camelliaflow3r

[camelliaflow3r]

Treats can be exchanged for goods and services

[camelliaflow3r]

going on a date with bucky barnes and it all goes so nicely, so sweetly, so smoothly. you both had so much fun, chemistry and a good time. he's charming, witty and he keeps flirting and complimenting you at every chance he gets. he held your hand all night long, neither of you even noticed it, it just happened naturally, your cheeks hurt from how much you're smiling and both of your hearts are at ease.. that's until the date comes to an end, it's time to pay and you ask him if he wants to go 50/50.

that would be the first time he lets go of your hand that night, it's unintentional just happened out of pure shock. "50... what.." the confusion on his face, you'd think he's an alien seeing earth the first time.

"you know.. 50/50.. we'll split the bill between us"

"split the bill?" he asks and you just nod, he'd blink at you, "50/50.. splitting the bill.. what is this about, i asked you on a date"

now it's your turn to be the alien seeing earth for the first time, "we are on a date, bucky. this is a date"

"no, it's not a date."

"it is a date"

"you're asking me to split the bill, this is not a date"

"oh my god sam was right, you can be such a drama queen." you laugh, he just stares at you, blankly. "it might've been a while since the last time you went on a date so let me break it down for you.. these days, people who go on dates split the bill, they go 50/50" you shrug, "it's normal"

"it's normal? you've done it before?"

you nod, "every date i've been on has been 50/50 yeah"

bucky nearly flips the table. bucky who spent all of his three dollars in the 1940's trying to win a teddybear for a girl he had a crush on, bucky who used to save up most of his income in an old shoe box underneath his bed so he can take his girl to a nice diner, bucky who went to the florist to get you a bouquet of roses and didn't even ask for the price just handed his credit card because to him your smile is priceless, bucky is about to have a stroke.

"you've never been on a date" he says, face still blank.

"yes i have"

"no you haven't. this is your first date." he says, "i'm your first time." he smirks and you blush at the possible implication. "50/50.." he scoffs under his breath, "what else are you gonna tell me next? i should walk on the inside of the sidewalk? keep my jacket on when you're cold? sleep further from the door? not open doors for you? jesus sweetheart what has the world come to?"

you hide your smile, you love it when he rambles like that, he's so calm yet so offended all at once somehow, it's funny and endearing. "what's wrong with walking on the inside of the sidewalk?" you joke and he rolls his eyes making you laugh, "so.. no 50/50? are you sure?" you ask one last time, hands on your purse on your lap.

he keeps his eyes on you as he pays the bill, glaring playfully, gets up and pulls out your chair before putting his black leather jacket on your shoulders, "no doll," he offers you his hand which you quickly hold, intertwining your fingers with his, and opens the door with his metal hand, "no 50/50."

[camelliaflow3r]

[camelliaflow3r]

[camelliaflow3r]

Helloooooo, I went to a wedding yesterday so I have a wedding related request for Arthur please 🥹 it’s probably going to be on the shorter side but hopefully you can add your flair of creativity to it 🥰

Arthur takes his girlfriend to Lorenzo’s wedding as his guest and she catches the bouquet. Charles and Lorenzo convince him that that means he has to marry her within 6 months/ a year or your relationship will be doomed to fail and he believes them. He panics for ages until she comes home to see him drowning in wedding magazines, with Pinterest boards and ring sites open on his laptop and he breaks down and tells her. She calls him a dumbass, kisses him and then calls Charles and Lorenzo to rip them a new one and make them apologise to their brother.

“In our defence, it was my wedding so I was drunk and I forgot we told him that”

“Yes and also it’s not our fault he got all the stupid genes”

A/N: Lmaoooooo not the “stupid genes”, that had me laughing my ass off. I hope the wedding was good, sounds like it was fun. This took a little longer to write as it was 4th in my current queue. Hopefully you enjoy my flair of creativity 🫶🏻 My inbox is open :)

The Bouquet

(A/N: I feel like this gif of him stressing out is perfect)

It started with a wedding.

Lorenzo’s wedding, specifically — all golden light, soft music, and Monaco elegance. Arthur had invited you as his date and, as expected, he was the perfect gentleman. Suited up like something out of a magazine, always holding your hand, sneaking kisses during speeches, his arm around your waist on the dance floor.

You hadn’t expected to have that much fun. Or to catch the bouquet. But there you were, standing in the middle of the venue garden with flowers in your hands and every pair of Leclerc eyes on you.

And that’s when Charles and Lorenzo struck.

“If she caught the bouquet,” Charles said solemnly, a little too solemnly, “you have to marry her in the next year. Or it curses the relationship.”

Lorenzo, absolutely drunk on champagne and marital joy, nodded vigorously. “Six months, tops. If not, you’re doomed. Statistically.”

Arthur blinked at them, stunned. “What? That’s not a real thing.”

Charles shrugged, deadpan. “It’s Monaco law. Look it up.”

Lorenzo: “Swear on the Prince.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped slightly. “Monaco law?!”

“Yep,” Charles said, sipping wine like this was all completely normal.

“It’s real,” Lorenzo added with a serious expression. “There’s graphs.”

There were, in fact, no graphs.

But Arthur didn’t know that.

For the next week, Arthur was weird.

He kept spacing out during conversations. Googling things when he thought you weren’t looking. Gripping your hand too tightly during a simple grocery trip. And then there were the Pinterest notifications — popping up on your shared iPad with vague but alarming titles like “soft wedding vibes 💍🤍” and “Monaco venues on a budget??”

You didn’t think much of it until you came home early one evening and found chaos.

The apartment was covered in wedding magazines.

There were bridal catalogues on the kitchen counter. A YouTube video titled “Top 10 Things Grooms Regret Not Doing” was playing on the TV. His laptop was open to a diamond ring comparison chart. And Arthur — sweet, panicked, idiot Arthur — was sitting on the floor in the middle of it all, clutching a notebook that said “Proposal Ideas???” on the front.

He looked up at you like a deer caught doing tax fraud.

“Oh, mon dieu,” he breathed. “You’re home early.”

You stared. “Arthur… why are you sitting in the middle of a wedding tornado?”

He stood up, fast. “Okay—okay, I can explain.”

“Please do.”

“You caught the bouquet,” he said, eyes wide, gesturing wildly. “At Lorenzo’s wedding.”

“Yes?”

“And Charles and Lorenzo said if I don’t marry you within six months, our relationship is doomed! Doomed, amour!”

You blinked. “They what?”

“I didn’t believe them at first,” he rushed on, “but then Lorenzo said it was Monaco law and Charles backed him up and—look, I didn’t want to risk it! I love you, I don’t want to ruin us—so I started planning and—god, I can’t even pick a colour scheme—!”

“Arthur.”

“I mean, would you even want to get married at the ocean? Or, like, a vineyard? What if you hate tulle? I don’t even know what tulle is!”

“Arthur.”

“Do you even like diamonds? Or are you a sapphire kind of girl? I’ve been researching ring cuts for three hours and I’m losing vision—”

You crossed the room and cupped his face gently. “Arthur.”

He finally stopped talking, still clutching a wedding magazine like a lifeline.

“You’re a dumbass,” you whispered, smiling fondly.

He blinked. “I am?”

“The biggest,” you confirmed, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“…But like, in a hot, very lovable way, right?”

You laughed. “Yes, baby. So hot. So lovable. So incredibly, unbelievably dumb.”

He melted in your arms with a breathy, relieved laugh. “So… you’re not mad?”

“No,” you said, stroking his hair. “But I am calling your brothers.”

Arthur looked alarmed. “Please don’t—”

You were already dialling.

You FaceTimed Charles first.

He answered on the third ring, lounging on a couch somewhere, sipping a drink.

“Ah, bonsoir, what do I owe this pleasure—”

“You emotionally sabotaged your brother.”

Charles blinked. “Which one?”

“Arthur.”

“Oh.”

You flipped the camera to show Arthur sitting in the middle of his wedding magazine graveyard.

Charles choked on his drink.

“I’m going to kill you,” you said sweetly. “With a fondue fork.”

“I didn’t think he’d believe us!” Charles laughed, covering his mouth. “We were joking!”

“I panicked,” Arthur muttered behind you.

Charles called for someone off-screen. “Lorenzo! She found out!”

Lorenzo appeared seconds later, wine glass in hand. “Oh no.”

“You told him it was Monaco law,” you reminded.

“In our defence,” Lorenzo said smoothly, “it was my wedding, I was drunk, and I forgot we told him that.”

Charles nodded. “And also, it’s not our fault he got all the stupid genes.”

“Hey!” Arthur shouted from the floor.

“Love you, baby,” you called back.

In the end, Arthur forgave them. You forgave them (kind of). And when he proposed nine months later — under a soft canopy of lights with no pressure and no bouquet superstition — you said yes.

Not because you caught the flowers.

But because Arthur Leclerc, dumb genes and all, was everything you'd ever wanted.

And now you had the Pinterest boards to prove it.

[camelliaflow3r]

hurt and healed

Mafia!Arthur Leclerc x Female!Nurse!Reader

Summary: As far as she knew, there was no protocol to follow when an injured member of the Monégasque mafia showed up during her night shift at the clinic. She also had no idea what to do with the favour he apparently owed her.

Warnings: mafia setting, guns, no explicit violence but mentions of it, mentions of cuts, mentions of child abuse, mentions of background character death, angsty-ish with a happy/hopeful ending, hurt arthur

Word Count: 4.5k words

Estimated Reading Time: 18 minutes

A/N: THIS IS A WORK OF PURE FICTION. ALTHOUGH THIS IS A MAFIA SETTING, MOBS IN THE REAL WORLD SHOULD NOT BE ROMANTICIZED. THEY ARE DANGEROUS AND NOTHING LIKE THE ONES YOU READ ABOUT. PLEASE DO NOT CONFUSE FICTION FOR REALITY. I DO NOT AND NEVER WILL CONDONE THE MAFIA OR THEIR ACTIONS. Now that that's said, hiiii. Sorry I've been gone for a while, motivation has been low and I had assignments due so that didn't leave me much time to write. I hope you guys like this, it was inspired by a post I saw floating on Insta but unfortunately cannot find anymore but oh well. Happy reading!

Masterlists | Formula One RI Masterlist | Taglist

It hurt like the best of them And healed unlike the rest of them.(Liam Xavier, Welcome To Hell And Other Poems About Adulthood)

If someone were to ask (Y/n) how it was to work at Clinique Saint Raphaël, she would have different answers.

To her father, she would say it makes good money to be a private clinic nurse.

To her mother, she would say she loved giving out balloons to the children when they were done.

To her sister, she would say that Dr Bellevue from gynecology definitely slept with Dr Raymond from cardiology if the sounds coming from her office on Wednesday were any indication, which officially makes Amélie (her assistant) the only woman in the office that hasn’t had any romantic encounters with Dr Bellevue. 

(Yes, including (Y/n) herself.)

((It was the clinic’s Christmas dinner. There were drinks involved. And a broom closet. Point is, Caroline Bellevue is not someone you say no to, especially when she’s wearing that black dress. Moving on.))

But if someone not from her family were to ask for her honest opinion, she’d say it was heartbreaking.

