown and kind. They blinked owlishly from under a mop of dark hair where the boy scuffed his shoe in the dusty road, waiting for you and your mother to emerge.

When you did—finally, after what felt like days as your mother hmphed her way through numerous bottles—he held a flower in his hand. A daisy. Its white petals were already wilting, an hour since picked, but you treasured it from the moment he offered it with a bow and a cheeky smile.

"Can I come see you?" He whispered after he'd kissed your cheek, his mouth still so close to your ear. Your face felt hot.

"Perhaps. Come to the hawk's oak tomorrow?" You answered with a small smile, trying to choke it down before anyone noticed.

"I'll be there." Your mother was looking back by then, and he skittered away.

Needless to say you weren't allowed to go out the next day, or the next. You never saw Ed again.

Then.

Fifteen years later, you were in Vienna on holiday with your sister and her new husband, not much enjoying yourself. The weather was bad. There wasn't anything fun to do, except go to some delusioned magician's sideshow. Surely this couldn't be his real job, could it?

As you sat in the uncomfortable wooden seat, afraid to move too much for fear of making it creak but insistent on flicking your fan every so often in boredom, a minute detail encroached on your senses.

A daisy.

It was in the man's lapel, stuck through his buttonhole. Its crisp white petals fresh, unwilted like the one you remembered from so long ago.

Is it? It can't be.

Don't be stupid, you chided yourself. Surely many men wore daisies. But you couldn't help wondering.

After the show you wandered about, too sick of your new brother-in-law to stick to the pair's side. He was too old for her, you thought. Too crisp. Black bowtie always perfectly done up. Infuriating.

There was a low murmur in the crowd as you were pushed aside, falling onto someone.

"I'm sorry," you began, before finding yourself looking into eyes brown as molten chocolate. An old wound on his nose peeked out from under pale scar tissue.

The man blinked in that same way you had dreamed of for years, leading you to believe...

It was him.

You hesitated.

"Eduard?" It wasn't supposed to come out, but it did, soft and unassuming as a whisper of breath.

Brown eyes crinkled up at the corners, forever stamped by crow's feet. They burned with recognition, with rekindled affection.

"I know you." There was his voice. There were his eyes, glinting with something not unlike mischief, rather tainted by something else. He looked at you like you were the only other person in the room, on earth. He looked at you like he wanted to hold your hand and keep you forever.

So he did.

Taking your hand, he kissed your cheek again, just like he had all those years ago.

"Can I come see you?" Repeating the very same words--you nearly melted.

"Perhaps," You answered coyly.

He smiled, tucking the daisy behind your ear and you took his arm, heading off to face the world together.

#requested #my fics #eisenheim x reader #the illusionist #edward norton x reader #fluff

[l4long-winded]

o n e - s h o t m a s t e r l i s t

r e a d o n a o 3

summary: one-shots, blurbs, concepts, requests—it's an all-you-can-eat literature buffet of assorted pieces centering around, you guessed it, carmen berzatto (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)

warnings: religious imagery and symbolism, insecurities, dirty talk, mental health dialogue, finger sucking, p in v, cigarettes, sensory description, pussywhipped!carmen, cursing, kissing, cynicism, humor, pussydrunk!carmen, slander of the elderly, secret relationship, rising, praise kink, filth, subby!carmy, overstimulation, oral, oral fixation, inner dialouge, possessive!carmy, jealous!carmy, multiple orgasms, pet names, past relationship(s), donna menton, office sex, dom!carmy, angst, references to mikey passing, reminiscing, smoking, angry sex, enemies to lovers, walk-in sex, arguing, apologies, post-breakup (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 16,000+ (ongoing)

t a b l e o f c o n t e n t s (listed in alphabetical order)

a guilty heart's plea(s)

carmen's said some unforgivable things to you. and yet here he is at your doorstep, pleading for you to forgive him.

basil, monterey jack, and the simplicity of a kind gesture

you're late for work, rushing out the door, and carmen notices you've left your lunch behind. he can't help but interject his talents.

concept: carmen tries to quit smoking

it's a pretty self-explanatory title.

fantasize

you show carmen an innocent song.

fire in the freezer

it's opening night and you're stuck inside the walk-in with your boss, carmen. can the night get any worse?

fresh, unwilting daisies

carmen gets possessive after your ex boyfriend stops by and leaves you a bouquet of daisies.

it's more like a fascination

getting a glimpse into one of carmen's obsessive infatuations passionate fascinations.

loss of thought

it's hard to think when you have carmen like this.

saliva (just a little bit)

the concept of carmen spitting in your mouth.

the phone call regarding the onions

richie won't stop calling and despite how busy carmen is, he picks up the phone. he didn't know richie would take so long to tell him about his trip to the farmer's market, let alone how impatient you would be in his lap.

the plan mikey never got to

you come across a picture of one of mikey's family members. he has to be careful not to think too much about carmen.

those sweet, sweet, effectual praises

in which you talk an inexperienced carmen through it.

when you wear his white shirt

carmen has a thing for you in his white shirt.

#l4l.writes #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #l4l.carmy #the bear fic #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #the bear imagine #a sense of urgency #l4l.blurb #l4l.oneshot