As a pediatric nurse, she saw all kinds of children walk in. The ones that tried their best not to cry when getting their shots. The ones that clung to their parents amid their sickness. The ones who asked for extra balloons.

But there were also the ones that were too quiet. The ones that didn’t hold eye contact. The ones who barely— if ever —spoke. The ones who tensed up when their guardians went to comfort them. The ones who had one too many “football-related bruises”. The ones who looked at her with big round eyes full of tears who practically screamed for help. The ones she couldn’t help. All they could do was document the cases and send it off to Child Protection Services for them to look into (they never looked into it).

Those were the ones that haunted her. That made her job harder than it should be. Those were the ones that made her take deep breaths before each shift.

“See you in the morning, (Y/n)!”

Oh, and overnight shifts. Those sucked too.

They usually traded them between nurses, with all of them being capable of fulfilling the general practice role. Their clinic was one of the only ones whose general practice section was open 24/7, with two nurses taking a seven-hour shift each and two GPs on call, on rotation. They shared the shifts between the twenty-or-so nurses that worked at the clinic, which meant no more than four night shifts a month, at most. Still, she hated them with a passion.

Not once in the seven months she’d worked here had anything of interest happened. The closest she got to it was a guy coming in at two in the morning with a vibrator stuck up his ass. But that was more embarrassing than interesting, for everyone involved. Most night shifts were, dare she say it, quiet. 

(May the healthcare gods forgive her for even thinking the Q-word while on shift.)

So that’s what she was gearing up for. Another 1AM to 8AM shift of complete and utter boredom, where she’d be stuck trying not to fall asleep while watching reruns of Plus Belle La Vie on the TV they had at reception.

“Nothing’s right. I don’t exist to you anymore. I feel like I’m only a belly. A surrogate mother.”

“Absolutely not, why are you saying those things?”

“I don’t know man, cause you’ve been ignoring her for ages! She’s still her own person, you dick.”

She argued at JP’s face on the TV, gesturing with the spoon she was using to eat her jello.

“When you give me gifts, it’s for the baby, when you wanna see me, it’s to speak to me about possible maternities. I don’t exist for you anymore, we don’t talk, just the two of us.”

“You tell him, Armelle.”

She brought another spoonful of strawberry jello to her mouth, before hearing the clinic door open with a bang. She turned to it, spoon still in her mouth, eyes wide open.

A man in a black suit stood there, blonde hair dishevelled, white shirt stained with something that looked suspiciously like blood. He cradled his left arm to his chest.

“Still open?”

She nodded her head slowly.

“Good, this needs stitches.”

He showed her his left forearm and she gaped, spoon falling from her mouth.

“That’s a lot of glass. Hold on one second, let me call the doctor.”

Before she could even bring the phone to her ear, he was there, holding her hand away.

“Can you fix it?”

“I mean… Technically, I can, but–”

“Good, you’ll do, then. Let’s go.”

This would teach her not to say the Q-word on shift. Or think it.

Whatever, (Y/n) was a professional, and this guy was clearly in need of help. Fix him up first, freak out about whoever he is later.

She made her way to the examination room, gesturing for him to follow.

“Sit down on the table there, please.”

She put on a new pair of gloves and grabbed the tools she’d need, setting them on a little tray. She then grabbed a small paper cup and filled it with with water, adding a paquet of electrolytes in.

“Okay, let me help you get out of that jacket. I might have to cut off the left sleeve so the wound doesn’t get irritated, is that okay?”

He nodded. With a bit of struggle and some wincing, they were able to cut off the tattered remains of the right sleeve, then had to make a cut down the left shoulder to fully remove the suit jacket.

“Okay, I have to remove the glass before I can clean it up and suture it, so I just need to numb the area beforehand. Are you allergic to any medication?”

He looked up at her, jaw set.

“You don’t need to numb it. I can handle it.”

She stopped, locking eyes with him.

“This isn’t a matter of handling it. It’s gonna be painful, and that can be easily avoided. It’s just a local anaesthetic so you’ll be fully conscious and able to move, if that’s what you’re worried about. All it’s gonna do is numb the area, so you might feel some pressure as I’m removing the glass and suturing the wound, but that’s it.”

He was silent for a moment. She could see him hesitate, search her eyes for… something. She didn’t exactly know what. Finally, he nodded.

“I don’t have any allergies.”

She smiled at him softly, grabbing the lidocaine.

“Alright, then. I’m just gonna give it a couple minutes to make sure it’s taken effect before I start on the suturing. For now, can you drink this for me? It’s water and electrolytes, just to help you get some strength back, cause you look pale. And I’ll get you a snack before you leave as well.”

He looked at the water with poorly-veiled distrust.

“I’m good.”

Clearly, he wasn’t.

So, she took a small sip from the cup.

“See, perfectly safe. There’s nothing to worry about.”

He seemed surprised by her actions, but took the cup nonetheless, taking a big gulp.

“Good. Now, tell me if you feel any pain?”

She lightly poked at his wound.

“Just a bit of pressure, but no pain.”

“Good, let’s get started then.”

It took her ten minutes to remove all the glass. The exam room was silent, the only sound coming from the TV in the reception, only audible because she’d left the door open, wanting to hear if someone else came in. The man’s breathing was soft, clearly controlled. She could feel his eyes on her.

“Alright, I’m gonna stitch you up now. Just bear with me, it’s been a while since I’ve had to do this. It’s usually the doctor’s job.”

He simply nodded, not seeming bothered in the least.

She thought back to all her classes on suturing, focusing on keeping the stitches as even as she could, trying not to let her hands shake. In the end, it turned out alright, and she bandaged it up immediately after.

“Okay, let me just throw this out and get you a snack, I’ll be right back.”

She turned back to him before leaving the room.

“Don’t move.”

Because for some reason, she had a feeling he’d want to.

She walked back to her desk in reception, crouching behind it to reach the mini fridge they kept there specifically to avoid having to go into the break room on night shifts. She took out a simple ham and cheese sandwich along with a bottle of iced tea, but the bell above the door jingled just as she was closing the fridge door.

Two men stood there. They wore dark suits, a grim expression on their faces, until the shorter one of the two locked eyes with her.

“Um… can I help you, gentlemen?”

“I believe you can. We’re looking for a friend of ours. Blonde hair, green eyes, tall, should be dressed more or less like us. He was hurt tonight so we think he might have come here looking for help.”

The man had a nice enough expression on his face. Soft voice, bright smile, charming, even. But for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to trust them.

“I’m so sorry, but we haven’t had any visitors tonight. At least, not since I got here for my shift, but I only started around one in the morning. Have you checked the hospital? Or any other clinics?”

She did her best to appear innocent and apologetic. For a reason she couldn’t bring herself to name, she felt the urge to protect that unknown man from these two.

“Are you absolutely sure there’s no one here? Cause I’m seeing a light on in the exam room over there.”

Shit.

“Yeah, I was doing inventory. Our gauze strips and bandages have to be individually cut, and that’s usually the job of whoever’s on night shift since they’re pretty calm.”

The man took a step forward, leaning an arm against the desk. 

“Are you absolutely sure there’s no one back there, Miss… (Y/n)?”

He read the name tag on her chest, then moved his free hand to lightly open his suit jacket, revealing a gun tucked into the waistband of his trousers.

“You might be having some trouble remembering.”

She forced herself to keep her voice even.

“I assure you, mister, there’s no one else back there. I’ve been alone for my whole shift. Maybe you’d have better luck filing a missing persons report with the police station down the block. It’s only a two minute walk away or so, and I’m sure they’d be more useful than me.”

They locked eyes for another minute, before the man straightened up again.

“Very well. Thank you for your help. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

She kept her eyes on them as they left the clinic, got into a black sports car, and drove away much faster than the speed limit should allow.

With shaking hands, she walked back to the exam room holding the sandwich and iced tea.

“Here you go, eat and drink.”

The man took the offered food carefully, looking at her as if she were an injured animal who would be spooked at any moment.

“Okay, so that bandage will need to be changed at least once a day, but ideally every morning and evening. Keep the stitches dry for at least twenty-four hours, ideally forty-eight. Also, change your bandage every time it gets wet or dirty. Showering is preferable to bathing, but as long as you don’t soak the stitches on your arm for too long you should be good. They’ll need to be taken out in seven days or so. I’d ask you to come back so we could do that but for some reason I have a sneaking suspicion you won’t, so just make sure they get removed by someone as close to a medical professional as you can manage.”

He stayed quiet throughout her explanation, taking large bites of the sandwich, as if he wanted it to be done as soon as possible.

“Why didn’t you tell them I was back here?”

She shrugged.

“Weird vibes. Also, they had guns. We don’t allow weapons inside the clinic.”

His eyes darkened.

“They pointed guns at you?”

She shook her head.

“No, one of ‘em just showed it to me like the bad guys always do in movies. Seriously, if my life hadn’t possibly been in danger I would have called him out on it. The second-hand embarrassment was so bad I almost visibly cringed.”

His face seemed more closed off now, and there was an anger simmering under the surface, like the smell of ozone right before a thunderstorm.

“Are you gonna be okay to get home or do you need me to call someone?”

He shook his head.

“I already texted my brother, he’ll be here in a minute.”

She handed him his— now wrecked —suit jacket in a biohazard bag, and guided him towards the front of the clinic.

“Remember what I said about the bandages, don’t let this get infected. Take paracetamol if you’re in pain.”

He nodded at her, then took out his wallet.

“Do you have a pen?”

She nodded, handing him one. He took out what seemed to be a business card from his wallet and scribbled something on the back just as a car pulled up to the front.

“You treated me with respect and protected me even though you had no idea who I was. Thank you. If you ever need something, anything, handled, call this number. I’ll take care of it.”

She took the card with hands that still shook lightly, looking at it.

Arthur Leclerc.

Oh—

When she looked up again, he was gone.

—-✯-—

“I’m sorry, I must have misheard you just now, run that by me again?”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, phone held snugly between her ear and shoulder as she continued to load her dirty laundry into the washer.

“You heard what I said.”

Her sister made a choked-off noise from the other end of the phone.

“Except I mustn’t have, because I could’ve sworn you just said Arthur Leclerc came into the clinic yesterday and you patched him up. I must have hallucinated that. Tell me I hallucinated that and that you, my precious little baby sister, did not patch up a member of the Leclerc family instead of immediately calling the police like a sane person.”

She stayed quiet for a few seconds, closing the door to the washer.

“Do you want me to lie?”

“Oh my fucking God, why did I leave? Seriously, why did I leave you alone? I should’ve taken you with me cause clearly you cannot be trusted to be on your own!”

She frowned.

“Okay, Indy, you’re being a little dramatic now.”

Clearly that had been the wrong thing to say. She should’ve known not to call her sister dramatic, that only made her madder.

“Dramatic? Dramatic? You’re seriously calling me dramatic because I had a normal reaction to you interacting with a member of the mafia? That is not being dramatic, that’s called having a sense of self preservation.”

“Self-preservation? How are you the leading expert on self-preservation, Indiana? Your job is to explore ruins that are either one wind gust away from collapsing on you or cursed by ancient civilisations!”

“Yes, but that’s Mom and Dad’s fault for naming me after a fictional archeologist and making me watch all the movies, therefore igniting in me a passion for archeology.”

That’s a fair point.

“Look, you’re getting worked up over nothing. He came in, I fixed him up, he thanked me, and then he left. That’s it. I doubt I’ll ever see him again. And it’s really not why I called you.”

Her sister took a deep breath and she could almost picture her face: head slightly bowed, eyes closed, brows furrowed, and nose bridge pinched between her thumb and middle finger. She always made the same face when she was frustrated.

“Alright, (Y/n). Whatever. What did you call me for, then?”

She sat on the floor, watching the washing machine start to fill up with water, clothes tumbling around and around.

“Well, um. You see… He left me his card, with his number, and said to call him if I ever needed anything…handled. And uh… I’m kind of confused here, what’s the protocol for when this happens? Like, could I get in trouble for having a business card with his number in my wallet?”

There was a long stretch of silence, and she almost thought Indy had lost reception and their call had disconnected.

“The fact that you’re alive when you keep getting yourself into these situations is proof that miracles exist, little sister.”

—-✯-—

Alright, so Indiana had no idea what to do with the number either, which is why it was still in (Y/n)’s wallet, almost three months later.

Arthur hadn’t come back since that night. Neither had the mysterious guys with the guns. 

It was all behind her.

Well, until now.

She sat in her car, clutching the card in her hand, number already dialled into her phone. She hesitated. But the memory of those frightened brown eyes had her pressing the green button on the keypad.

It was picked up on the third ring.

“Who is this?”

She recognised his voice right away. It was steadier, with none of the hoarseness and fatigue from that night. But it was him.

“Um, hi. It’s (Y/n), the nurse from Clinique Saint Raphaël, I don’t know if you remember me–”

“I remember.”

He cut her off, but said nothing else. 

This was awkward.

She cleared her throat nervously.

“Yes, well, um. You gave me this number and told me to call if I ever needed anything, and at this point, I don’t know what else to do, I feel like I’m out of options, so I don’t know, I saw the card and I just figured–”

“Deep breaths. Stop rambling. What’s wrong?”

She did as told, taking in a deep breath through her nose, then letting it out slowly through her mouth. She kept her eyes on the door to the clinic as she spoke.

“A child came in today. Second time this month, eight time this year, and we’re only in May. She had bruises everywhere.”

She swallow against the knot in her throat.

“She’s being abused, clearly. She shows all the signs, even discounting the bruises. She’s withdrawn, she doesn’t speak to us, barely holds eye contact, tenses up whenever male doctors touch her, even worse when her so-called father is in the room.”

She spit out the word. That man should not be called a father.

“We’ve been sending reports to the police, evidence, asking them to do something. They say it’s not enough proof. That she’s probably just a clumsy child. I think the dad might have some friends in high places.”

There was silence for a good thirty seconds. She tried not to cry.

“Can you help her?”

She heard a pen click.

“Names?”

“Sofie Meyer. The dad’s name is Johann. German origins, I think. He said they moved here about a year ago, but that could have been a lie.”

She heard some scribbling.

“Descriptions?”

“Sofie’s eight, but she looks younger, closer to a six-year-old. Light-skinned, brown curly hair, brown eyes. 118cm last we measured her. Johann is white, late thirties, I’d guess. About 180cm, with black hair and blue eyes. He’s pretty built, and he always stands straight and alert, almost–”

“Like someone who’s been trained for it. Would you say military or law enforcement?”

She furrowed her brows.

“Military, maybe. He’s got a tattoo on his right arm of an eagle with two rapiers crossing underneath.”

“Army, then. Anything on a possible partner?”

She shook her head on reflex, before quickly realising he couldn’t see her.

“Uh, no, they haven’t mentioned anything. It’s always just the two of them.”

The pen stopped scratching on the paper.

“I’ll take care of it.”

And that was that.

—-✯-—

The knock on her door that night was unexpected.

Tomorrow was her one day off of the week.

She wasn’t expecting anyone. 

She looked at the glass of wine on her hand.

Whoever interrupted her night of relaxation was going to pay.

She walked towards the door, not bothering to adjust her appearance in the least. If someone’s knocking on her door at quarter to midnight, they’d make do with what they got. And what they got tonight was the pajama set Indy had got her for her birthday, an open pink robe, and fluffy bunny slippers.

This decision would haunt her for years to come.

It would become a permanent fixture in the anxious thoughts swirling around in her head as she tried to go to sleep.

Embarrassing Moments: The Greatest Hits. And right at number one would be this.

“Oh, bordel…”

For the second time in her life, Arthur Leclerc stood in front of her, dressed in a suit.

“Miss (Y/l/n).”

She saw his eyes flick down to her white tank top, reading the words plastered on the front in red print.

THE ONLY PAIN I WANT IS PAIN AU CHOCOLAT

She immediately pulled her robe towards her, haphazardly tying the belt around her waist.

“Mr Leclerc. What um– What are you doing here?”

She could feel her face go red, and he was so going to notice that—

Wait. 

No he wouldn’t.

She still had the clay mask on.

This just kept getting better and better.

“Can I come in?”

Was her flat clean enough for visitors?

Well, not like she could say no anyway.

“Yes, of course, I’m so sorry. Come in, uh. Please, make yourself at home, living room’s through there, I’ll just go and—”

She gestured at her face, then turned on her heel.

The entire time she was washing away the clay mask was spent cursing the universe, her rotten luck, and just her existence in general.

Indy was never gonna let her live this down.

She’d also probably have a heart attack at the thought of Arthur Leclerc in her baby sister’s flat.

Well, anyway.

She was pleased to note that he’d taken off his shoes before coming into the living room. She was less pleased to see him standing in front of her bookshelf, staring at the (somewhat embarrassing) pictures she had on display.

“Your family?”

He pointed at one.

“Yeah. Mom, dad, and my sister, Indiana. This was on her birthday a few years ago. She wanted to go to Paris to visit the catacombs.”

He turned back to her, hands now in his pockets.

“It’s done. That’s what I came here for.”

She blinked at him, disbelieving.

“What?”

“We were able to locate her grandparents on her mother’s side, still living in Germany. She died last year and Johann left the country with their daughter. They were more than happy to be reunited with the kid, and they’ll raise her well. They live in a little village up north. Lots of other kids to play with, plenty of space. She’s on her way there now, should be arriving in a couple of hours.”

She was dumbstruck. 

Half a day.

Less than ten hours, really.

And they’d done what the police hadn’t in months.

“I– I don’t know what to say. Thank you? I– Sorry, I’m just a little bit in shock I think.”

She sat down on the couch, inwardly cursing herself. Stuttering, hesitating? Seriously, could she not get it together and speak properly? She was a trained nurse, for Heaven’s sake!

“And the dad?”

Arthur shrugged.

“Won’t bother them anymore.”

She furred her brows.

“What does that—”

“Don’t ask. It’s safer.”

Right.

He was mafia, after all.

Chances are Johann was sleeping with the fishies. Metaphorically or literally, she’d never know.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you. We get a few cases like that, too many really, but this one… This one couldn’t get out of my head. Thank you for… well, handling it, I guess. Keeping your promise.”

He hummed.

“I have to say, I figured you’d use your favour for something else. Intimidation maybe. Revenge on a crazy ex. My bet was money.”

She shrugged, picking up her wine glass. She took a long sip of it, closing her eyes, revelling in the feeling of a weight come off her shoulders now that she knew Sofie was alright.

“I never actually planned on calling. It felt wrong. You don’t owe me anything for stitching up your arm, I was just doing my job. But Sofie needed help and I’d exhausted all other possibilities, so. I figured if ever there was a reason to cash in an unearned favour, this would be it.”

She could feel his eyes on her face but kept hers closed, too tired to do anything else. She hadn’t realised how wired she was before, how tense she was not knowing what had happened to that little girl. Now that the worry was gone, she was left with fatigue that had her feeling like she got hit by a truck.

She could feel her limbs sinking into the couch, with sleep trying to pull her in.

“You’re gonna regret falling asleep like that. Your neck’s gonna be killing you tomorrow.”

She groaned.

“What else is new? I’m too tired to move.”

Logic told her to keep her eyes open. Keep an eye on the (probably armed and) very dangerous man in her living room.

Exhaustion told her her eyes were not gonna open again until they got at least eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Preferably more around twelve.

She heard his soft footfalls, followed by a hand pulling at hers.

“Come on, up you go.”

She could barely stand. Most of her weight was on him, and he kept a respectful arm around her waist, guiding her to her bedroom.

“Second door on the right.”

He opened it.

“Slippers off. Robe too, that can’t be comfortable to sleep in.”

She whined, much like a child. If she wasn’t absolutely exhausted and half a bottle of wine deep, she’d probably be embarrassed.

“Come then, into bed with you.”

He tucked her in. Actually tucked her in. How sweet was that?

“My front door, I need–”

“I’ll lock it. I know where your spare key’s hidden. Speaking of which, you should really find a safer spot for it.”

Okay, maybe not so sweet. That was a tad scary.

“I’ll be seeing you around, Miss (Y/l/n).”

She made a confused noise.

“Seeing me?”

She could practically hear the smile in his voice.

“Yes. You’re much too interesting to simply forget about.”

Her last thought before sleep took her was that Indiana was going to kill her.

hope you guys like the fic!

don't forget to comment and reblog, and keep your eye out for more stuff coming soon!

-Love, Miah <3

Formula One RI Taglist

@aykxz98 @CamelliaFlow3r

[camelliaflow3r]

So comforting 🥹

Not Like Them Pt.2

A/N: To the gorgeous @camelliaflow3r and @livelaughleclerc , thank you for your support and requests! I have continued on camelliaflow3r’s ask with this second part. I hope you like it. Inbox is open :)

Part 1

You don’t fall asleep right away. Not when his arm is wrapped so tightly around your waist and the weight of what just passed between you still lingers in the air—sweet and heavy like the afterglow of a storm. His chest rises against your back in slow, even breaths, grounding you.

“Tu es ma petite flamme,” he murmurs.

You turn your head slightly, enough to catch the curve of his smile against your skin. “What’s that mean?”

He pauses, then kisses the back of your shoulder. “My little flame. Because you’re warm. Bright. You make everything else feel cold in comparison.”

You’re too overwhelmed to answer, so you just grip his hand tighter.

He keeps going, slower this time, letting the French slip between moments like silk. Mon cœur, ma vie, mon trésor. You repeat each one, faltering over syllables, but he doesn’t laugh. He hums his approval, like you’re reciting poetry written just for him

“You’re dangerous when you talk like that,” you whisper.

He grins. “Good. I have plans to be much worse.”

The next morning, he appears in the doorway with a coffee in one hand and a suit in the other.

“You busy tonight?”

You arch an eyebrow. “Do I need to be dressed for combat?”

He laughs, sets the coffee down, and walks over to cup your jaw. “Only if looking this good is a weapon.”

“What’s happening tonight?”

“A gala,” he says casually, but you catch the flicker of intent behind his eyes. “You don’t have to go if you’re not comfortable. But I’d like to take you. Let them see.”

“See what?”

“That I’m not hiding you. That I’m the luckiest man in the room.”

Your heart jumps, and for a moment, you consider saying no. Too public. Too risky. Too many eyes that have doubted, whispered, questioned. But then you remember the way he held you last night—like you were sacred. And suddenly, letting the world see doesn’t feel like exposure. It feels like a victory.

You walk into the gala with his hand at the small of your back and his attention pinned to you like you're the only thing worth noticing. The room hushes in that artificial, well-dressed kind of way, but you don’t shrink. You stand taller.

And when someone has the audacity to smirk and murmur, “Didn’t expect him to bring anyone,” he answers without hesitation.

“She’s mine,” he says. Soft but absolute. “Speak carefully.”

You feel his thumb press a circle into your side. Reassuring. Possessive. Loving.

Later, he leans in close, lips brushing your ear. “You were made for me,” he says again. “And now they know it, too.”

———————

The car ride home is quiet, but not in an awkward way. It’s full of the kind of silence that hums with everything unsaid—how he kept your hand in his all night, how his gaze found you in every reflection, how the world shrank down to the space between your shoulders when he whispered, “You did perfect.”

At home, he doesn’t let go of you for a second. You step out of your shoes, and he’s already behind you, arms sliding around your waist as he presses his face into your hair. “Tired?”

“Exhausted,” you admit, but lean back into him anyway. “Happy.”

He guides you to the bed with slow hands, like you’re something fragile and he’s not ready to put you down. He helps you out of the dress, kisses the marks the fabric left on your skin, and hums when you shiver under his touch.

When you finally crawl into bed, he follows, wrapping around you like you’re something he needs to protect even in sleep. You rest your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“You looked breathtaking tonight,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. “I could feel everyone staring.”

“I was nervous,” you admit.

“I know. I saw your hand tremble before we walked in.” He lifts it now and kisses your fingers. “But you still held mine.”

You don’t respond—just nuzzle closer and let your fingers find the hem of his shirt.

He chuckles softly. “Want me to keep talking?”

“Always.”

So he does. Whispering French phrases against your temple, lulling you into sleep with a mix of warmth, praise, and soft promises. You don’t catch every word, but you know what they mean.

They mean you’re home

[camelliaflow3r]

Spidey

Spidermen!Leclerc brothers AU

Summary: The thing about being bitten by a radioactive spider can prevent you from ever getting drunk. I mean- it can, right?

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Bad english (sorry guys, I'm brasileira) and bad writing.

Word count: 1.9k words.

A/N: This is my first actual post here! I'm sorry if it's bad, or messy.. just hope you guys get the vision. That one was supposed to be in my drafts (like all the other ones, including the "part 2" for spidey) but I figured there's no reason not to post. Hope you like it!

The good thing about being a hero is the sweet taste of victory. Of course, you need to ignore all the lost lives, the fact your body is constantly aching and the (daily!) existential crisis. But tonight, they were not thinking about any of this. Tonight they were winners.

Since the universe entered a certain state of madness and some heroes started to have problems finding their way home (have we forgotten someone?), all the universes faced changes and challenges. And that's how now on Earth-1999991, a certain blonde God is guiding three excited brothers through his kingdom. The so loved Asgard.

"—Man, I told you, kid can't skip classes!" –Lorenzo protests weakly.

"—C'mon! I promised to show you Asgard and we just saved the world!-"

"—New York, actually, not the whole world-"

"—Same thing, Charles. What actually matters is to party tonight! We deserve it!" -Thor guides them through the castle, heading straight to the ongoing party. The doors open once the guards identify Thor, a simple nod making the heavy old thing open with a loud sound.

The brothers were not waiting for such a huge party though. Even from the door they could see lots of heroes and civilians dancing like there was no tomorrow, drinks flowing around as well as easy smiles and loud laughs. Arthur’s eyes widened in wonder. That was surprisingly better than any of the college parties he’s been to. Charles dropped the “I can’t party on weekdays ‘cause I have work tomorrow” act and immediately went to seek something to drink and Lorenzo just shrugged. They could use a distraction from the routine anyway.

It didn't take long for Charles and Lorenzo to sit by the bar, Lorenzo sipping on a beer and Charles sipping on the fruitiest cocktail known to man. Their relation with drinking is kinda funny if you think about it.

Lorenzo was a little bit older when he got bitten by the radioactive spider. It happened on a field trip and he really tried to hide the aftermath from his family. Sharing a room with his brothers didn't help tho, and that's how the three of them started sharing the secret. The thing is, he had enough time to have a teenager life. To drink, get drunk and to start to like beer (I mean- their mom dont need to know this, okay?).

Years after that, Charles (now older and way more conscious about the fact his older brother is freaking SPIDERMAN), got so curious and worried about Lorenzo that he thought it was a great idea to just work at Oscorp for a while. That way he could find a way to study and understand what was going on with his brother plus make some money out of it. We all know the idiot got bitten too, right? Congrats, I guess. And he was young too. And a tad more innocent. As they couldn't get drunk because of the freaking venom on their veins, Charles almost spitted every drop of alcohol he tried ever since. Why would he go through the torture of pretending to like that taste if that wont even get him giddy and flushy and fucking drunk? So yeah, just fruity sweet cocktails for him.

As for Arthur, well.. It took them like a year or two for Arthur to get bitten too. Being the nerd he is, of course he thought that going on an amazing adventure/field trip at Oscorp would be a lovely idea. He would get to see Charles working there (not as an intern anymore!) and spend the day learning more about interesting things. Let's not talk about the fact that he followed Lorenzo's steps without even realising. Lets also avoid the fact that he consciously chose to enter a room full of radioactive spiders. Like by choice. Not his brightest moment. At least, as Arthur tried to convince his older brothers, they wouldn't get the experience of dragging him out of a party while he’s drunk. Like.. He can't even do that anymore.

Was Arthur the kind of guy who goes to crazy parties and lives his teenage years at its maximum? No. But Lorenzo chose to be quiet about it. Not Charles though, who reminded Arthur of an even funniest situation they had to go through. Something about a blondie guy stuck on the ceiling or something. But that's a story for another time.

The point is Arthur never got interested in alcohol. He was always too aware of the fact he can't get drunk and that (according to Charles) the shitty drink doesn't even taste good. So there he is, sitting on a couch close to the dancing floor, way too interested in his coca cola to move and still too entranced by the vision of the dance floor and the crazy people there to go back to sitting with his brothers. His focus only switched from the party going on when Loki number ?? sat next to him. To be fair, apparently we have more of them than we can count now and the Leclerc guys only agreed on who was Loki 1, 2 and 3. The point is, the Goddess looked at him with a mischievous smile.

“ —Not much of a drinker, spidey? Or do you just rather sip on your apple juice?”

“ —Hi to you too, trouble” -Arthur rolled his eyes, unable to stop the smile forming on his lips. “ —I’m not much of a drinker. Not like I enjoy the taste or can get drunk anyway.”

“ —But this is a crime! I mean, unless you really have a bad story with alcohol or something. In this case I support you, man” -He nodded in denial with a laugh, confirming that he, in fact, is not a recovering alcoholic or someone with an unknown dark past. “ —In this case it is a crime. How can you live without the intense shame of knowing how you act when you're drunk? It brings up character, really.”

“ —Sorry that I cannot satisfy your sadistic side with my drunk stories.” -Arthur answers with a laugh, kinda interested to see where this conversation will take him.

“ —First of all, let’s not bring up my sadistic side yet, alright?” -Her malicious words and the wink she sended his way made Arthur flush a little. “ —You know, us Gods also can't get drunk. At least not like humans. Something about the amazing power, about being perfect, pretty, amazing.. Something like that” -The jokingly exhibitional tone doesnt go unnoticed by him.

“ —Oh no but that's terrible! How can we live without the stories of the Loki number interrogation point?”

“ —Shut up and listen, dummy. Ever heard of the ambrosia of the Gods?”

At the same time, Charles and Lorenzo interrupt the important conversation they were having (why does Charles almost faint every time he sees the Deadpool guy? His name’s Max isn't it?) to look for their younger brother.

“ —Have you seen him since we got here?’ - Lorenzo looks around.

“ —Not really. But he's a big guy. He can take care of himself.”

“ —Yeah Charles, I know. But we are the ones in danger here if mom ever thinks about the possibility of us getting home and forgetting child number three here.”

“ —Fair enough.”

Charles had barely completed the last sentence when he sees Lorenzo squinting in the direction of the dance floor where a very excited guy is dancing on a table while a feminine figure laughs hysterically. Charles laughs and murmurs something that sounds like “For fuck’s sake”. That is until Lorenzo looks at him with widened eyes. Oh no. Guess he found Arthur.

“ — WHAT THE FU-”

Bonus Scene:

Some years ago..

Charles hates when Arthur doesn't answer his phone. Especially after he moved out and Arthur kept on living with their mom, it is annoying to be ignored especially on days like this, where he just needed to know if his old notebooks were there. In need of the formulas he created to make his webs (They still don't understand how Lorenzo can produce them naturally and Charles definitely can’t), he had no option but to go to his mother’s apartment and wait for the best.

After getting there and entering the place with his old key, Charles can hear a thud coming from the bedrooms. He stops in his tracks, trying to identify the sound with his spider sense going crazy. Is it an intruder? Who’s there?

When he hears another thud, this time the sound is followed but a sound that suspiciously sounds like a groan. His face crunches in disgust. Ew, What the fuck? Is Arthur..?

…

After snapping so many pictures that his eyes are burning, Lorenzo was hoping for some time to relax and maybe doze off on his desk while his boss doesn't come back. But when you’re a Spiderman (And a Leclerc) you need to be always ready when plans change. And to be fair, being a photographer for the Daily Bugle does have some qualities, a fact proven by the fact Lorenzo was able to leave his workplace for an hour, in order to run to his mother’s house. Charles was very convincing about an emergency needing his presence and a tiny part of Lorenzo is hoping for this to be worth it after all the suffering to run there.

When he arrives, Charles is serving himself some chocolate milk with the seriosity of an old man. He is about to ask Charles what's the emergency when he also hears the thud. Then the groan. His face goes through all the stages of grief before he whisper-shouts.

“ —Did you call me here to let me know our younger brother is having sex? That’s just sick, you asshole”

Charles just sighs

“ —Trust me, you wish it was that simple”

Moved by curiosity, Lorenzo follows Charles as he walks through the house and leans against the wall staring at their old bedroom, taking a sip of his chocolate milk and then nodding his head towards the open door.

What Lorenzo sees is, against all the probability, more than unexpected. For a man who has seen almost everything, he's surprised to be surprised.

Arthur is just.. Sitting on a corner. Nothing new under the sun, really. I mean, that would be if he wasn't sitting on a corner of the ceiling.

He’s clearly struggling, his hand stuck on the ceiling like someone glued it with super glue or something. Arthur is pulling his own hand, trying to get impulse with his feet, groaning as he uses all the possible strength to rip his hand off the ceiling. When he finally sees both his hands free, he celebrates.

Until he looks down to his feet planted where his hand just were.

Lorenzo and Charles try really hard to hold their laughs, especially when they remember that phase of their powers. They remember what it feels like to jump higher than you should, break things with your newfound strength or well.. Stick everywhere. Of course they're worried as hell abouts their brother's future. But for the moment, they have an opportunity to call Arthur an idiot. And of course they will take it.

“ —Need a hand?”

Arthur jumps when he listens to Lorenzo's voice, turning around and crossing his arms in a pose that looks almost nonchalant. Or at least it would if he wasn't upside down.

“ —Uh.. Hi guys!” - Arthur smiles with forced animation. “ —You have no idea what happened on my field trip!”

“ —You know what, genius? I think we can guess.”

[camelliaflow3r]

I'm speechless 🥹🥹

Hello! Sorry to bother you

I just saw that your requests are open and I would like to ask you to (maybe and if you can) write about an idea I had.

I was thinking about Arthur Leclerc with a Plus size!reader. Maybe she's insecure about being so different from his exes, starting on things like her body and ending on the fact she doesn't speak his language yet. Maybe she gets too shy about telling him about her feelings and starts to distance herself and stop being as touchy as she usually is (maybe to fit what we believe to be the "European coldness") and he notices that something's wrong.

If you're okay with that, maybe we could get some smut, please?

Sorry for the bad English and for the terribly long ask 🤡

Not Like Them

A/N: Hello! Please, never apologise for asking, requesting, or any language barrier. This was perfect, and I understood your English; it is terrific. The longer the ask, the easier it is for me to write something you will like! I 've never heard of European Coldness (I'm Australian, fun fact), so I had to give it a google and I thought it was a really funny concept. Thank you so much for the ask, I hope I get to hear from you again! Enjoy and, as always, my inbox is open :)

It started small.

You didn’t even realize you were doing it — the way you’d pull your shirt down a little more when his hands wandered too low. Or how you started sitting at the far end of the couch instead of curling into his side like you used to. You kissed him less often. Smiled more quietly. Touched him like you were afraid of overstaying your welcome.

At first, you told yourself it was nothing. You were just tired. Just preoccupied. But the truth settled somewhere in your chest like a stone:

You didn’t feel like you belonged beside him.

Arthur was effortless. Golden. Lithe and lean with those soft eyes and stupidly sharp cheekbones. His exes looked like models — tall, slim, that natural sort of “French-girl cool” that didn’t seem to require effort. They wore crop tops and didn’t apologize for taking up space. They ordered wine without blushing, threw their heads back when they laughed, and could lean in close to his ear to whisper something in rapid French and make it sound like poetry.

You were not that girl.

And lately, it was hard not to notice.

The way fans commented on your photos — even the polite ones, the backhanded compliments. The way they said things like “Arthur seems sweet, love that he’s giving average girls a chance” or “she seems kind.” Kind. Like you were some rescued stray dog, grateful just to be fed.

You didn’t say anything, not at first. What were you supposed to do — tell Arthur that his touch didn’t feel safe anymore because your own mind had turned against your body?

So you smiled. Dressed more modestly. Pulled away when he reached for your hips. Laughed off the moments when he asked if something was wrong.

And that was the worst part — he noticed.

He noticed every time.

One night, it all broke.

You were at his Monaco apartment, legs curled under you on the couch. Arthur had just gotten back from a long sim session, hair still damp from a shower. He came to sit beside you, smelling like soap and warmth, eyes sleepy and soft.

He leaned in to kiss you, a lazy peck on your jaw — but you shifted, subtly, just enough that it landed on your cheek.

He paused.

“…Mon cœur?”

You smiled, small. “Hmm?”

“I kissed your cheek.”

“I know,” you said lightly. “It’s okay.”

He didn’t answer. Just sat there for a moment, studying your profile.

“You don’t let me touch you anymore.”

Your breath hitched.

“I do,” you said too quickly. “I’m just— I don’t know. Tired. That’s all.”

He turned toward you fully now, brows furrowed, voice softer. “No. That’s not it.”

You looked down at your hands. The silence stretched, fragile and loud.

Arthur’s voice broke it. “Is it me?”

You shook your head, suddenly overwhelmed. “No. God, no, Arthur, it’s not you.”

He reached out and touched your wrist, just lightly — like he was afraid you might flinch. “Then what is it?”

You couldn’t hold it anymore. The words rushed out, breathless and raw. “I just… I don’t look like the girls you’ve dated. I don’t fit here. Not with you, not in this place, not in these photos. I’m not sleek and French and perfect. I don’t even speak your language.”

Arthur’s expression crumpled, like someone had cracked something inside his chest.

“Mon ange…”

“I’m not saying it because I want you to fix it,” you said quickly. “I just— I’ve been feeling it, and it’s been building, and I don’t know how to be the version of me that fits next to you. So I’ve been pulling back. Because if I become quieter, smaller, maybe I’ll ruin things less.”

He was quiet for a beat.

And then his voice came low, hoarse with emotion.

“You think I want you to be smaller?”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going.

“You think I want less of you?” His hand moved to cup your face, thumb brushing just under your eye. “I fell in love with all of you. The loud laughs. The thighs that knock into mine under the table. The hips I can hold when you’re on top of me. The soft, real parts of you. The strong, wild parts.”

“Arthur—”

“I don’t care what you weigh. Or what you wear. Or what language you speak. You are my home.”

You blinked hard.

“I know it’s hard,” he said gently. “I know how loud those voices get in your head. But let me be louder. Please.”

His forehead pressed to yours.

“I love you. Every inch. Every word. Every silence.”

You exhaled a shaky breath. Your hands wrapped around his wrists, grounding yourself. And then — finally — you kissed him. Really kissed him.

And he kissed you back like it had been days. Weeks. Like he’d been starving for it.

By the time he carried you to the bedroom, his hands never left your skin. Not once did he rush you. He pulled your shirt off gently, eyes trailing over your stomach, your chest, like he was memorizing every dip and curve.

“Regarde comme tu es belle…” he murmured, voice thick.

You flushed. “I don’t know what that means.”

He kissed your shoulder. “It means you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t strip you fast. He undressed you like unwrapping a gift — slow, reverent, pressing kisses to every spot that made you want to hide.

“You don’t have to hold your stomach in,” he whispered at one point, hands on your waist. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.”

You nodded, tears stinging — not from pain, but from the unbearable tenderness of it.

When he finally pushed into you, he moved slowly, filling you like he was coming home. No fast, rough pounding. Just rolling hips and soft praise and warm hands splayed over your body, anchoring you to the bed, the room, to him.

“You feel perfect,” he murmured against your neck. “Like you were made for me.”

You cried when you came — not from shame but from release, from the love pouring into you with every thrust, every breathless mon amour he whispered against your skin.

When it was over, he didn’t roll away. He stayed there, holding you, one hand splayed over your stomach like a promise.

“You’re not like anyone I’ve ever dated,” he said into your hair.

You tensed slightly — but he kissed your temple and added, “You’re so much better.”

Would you like a follow-up scene where he teaches you some French pet names in bed or insists on taking you to a public event just to show you off and shut everyone up?

[camelliaflow3r]

Oh god I have died and gone to heaven because there is no way Arthur looks THAT GOOD on a random fucking weekday.

📹: leclercsupportsystemm

[camelliaflow3r]

Love thisss

I’m baaaack with another request 🩵🙏🏾

Arthur gets a female race engineer who is great at all the technical info, she knows her stuff and is very good at her job. But also she starts flirting with him on the radio, never at points where it could seriously affect his race but often enough that people start to notice. He doesn’t react or respond to it and everyone thinks it’s because he’s not interested but really it’s because he is trying not to blush under his helmet and his brain is suddenly void of any witty responses (& on certain occasions, he may be focusing on not getting hard in his race suit…). At some point she is pulled up by the higher ups and told to stop flirting with their driver and since she is getting zero response from Arthur she stops because the last thing she wants to do is make him uncomfortable. And he misses it. More than he should.

Maybe he sees her flirting with someone else, I don’t know?

So he somehow has to muster up the courage to tell her that he would really like it if she would start flirting with him again and yeah I don’t know how it would end but I’m sure you can come up with something. Thank youuuuuu!!

Shy

A/N: Ahhhh thank you for another requests, I had a little laugh when I thought about how this could go. I based off of Prema, so we could get as much driving as possible. Enjoy!

Requests are open.

Arthur’s current race engineer had been asked to join Ferrari in Formula 1, which meant that needed a new engineer. He was expecting to meet some guy in his late 20’s/early 30’s.

He was sitting in a meeting room, waiting. The team principle and walked in with a girl, on the younger side. She might have been early to mid 20’s, and she was pretty. Arthur’s breathing became nervous and shallow.

He thought she must be related to the team principle, only for the principle to say “Arthur, this is Y/N. She is your new race engineer”

Arthur had to fight the urge to let his jaw drop.

You?

His new engineer?

He was dreaming.

“Earth to Arthur?”

He snapped back to reality, seeing the concerned look on your face.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N” he stood to shake your hand. You leaned over and shook it, “I think we’re going to have a great year Arthur” you said with all the confidence you could muster.

He was cute, like painfully so. His fluffy hair, chiseled cheeks, and sharp jaw were stunning. He looked like he radiated warmth and comfort.

You both agreed on a day to start testing and bid each other goodbye.

You arrived at the track earlier than you needed to. You spent your time familiarising yourself with the garage and the new technology around you. Little did you know, Arthur also likes to show up early and take a walk around the track to center himself and prepare for the day.

Your music was blasting through your earbuds as you took it all in. A tap on your shoulder made you jump through the roof.

You turned to find an amused Arthur, asking you were ok and why you were at the garage so early.

After talking together for an hour, the rest of the team showed up and got everything prepared for the day.

"Radio check. Permission to flirt over airways?" you call once he's out and ready.. You heard Arthur give a small chuckle "Radio check, loud and clear" he responded, ignoring your flirt.

He continued to race around the track you watched his tires and asked "Tire deg check — still holding steady, or starting to feel the heat like I am?"

"Tires are good" he responds curtly, making you chuckle.

That is how every practice, quali, and race goes. You flirt, he responds in silence. Outside of the car, the relationship dynamic was smooth. You throw a flirty line his way and he was respond with a cheeky quip, but it changed when he was in the car.

You didn't know why

He did.

When he is racing around the track at 250km an hour, his heart is beating faster every time you flirt with him. He blushes, and all train of thought goes out the window. Heaven forbid he also has to stop himself from getting hard in his race suit, because it would definitely be noticeable when he got out of the car.

You made it halfway through the season when, just before FP1, the higher up's requested your presence. You quickly ducked into the makeshift office to meet them.

"We see that you have been flirting with Arthur over the radio. He doesn't acknowledge that you do. We think you need to stop, it is clear that his silence is evidence of discomfort"

Your heart sinks in your chest. If you knew he was uncomfortable, you wouldn't have done it. He seemed to enjoy that attention outside the car. You thanked the bosses and headed back to the garage. You put on your headset just as Arthur goes out.

"Radio check" you state

"Copy, loud and clear" he replies

"Copy that" you finish off.

You turn to speak to an engineer when you hear Arthur's voice come through the radio "Are you ok?"

"I'm good. Are you ok?"

"I think I'm losing my hearing" he jokes "I didn't hear a cheeky comment in the radio check

You chuckle to yourself, then reply "There wasn't one, I was asked to stop because it makes you uncomfortable."

Athur is silent for a moment, then says "We'll talk after this"

You continue to watch him race around the track for another hour before telling him to retire the car and get ready to head home. He caught you just as you were leaving the garage, "We need to talk."

He pulls you to a quiet spot outside.

"I like the flirty jokes. I like them every time. When I'm not in the car, I have less to think about, so I can respond well. When I'm in the car, I feel flustered and I'm thinking about so many other things, I can't come up with anything" he explains.

You nod, thanking him for explaining, and idea forming in your head. "Arthur, would you be able to drop me home today please?"

He nods, "Sure"

Arthur pulled up to the sidewalk in front of your place, and you just sat there and said, "What would you do if I said I didn't want to get out of the car yet?"

Arthur turned to look at you, his hand still on the steering wheel, knuckles white. His eyes searched yours, hesitant, almost afraid to misread the moment.

“I’d say…” he began slowly, voice lower than usual, “that I was hoping you’d say that.”

You smiled, nerves bubbling up in your stomach. “So, you’re not going to report me to the FIA for emotional interference on track?”

He chuckled, finally letting his shoulders relax. “You’re more of a performance enhancer, actually. Bit unfair to the other drivers.”

There was a pause. Not awkward—charged.

Your eyes flicked down to his lips, and you knew he saw. You could feel the tension shift, crackling like electricity in the quiet car.

“I’m serious though,” you said, voice softer now. “I like this… whatever this is. I wasn’t just messing around.”

Arthur gave you that little side smile, the one that made his eyes crinkle and your heart skip. “I know. I wasn’t just ignoring you. I was trying not to crash… and maybe trying not to make a complete fool of myself.”

“You wouldn’t,” you murmured.

He leaned in just a little. “But I might right now,” he whispered.

You didn’t stop him.

And he kissed you—soft, tentative, and completely worth the wait.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he grinned. “Radio check… Permission to kiss you again?”

You smiled. “Loud and clear.”

[camelliaflow3r]

osc with a shorter chubby girl 🤭🤭

sorry it took so long, i hope this was worth the wait <3

love looks pretty on you

feat. oscar piastri

lyrics shopping in suzuka with your boyfriend sounds like fun... until it's not

maddie my #1 fic!!! please be kind and don't forget to comment, like, and reblog 🫶 (requests are still OPEN btw)

1225 words

You loved shopping.

Yes, you were a simple girl, but so what? Your boyfriend loved it too, unlike most of the men you’d ever met, and that was what made it so special in your eyes.

It was also the reason he’d been following you around without complaining for the past two hours as you wandered aimlessly from store to store, exasperation slowly taking over your initial excitement.

When Oscar suggested going for a walk in Suzuka earlier that morning, you thought you’d have the time of your life dragging him into every single mall you’d come across, making him your personal chaperone and loading him with more bags than it was humanly possible to carry.

Turns out, that wasn’t such a great idea.

You were used to clothes not fitting your body shape, the way they clung uncomfortably to the soft rolls of your stomach, or how they squeezed your figure into something it wasn’t, but nothing could’ve prepared you for what you found that day on your little trip.

Either you were looking in the wrong places, or Japanese women were all built like Gigi Hadid—tall and slender, two things you objectively weren’t.

That’s how you found yourself storming into yet another changing room, a dress you hadn’t even looked at properly before snatching it from the first hanger at hand crumpled in your fist, without sparing a second glance to the poor guy who was so patiently bearing with you.

You threw the material over your head out of pure spite, frustrated tears forming in the corners of your eyes once you glanced at yourself in the mirror, the same sight you’d already caught too many times for your liking staring right back at you: another pretty outfit you ended up ruining.

Again.

And you were officially sick and tired of it.

Swallowing back the burning feeling of disappointment that made your vision blur, you tried to steady your breath—a choked sob coming out instead.

Which, unfortunately, Oscar heard loud and clear.

“Babe?” The sound of his voice, sweet and concerned, only added guilt to the humiliation already weighing on your chest. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

You were too quick to answer, too short, and the boy probably noticed it too because he let out a heavy sigh, more eloquent than a thousand words.

There was a beat of silence. Then, “Can I come in?” he asked, carefully, almost as if he was afraid to scare you away.

The lump in your throat made it hard to talk, so you just nodded. You were well aware he couldn’t see you, of course, but the rustling on the other side of the curtain told you he somehow still managed to understand. He always did.

You didn’t dare to meet his gaze when you finally felt him stepping inside the fitting room. You didn’t even look up from your own feet, actually, the embarrassment of being seen by your boyfriend in such a state making you wish the floor would just open up and swallow you whole.

“Wow.”

You froze. That was definitely the last thing you expected to hear.

Reluctantly, since you would’ve rather done anything else than that, you forced yourself to glance at him through your wet lashes, and…

He was just standing there, mouth slightly open, his gaze sliding over your frame as if he wanted to drink in every inch of you.

As if he really liked what he saw.

You wanted to trust the look in his eyes—god, you did—but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it when the only thing yours saw were flaws. And why would anyone love those?

“Don’t,” you whispered, crossing your arms on your chest like some sort of shield.

Oscar blinked. “Don’t what?”

“Try to make me feel better. You don’t have to do that just because you’re my boyfriend.” You flashed him a sad, little smile. “I know how it looks.”

“How–”

“I just… I don’t know. This was stupid. I wanted you to have fun, not babysit me all evening. I’m sorry, I–”

“Hey.” His tone was firm when he spoke, yet still laced with the usual tenderness that managed to melt you every time. “Don’t apologize. I had plenty of fun. Still would’ve even if I had to babysit you all day, honestly. And I meant it.”

“What?”

“You know what,” he beamed, his voice dropping to a whisper as he closed the distance between the two of you. “You look beautiful.”

You scoffed, although the hint of a smile—a real one this time—played on your lips. “You’re just saying that so I don’t throw another tantrum.”

“I’m saying that because it’s true,” he retorted softly. “Now let’s get out of here so I can buy you this dress.”

The words came out of your mouth before you could stop them. “Absolutely not.”

Oscar’s eyebrows shot up, but you didn’t give him the chance to reply, leaving him looking like a surprised cat.

“Listen, it’s really sweet of you, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s not like I’d ever wear it again anyway, so–”

“Why?” He studied your face, genuine confusion written all over his. It was clear that your reaction made no sense to him.

“It doesn’t look good on me, okay?” Your voice quivered lightly as you sank your teeth into your bottom lip to prevent it from doing the same. “I mean, look at me.”

“Yeah, look at you.”

It stung. Not what he said, but the way he said it: pleading, pained even, as if the fact that you still couldn’t see yourself the way he did, that you didn’t even believe him anymore, physically hurt.

Then, without a warning, he gently turned you toward the mirror, his fingers tucking a few strands of hair behind your ears before they skimmed lower, down your arms, tracing the outline of your belly, snaking around your waist as he rested his chin on top of your head.

“Look at you,” he repeated, planting a lingering kiss between your hair.

This time, you did.

And you didn’t notice the roundness of your stomach—just how comfortable Oscar seemed while holding you. Nor did it bother you how short you were because you fit perfectly against him, like two pieces of a puzzle.

This time, you were looking at yourself through his eyes , and you finally liked the view.

The thought brought a shy smile to your face, which was immediately returned by your boyfriend as soon as he caught sight of it.

“There she is,” he grinned, bending down to give you a quick peck on the cheek that made you giggle. “You’re so pretty when you’re happy. It suits you.”

You rolled your eyes at the cheesy line (mostly to hide the unshed tears in them, but Oscar didn’t need to know that).

“So… we’re actually buying it?”

Not that you were having second thoughts, of course—maybe. No, definitely, not. You just wanted to make sure.

“Mhm,” he nodded. “But if you really hate it that much…”

He paused, and the corner of his mouth quirked up at whatever twisted idea had just crossed his mind.

“… I could always help you take it off later.”

Yep. You were definitely buying that dress.

© 2025 l4ndoflove. all rights reserved.

[camelliaflow3r]

OMG TROY BOLTON GIRLY AESTHETIC? I'M HOME, BITCHES

She is a Percy Jackson girlie ! <3

do the same with with your lovers

-> @minorlyatfault @jjsblueberry @dntaed @houseofstarlight

[camelliaflow3r]

heyy!! could you maybe do something with bsf!oscar x reader where he gets hard because of reader in an unfortunate situation and she tries to help him out through his jeans like a lil dry humping situation. i don’t really know how to explain and don’t have a real plot idea but im so down bad for him😔🙏🏼

I’m crying why are all my anons freaky😭

anyways he’s not exactly in jeans but wtv, warnings as stated above: smut (I’m not responsible for the content you consume), dry humping

All you did was brush by him in the garage. The smallest of touches. But it was your ass brushing against his dick.

And then he had to rush off to his driver’s room, embarrassed because it got him so hard and then he was showing through his suit. He couldn’t let anyone know.

But of course, because you were you, you’d followed him to make sure he was okay. You didn’t knock. You just walked right in.

He was sat on the small sofa, legs spread and his head thrown back, his hands in fists beside him. He hadn’t noticed you quick enough, hadn’t thrown his shirt over his lap quick enough, and you saw it. The tent in his overalls.

“That looks painful.” You quipped, amused and slightly teasing.

Horror was the kind of response he expected, so his brain stuttered when you stepped into the room and shut the door. “Uh, yeah.” He confessed, finding it difficult to look you in the eyes.

“I don’t think it’ll be fun driving like that.” You joked again.

You were easing the tension, he appreciated that but he would’ve also appreciated it if you’d never seen him like this in the first place.

“Yeah, probably.” He muttered, still embarrassed.

You didn’t miss a beat. “I can help you with that.” You offered, grinning, sultry steps approaching him.

He nodded before his brain even registered the question.

He was expecting you to undress him a bit, not for you to sit on his lap and start grinding your hips on him. Nonetheless, he was still letting out small moans each time you ground extra hard against him.

His hands shot to your hips—yours on his shoulders to support yourself. And he couldn’t help himself, gripping you tightly and controlling the movement of your hips. Fast, pulling you down as hard as he could against him.

Surely, if anyone were to walk by, they’d hear the groans and moans echoing around the room. Or maybe the sounds of the engines firing up would save you guys. Your attempts at muting your sounds were futile.

It was too much for him, felt too good to keep his sounds in. Whispers of your name fell off his lips like it was the only syllables he knew how to string together.

He got needier, thrusting his hips to meet yours. A loud shout of his name was punched from your lungs.

“Hmm! Oh, Oscar,” You moaned into his mouth, biting his lip as you came in your panties.

He wasn’t far behind, calling you all sorts of pet names—baby, love, honey—while he shot his release in his racing suit.

You slumped against him, dead weight as he held you to keep you from falling over. “Was that because of me?” Your laugh was breathless.

He could’ve lied. But he didn’t. “Yeah,” he admitted in his rough voice, burying his head in the curve of your neck.

[camelliaflow3r]

Charles: Max! Come here, quick!

Max: *sighs* What now? Did you lose your phone again?

Charles: No! Just come-it’s important!

*Max walks in, clearly already over it.*

Charles: Hold Donut up next to your face. I need to check something.

Max: *confused* …What?

Charles: Just do it!

*Max holds Donut up. Both he and the cat stare at Charles with identical deadpan expressions.*

Charles: *gasps* Oh my god. You did give birth to him. The resemblance is uncanny!

Max: Fantastic. I’ve given birth to a judgmental furball. My legacy lives on.

Donut: meows like he’s about to file an HR complaint

Charles: Honestly? It’s like watching two clones judge me. Terrifying

[camelliaflow3r]

The Leclerc brothers

Do you ever think about Arthur Leclerc? The forgotten brother? Always the second choice behind Charles, the preferred son. Il predestinato. Ferrari’s chosen one. Arthur, who grew up in the same house, marred by the same sorrows as his brother. Shaped by the same dream, drowned in the color red since childhood. Do you ever think about how Charles’ story is told? How he triumphed in the face of grief, standing on the podium the week after his father passed. How he and Jules dreamt of going to Ferrari. How, when Jules passed on, he also passed the torch. How when Charles made to Ferrari, it was destiny fulfilled, mission accomplished, job done. But, in the shadows the other brother watched. Forced to give up his dream so that his brother could keep racing. Forced to watch as Charles went up through the ranks. Forced to live through the same losses, but never getting the same success. A tragic back story, with no happy ending. Always haunted by the knowledge that he had to give up his own career, and despite this, he kept trying. Getting close, but never close enough. Finally getting to drive the Ferrari, with his brother, seeing what might have been. But knowing. Knowing that when the hour is up, he has to once again give up his seat, and watch, from the shadows, as his brother shines in the red, the red that haunted him all his life, now taunting him with what could have been.

[camelliaflow3r]

Okay I have no words 😭😭 this is so perfect, omg

at your altar, i will pray

Singla Father!Arthur Leclerc x Deity!Female!Reader

Summary: Centuries after the old gods have long fallen out of modern worship, a little girl stumbles upon a well and prays to a mythical goddess for comfort.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of very light childhood bullying, mentions of child abandonment by arthur's baby mama, arthur has no idea what to do when faced with a goddess and decides to be stupid about it but he grows a brain eventually

Word Count: 4.3k words (oops)

Estimated Reading Time: 17 minutes

A/N: okay so I've been wanting to write this one for ages!! For those of you who don't know, I'm a Hellenic Polytheist (so I worship the old Greek gods) and I based my goddess version of (Y/n) off a mix of Persephone, Demeter, and (the first goddess I worshipped) Aphrodite! Hope you guys like this one <3

Masterlists | Formula One RI Masterlist | Taglist

Her temple had been empty for quite a while. It was practically in ruins. The old gods were all but forgotten these days, only mentioned every now and then in legends and myths, words tainted with scepticism. 

She stared at the well, the source of her power. Once majestic and radiant, it was now all but crumbling, covered in moss, the water contaminated with algae. The last offering it received had been decades ago, a young couple who had prayed to the universe for their love to last. They’d called it a ‘wishing well’, and the prayer was a joke more than anything. It hadn’t even been directed at her. But the coin they threw in was an offering nonetheless. For a moment, she felt some energy return to her. She’d blessed that couple and their offspring, but they hadn’t returned since.

It was hard to keep track of time, nowadays. It always is, for immortal beings, but it seemed to have only gotten worse. She could feel herself start to fade. After all, worship is a two-way street: what use is a deity if no one believes in them?

She stared at the little family of rabbits that had taken residence in her temple. What once were two majestic pillars had collapsed and created a little burrow, perfect for them to settle in and keep safe from the elements. She waved her hand, growing some dandelions for them to feed on. The kits were still young, barely a month old; it would be best for the mother not to have to stray far to have food. Even that small action felt exhausting to her. Once upon a time, she could turn acres of barren land into flowering fields without breaking a sweat. Now, a single patch of flowers made her eyes flutter in exhaustion.

She took a deep breath, trying to connect to the forest around her. It was getting harder and harder, but she refused to let it go. This forest was her home, it was the seat of her power; it was her duty and privilege to keep it safe.

A child’s soft cries made their way to her, carried by the wind. She could feel their life force, getting closer and closer, travelling through the trees. Her heart clenched in her chest. A child’s pain never lost its impact.

She hurried behind one of the few pillars left standing, casting a quick glamour on herself so she wouldn’t be seen. The world went dark for a little bit as the effort needed for the spell made her faint, but she blinked through it when she heard footsteps stop.

There was a little girl leaning on her well. Her hair was hastily pulled back into two blonde ponytails, although the left one was so low it might as well be a pigtail instead. Her face was red from the tears, and her pink dress was stained with mud. Upon closer inspection, there was also a stick in her hair. And some leaves. Was that a hazelnut shell?

The child looked around the bricks making up the well, brushing some of the dirt and moss off them, until she found the one she was looking for.

A young couple had carved their initials on that stone. The last ones to come into her temple. The last ones to make an offering to her.

She had spent hours staring at the crudely carved P + H surrounded by an uneven heart, tracing the lines with her fingers, wondering what had happened to the young couple she had blessed. Now, forty years later, a little blond girl was mirroring her very actions.

“Mamie told me about this well. She said that when she and Papie were young, they made a wish to stay together for the rest of their lives, and to have children and be very happy.”

Oh. This was their granddaughter. She could see the resemblance if she squinted. In the upturn of her mouth, the sweetness of her voice.

“It worked for them. Papie said it was a… a conci- a coinence- um-”

Coincidence, she whispered.

“A coincidence. But Mamie did some research. She found out that a long long time ago, this was a temple. It was built for a… um, a pagan goddess. I don’t know what pagan means… But she told me the stories. Her name was (Y/n). She was the goddess of love, beauty, spring and, um… there was another one. I can’t remember now. But Mamie always said that Lady (Y/n) kept us safe.”

She sighed, hearing those words, her eyes filling with tears. That woman had remembered her. She believed. Even if she hadn’t returned since that night, she still believed. Enough that she’d passed it on to her granddaughter.

“I wanna believe that you’re real, Lady (Y/n). But it’s hard. Papie’s not here anymore. Papa says he’s in heaven. Mamie says it’s got nothing to do with you, cause even you can’t stop death. But… But you’re supposed to be the goddess of love, too. And if you could make Mamie and Papie love each other forever then… Why couldn’t you make my Mommy love me too?”

(Y/n) wanted to run to her. Pull her close. Tell her that, for all her abilities, she couldn’t actually create love, only nurture what was already there. She wanted to apologise, for what, she wasn’t sure.

“I started the big kid school today. CP. I was really excited, you know. Papa says it’s where I’ll learn to read, write, and do maths. I like learning. And I was excited to make friends. But… Everyone at school talks about their mommies. And I don’t have one. I don’t even know what she looks like. Whenever I think of mom… Well, most of the time, I just think of you. I think it’s because Mamie’s told me so many stories. I don’t know. It’s weird.”

The little girl got up, both hands on the edge of the well, and she looked down at the murky water.

“I wanna have a mommy too. I wish you could be my mommy, Lady (Y/n).”

She cried. A tear fell from her eye into the well’s water, and (Y/n) felt her powers surge. And another. And another. She felt dizzy with it, the sudden revival of her senses, and she remained sitting, trying to breathe through the waves and waves of euphoric power. Through the light spots dancing in front of her eyes, she could see the little girl lay down at the base of the well, rest her head on her arms, tears still falling onto the ground, adding to her powers.

When the little girl’s tears stopped and she finally fell asleep, it still took a good ten minutes for (Y/n)’s body to stop shaking. Her very being was buzzing with power, mind reeling from the most powerful offering she’d received in millennia.

She rid herself of the glamour, walking closer to the little girl. A few wisps of hair had fallen in front of her eyes and she gently pushed them away. The stone she was lying on had to be uncomfortable. And her temple was in dire need of some tender loving care. Time to get to work.

—

By the time the little girl started to stir, the place had been completely refurbished. The stone pillars had been put together and raised once again, walls rebuilt, and she’d even modernised it a bit by adding stained glass skylights on the roof, the colours reflecting on the interior. Her well stood at the centre of the temple, now gleaming and once again filled with clear water, though the carved initials of that sweet couple remained. The little family of bunnies has been given a nice nest, with more than enough food and water. Flowers filled the room and hung down from the roof, covering parts of the wall and floor, leaving a wonderful aroma of springtime. 

(Y/n) walked over to the newly built bed, feather soft, and sat on the edge, running her hands through the little girl’s hair to fully rouse her out of sleep.

Her eyes fluttered open, green as the forest around them, but with some flecks of gold adding depth. It took a few seconds for the situation to sink in, for her to realise that she was actually awake and not dreaming.

“Good morning, my love.”

Actually, it was more like evening. The sun had started to set a few minutes ago, the golden hour shining through the skylights.

“Where am I?”

She sat up on the bed, looking around the temple.

“Why, you’re home.”

For some reason, the girl seemed confused at that.

“I don’t understand.”

(Y/n) smiled at her, gently brushing her fingers through her blonde hair, mussed up from sleep.

“You came into my temple and prayed for me. Your tears were the strongest offering I’ve received since the old gods were the norm. How could I refuse such a sweet prayer from my daughter?”

The smile she got in return was blinding, and she giggled as the little girl practically tackled her in a hug.

“I knew it! I knew you were real! I knew you’d come for me if I asked.”

“Of course I did, my little daffodil. I will always come to you when you ask.”

—-—

Arthur couldn’t explain what he was feeling. Anguish, panic, desperation, anger, depression, helplessness. All at once. How could he have been so stupid? He harshly pushed away the branches of the overgrown forest no one ever went into, but it was his last chance.

“Papa, why don’t I have a mommy like my friends?”

He knew he should’ve kept his mouth shut. Told a little white lie. She was seven years old. He should’ve known she wouldn’t take the news well.

“Um, well… It’s complicated, mon coeur. Your mommy, she just… She wasn’t ready to be a mom. So we decided that it would be best if you just stayed with me. But you don’t need a mommy, cause I love you enough for the two of us, okay?”

In hindsight, his speech was… Well, it was shit. He’d been blindsided, and when combined with the sleep deprivation of a weekend of racing with not nearly enough sleep… It was bad. When his daughter said she needed a moment, he’d assumed she’d simply walked the twenty meters to her grandmother’s house, right next door. She’d done it often enough, gone to his mother when she needed time to process things, or someone to talk it through with that wasn’t him. It never crossed his mind that she’d go anywhere else, she knew she wasn’t meant to. She was a good kid. She’d never broken a rule before.

But, five hours later, they still hadn’t found her. Arthur called his mother after a short hour of napping, asking if he should make dinner or if his daughter wanted to stay over for the night. But Pascale hadn’t seen her all day.

The forest was his last resort.

“I told her stories of a goddess that lived in that forest, and the well your father and I wished upon when we were young. She always loved to hear stories about Lady (Y/n). Maybe she went looking for it.”

It was stupid.

It was all he had left.

He breathed through the panic clawing at his chest, walking aimlessly around, hoping against all hope that some higher power or whatever would lead him to his daughter.

Please, she’s all I have.

There was a rough-looking path in front of him. Leaves flattened on the ground, flowers lining the sides. The branches were still overgrown but this seemed like his best chance. So he followed it. He didn’t know what to expect. But he sure as hell knew it wasn’t a temple that looked like it had materialised in the middle of the forest.

The walls were a gleaming ivory colour, with columns decorating it. Ivy climbed the walls, but it didn’t look like it had been left to grow on an abandoned building; it looked like it belonged there, like the vegetation served to connect the temple to nature around it. The sun gleamed off the rooftop, and the heavy door was closed. He walked up to it, took a deep breath, and pushed it open.

“Melina!”

He ran to her, pulled her off the stool she was sitting on, and hugged her to his chest. 

“Thank fuck you’re okay.”

Finally, he could breathe again.

“Papa, you said a bad word. Also, you’re ruining my hair.”

He pulled away, actually looking at her for the first time in five hours. He took in the way her hair was expertly braided, a flower crown on her head and little flowers littering her braided hair. She almost seemed to glow golden, and her outfit–

“Princesse, what happened to the dress Aunt Charlotte got you?”

What she was wearing was decidedly not the flowery pink dress his sister-in-law had bought her. It was white, in a fabric so delicate he couldn’t remember ever touching anything so soft, and it reminded him of a Greek chiton. Draped over it was a pink fabric, delicately embroidered with gold accents. The sandals on her feet were also unfamiliar to him. She looked straight out of one of the epic movies about ancient Greece his father had liked to watch.

“That dress was ruined, I’m afraid. Her little trek through the woods left the fabric torn and stained. Not to worry, I dressed her in more appropriate clothing.”

He turned his head, finally acknowledging the other woman in the temple. Had he been in his right mind, he would’ve noticed the faintly glowing aura around her, the way she carried herself with the grace and elegance of a superior being, the beauty in her every feature.

He was not, however, in his right mind.

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing with my daughter?”

He saw her brows furrow, jaw clench, and eyes harden with barely concealed fury. For a moment, he could’ve sworn they shone red.

“I will forgive your insolence on account of your worry for Melina. But I ask that you refrain from treating me with such disrespect. This is my home, Arthur Leclerc.”

Had he been in his right mind, he would’ve apologised for his behaviour and rectified it immediately. 

As previously stated, however, he was not.

Truly, it was a miracle he was even alive.

“Melina, let’s go. We need to get back home and away from this woman.”

His daughter did not move, simply crossed her arms with a disappointed look in her eyes. The mystery woman’s eye twitched.

“Papa, you’re being a dummy.”

“She’s not going anywhere.”

The words were spoken at a low pitch, almost like a growl, and with such power, it felt like Arthur was being physically knocked back. Melina walked towards the woman, raising her arms. She didn’t even hesitate in lifting the little girl, setting her on her hip, kissing the side of her head.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the foggy feeling taking over his brain. 

“She’s my daughter.”

“And yet, she came to me. She prayed to me, made an offering upon my altar, and asked me to be her mother. I have claimed her, she’s mine now.”

He furrowed his brows, looking at her.

“Woman, what kind of mental instability do you have?”

His continued state of living was more than a miracle, actually. If there even is something above a miracle. 

Faster than he could blink, Melina was on the floor and pushed behind the mystery woman. Her hands glowed in front of her, eyes shining a violent red, and he felt vines rise from the floor and pull at his limbs, forcing him to his knees. A vine came around his throat, getting tighter and tighter, until he could no longer breathe.

“How dare you come into my temple and treat me with such disrespect, mortal? Do you know who I am? I am (Y/n), goddess of love, beauty, spring, and nurture. I give life, but that does not mean I cannot take it. Do not take my reticence to cause harm for an inability to do so. I should squash you like the bug you are for your insolence.”

“Maman, no!”

The vine around his throat untightened, and he took a desperate breath in, panting and coughing.

The woman– Lady (Y/n), he reminded himself –sighed, crouching in front of his daughter.

“I’m sorry, blossom, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Melina frowned.

“You can’t hurt Papa, Maman.”

She sighed, but nodded.

“Fine.”

The vines around his body retreated, and he felt his head go faint.

“You–”

Lady (Y/n) looked at him.

“Me?”

“You– Goddess? Real?”

She seemed disturbed by the fact he could not form proper sentences. Were he in his right mind, he would be too.

“I’m very much real, yes.”

“Oh, bordel.”

He vaguely felt the thud of his head hitting the ground, before it all went black.

—-—

(Y/n) looked at the man sprawled on the floor, unconscious, and raised her hands at her side.

“That wasn’t me, I didn’t do anything.”

Mother and daughter looked at the man with similar looks on their faces.

“Maybe we should get him to a bed?”

“Great idea, poppet.”

Neither moved.

“Are you gonna do it?”

“Oh, right, yeah, hold on.”

Vines burst from the floor, wrapped around his body, and lifted him up through the air, delicately transporting him to the bed Melina had been resting on earlier that day. (Y/n) picked up a stone bowl, filled it with water from the well, and dipped a soft cloth inside.

“Alright, come here, time to learn.”

Melina walked over to where she was now sitting on the edge of the bed.

“So, what did I tell you about the well?”

“It’s the source of your power,” she replied dutifully, “It’s where people make offerings to you so your power can grow and you can help better.”

She nodded with a smile.

“Exactly. Technically, offerings work anywhere, and especially anywhere in my temple, but offerings given to the well are always more powerful. But this also means that the water itself carries my power. Remember how I told you I was the goddess of nurture?”

Melina nodded.

“Remember what that means?”

She frowned, trying to remember.

“It means you take care of and protect people.”

“That’s right, good job, baby. This also means that because I’m supposed to care for and protect, I have healing powers.”

Her jaw dropped.

“You do?”

(Y/n) nodded.

“Not to Apollo’s extent, of course, my healing powers are only minor. It means I can’t heal really bad illnesses like cancer, or anything like that, but I can take care of a few scrapes and speed up healing if you have any broken bones.”

Under Melina’s watchful eyes, she dipped the cloth into the well water, then wrung it out.

“It also means that the water from my well can more or less mimic my powers. It makes flowers grow faster, for example. But in this case, it’s gonna help take care of your father.”

She delicately ran the wet cloth over Arthur’s face, full of scrapes from the tree branches, and over the already-forming bump on his forehead from where he facepalmed to the floor.

Melina gasped as the scrapes healed before her very eyes, disappearing within seconds as if they were never even there.

“You wanna try? He still has a good number of scratches on his arms.”

She nodded so fast (Y/n) was almost worried she’d give herself whiplash. She sat on her mother’s knees, taking the cloth from her hands.

“Alright, wet it in the water… there you go, now squeeze the excess out… great job, my love, now remember to be gentle.”

She slowly ran the cloth over her father’s eyes, squealing happily when the scratches disappeared, leaving blank skin in its wake.

They healed Arthur’s arms with a single-minded focus, both happy to be able to share this experience. Melina had never thought she’d get to learn from her own mother. (Y/n) had lost hope of having a child to pass on her knowledge to.

So focused were they on this experience that they never noticed when Arthur’s eyes fluttered open, and he took to watching them with a soft look on his face.

“All done, Maman.”

“Good job, lovely, you did so good.”

“Thank you.”

Both girls startled. (Y/n) fought the urge to curse herself for her lack of situational awareness. It seemed that a few centuries of feeling weak had left her unaware of the world around her.

Arthur cleared his throat, raising his body to lean against the pillows. His cheeks were a bit red and he seemed to be having trouble maintaining eye contact.

“I apologise for disrespecting you, Lady (Y/n), I was… clearly not in my right mind.”

Melina turned to her with big innocent eyes.

“Uncle Charlie says Papa’s got sawdust instead of a brain so it makes him act silly.”

“Uncle Charlie needs to shut his mouth.”

(Y/n) bit back a smile, enjoying the dynamic between the two. She saw a barely-there twitch run over Arthur’s face as he tried to find a more comfortable position.

“Are you still hurt?”

He looked up at her, cheeks getting redder.

“Oh, no, I’m alright, don’t worry. It’s just a bit of soreness in my back from the racing, nothing I’m not used to.”

She blinked at him.

“Racing?”

He blinked back.

“Um, yeah… I’m a Formula One driver. I’m a reserve driver for Ferrari and test the cars for them as well. This weekend, I had to replace one of the main drivers cause he got food poisoning, so now I’m just feeling the effects still.”

He was saying a lot of words, but she understood none of them.

“What’s a Formula One?”

He seemed taken aback by that, but smirked at her in a cheeky way.

“I thought gods were supposed to be omniscient, how do you not know what F1 is?”

She huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Well, excuse me for being too busy fading to keep up with modern inventions! I haven’t had enough energy to care about what the world’s been up to since the 1940s, and even then, it was just because the war was so big that even my forest wasn’t safe from it.”

He winced, looking embarrassed at her answer.

“Right, sorry about that.”

She smiled at him dismissingly.

“Truth is, if Melina hadn’t found the well and made that offering… I don’t know how much longer I’d have lasted.”

Melina climbed onto her lap, nuzzling into her chest the way children do when they want comfort. (Y/n) couldn’t help but bring her arms around the little girl, holding her close to her chest.

“So, she saved you from fading and you decided you were gonna adopt her?”

She lifted an eyebrow at Arthur.

“I mean, in my defence, she did wish I could be her mother. It’s not like I took her against her will. She came to me, what was I supposed to do?”

She heard him mutter something under his breath about “cat distribution system” and “looking a bit different”, but she was too busy watching Melina’s eyes start to droop to notice.

“Tired, blossom?”

She nodded, yawning widely. 

“I should take her home. My family’s worried sick about her, we’ve been searching all afternoon.”

(Y/n) couldn’t help but hug the little girl tighter, not wanting to let her go.

“But… You guys just got here. I don’t want you to go.”

She bit back the sudden urge to cry, the panic clawing at her chest at the thought of being alone again, of feeling her power dwindle again, of starting to fade again.

Her temple answered her distress in kind, vines wrapping themselves around her legs in an attempt to comfort her, ivy crawling up the wall closest to her.

Arthur observed it all with a quiet intelligence in his eyes, not judging, simply trying to understand.

“Will you be here tomorrow?”

He asked, looking her in the eyes.

“In the temple? Of course. I rarely leave it. Don’t really have anywhere to go, or enough energy to, most of the time.”

He nodded.

“Alright. Then so will we.”

She drew in a sharp breath, fighting against the hope blossoming in her chest. 

“Lina has school in the morning, but as soon as she’s done, we’ll be here. I can bring some food and we can have a picnic. The weather’s looking nice for tomorrow.”

She searched his eyes for any hint of trickery. Dishonesty. 

“Do you really mean that?”

He nodded, resolute.

“We’ll be back tomorrow. I promise you.”

She felt her core shake, and the water in her well rippled.

“Arthur, you can’t just say that. I’m a goddess. A promise made to me is binding, breaking it… it carries serious consequences that even I won’t be able to stop.”

He shrugged, smiling at her in a boyish way. She couldn’t help but be drawn by the way his green eyes seemed to sparkle.

“I’d be worried if I didn’t intend to keep it. But nothing short of a natural disaster could keep us away.”

She breathed out. Humans were not known for their trustworthiness. But, tentatively, she allowed herself to believe. Maybe just this once.

Melina was already asleep by the time Arthur walked out the doors to the temple. The sky around them was dark, making the forest look almost pitch black, but (Y/n) conjured up a small ball of light, allowing it to lead the way so they could safely make it back home. 

Arthur looked back at her before fully disappearing, mouthing those same words again, cementing it.

I promise.

And that's that! Fun fact, Melina's name is inspired by Melinoë, a chtonich goddess and bringer of nightmares and madness, and daughter of Persephone.

Hope you guys liked it, don't forget to comment and reblog! My asks and DMs are always open

-Love, Miah<3

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