chaotic-evil-ivy

[chaotic-evil-ivy]

hii idk if you still take requests but i loved your fluff! i wanted to ask if you could write one where charles maybe has a fever and reader takes care of him who’s extremely needy 🩵🩵

fever dreams & french whining

Authors note:

hiii ♥ this is for the angel who asked for needy sick charles...I took that and added a little bit of repressed softness, slow-burning comfort, and soup-flavoured affection. he is dramatic. you are patient. love wins.

ty for reading!! requests always open

- sick boy's favourite nurse.

It had been raining since noon.

The soft patter of water tapped against the windows like a lullaby, the Monaco skyline blurred into hazy grey. The apartment was dim, quiet — lights off, save for the gentle flicker of a candle on the coffee table. Vanilla and sandalwood, your favorite. You’d lit it out of habit, not knowing you’d need it to soften the mood of a sick day.

The only sound, apart from the rain, was Charles’ coughing echoing from the other room.

You sighed, shutting your laptop and padding toward the couch with the patience of someone who knew exactly what she was about to deal with.

"Charles?" you called gently.

No response.

You turned the corner to the living room and found him collapsed sideways on the couch, hood up, face buried into a throw pillow like he was hoping to suffocate himself with it. A half-full tissue box rested on his chest, a bottle of water beside him. Unopened.

"Mon dieu," you muttered. "What am I going to do with you?"

A small groan came from the couch creature.

“Just… make sure I’m buried in my Ferrari hoodie. I want to die with dignity.”

You raised a brow. "That’s the first thing you’ve said to me in four hours?"

He peeked one eye out from under the pillow. Glossy. Red-rimmed. Still somehow pretty.

“I’m dying,” he mumbled into the pillow.

You arched a brow. “You’ve got a fever, not the plague.”

He sniffled, face still buried. “Feels the same.”

You walked over, crouched beside him. “Have you even taken anything?”

“I was waiting to be rescued.”

You snorted. “So you chose to suffer for the drama?”

He peeked at you with bloodshot eyes. “You love me more when I’m tragic.”

“You’re confusing me with Netflix, baby.”

He stuck his hand out blindly, groping in your general direction until he found your thigh and gave it a feeble squeeze. "Please don’t mock the dying."

You laughed, kneeling beside him and brushing his damp curls off his forehead. He felt hot. Really hot. You frowned and pressed your lips to his temple.

"Okay, you are burning up."

"I told you."

"You also told me your coffee tasted like metal and that might’ve been the start of a stroke."

"Okay but what if I’m right this time?"

You stood with a sigh. "Come on. Let me take care of you."

He whined into the pillow. "Can’t I just die beautifully and dramatically? You can cry over my cold hands."

"You’re not dying. You’re just French with a man cold."

Another small groan. "That’s worse."

Fifteen minutes later, he was propped up against a mountain of pillows, hoodie half-zipped, a damp cloth resting across his forehead. He looked soft. Tired. Small, even. You brought him tea, honey-laced and piping hot.

"Don't burn your tongue," you warned.

Charles stared at it like it was poison. "If I drink that, will you lie with me?"

"You're trying to bargain with tea?"

He gave you a pitiful look. The worst part? It worked.

You sighed and sank onto the bed beside him. He immediately rolled over and curled into your side like a human furnace. His fingers slid beneath your hoodie, pressing against the bare skin of your waist.

"You're cold," he whispered.

"You're a radiator," you replied. "And you're clingier than usual."

He blinked up at you, lashes damp and heavy. "I don’t like feeling weak. But I don’t mind being this way with you."

Something about that knocked the air out of your lungs. He didn’t say things like that often — not unless he was delirious from fever or one too many wine glasses deep.

You cupped his face. "Hey. It’s okay to need someone, you know?"

"I know." He paused. "But I only want it to be you."

You kissed the tip of his red nose. "Then lucky for you, it is."

Later, when the rain had slowed and the tea was gone, Charles dozed with his head on your stomach, cheek smushed against your shirt.

He murmured, half-asleep, “You’ll stay, right?”

"I’m not going anywhere."

"Even if I get worse?"

"Even if you turn into a full-blown mucus monster."

He smiled. Just barely. “I want to marry you, you know.”

You blinked. "You're delusional."

He hummed. "Little bit. But still true."

You ran your fingers through his curls and let him drift back into his fever dream, held in the safety of your hands — dramatic, needy, and finally at peace.

[chaotic-evil-ivy]

Loved your first fic!!!! I have to request one, it was so good. I was thinking: reader and Charles are out, reader starts complaining about how her heels are hurting her so Charles tells her to take them off and offers to piggyback her. Maybe we could also make reader kinda insecure about her weight and thinks Charles wouldn’t be able to carry her for the whole walk, but he does effortlessly, then sweetly scolds her when he finds out she was trying to avoid it because she was being paranoid about herself!

💌 author’s note

hi again 🥺💗

i’m so glad you loved my first little fic — truly had me giggling and kicking my feet reading your comments and requests.

this is fic number two (!!) and i’m proudly obsessed with it. it’s soft, a little vulnerable, and full of barefoot-in-love energy + charles being a golden retriever boyfriend with emotional depth™️. i hope it makes your heart ache in the best way. 🥹

carried away

Reader x charles

The streets of Monaco were glowing—golden lamplight on white stone, the sea humming somewhere in the background. People strolled by in their evening best, the clink of champagne glasses floating from every direction. It was one of those nights that felt cinematic.

And you?

You wanted to cry.

Because your heels—those gorgeous, evil little monsters—were destroying you.

You tried to hide it, tried to walk like your feet weren’t throbbing. But Charles had sharp eyes. He could read you with terrifying accuracy, especially when you were trying not to make a fuss.

You hated fuss. And attention. Especially about your body.

Charles, on the other hand, lived for you to tell him when something was wrong so he could fix it in record time and make you feel like royalty. But tonight, you stayed quiet.

He’d had such a long day. The dinner had been important. You didn’t want to ruin the end of it by whining about your dumb shoe choice.

But the pain… god. Each step was like walking barefoot on Legos. With knives.

You tried to adjust your gait. Slower. Then limping slightly on the outer edge of your feet. Then—

“Y/N.”

His voice came from just ahead. Not loud. But knowing.

You looked up. He’d stopped walking and turned to face you, brows slightly raised, his body already half-turned like he knew you needed him before you did.

You blinked, straightening quickly. “What?”

“Why are you walking like someone stole your kneecaps?”

You choked on a laugh. “I’m not.”

He stared. “Your face is all tight. Like you’re trying not to cry.” He took a step toward you. “What’s wrong?”

You looked down at your feet, chewing the inside of your cheek. “…My shoes are… kind of killing me.”

“Kind of?”

You winced, finally giving in. “Okay, it’s like walking on glass. With stilettos made of sin.”

He frowned, his eyes dipping to your shoes. “Those are the ones you said were ‘definitely manageable.’”

“I lied to both of us.”

A beat passed. Then Charles stepped in, warm hand brushing your arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t want to ruin the walk. It was a nice night.”

He tilted his head, those hazel eyes doing that soft squinty thing that made you feel like the only person on the planet. “If you’re in pain, it’s not a nice night.”

Your throat tightened. Damn him.

“I can walk,” you mumbled, starting to step forward, but he moved fast—blocking you gently with one arm and crouching down with zero hesitation.

“Okay,” he said easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Hop on.”

You blinked. “What?”

He looked over his shoulder, hand reaching back. “Piggyback. I’ll carry you.”

Your face flushed immediately. “Charles. No.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Y/N.” His voice lowered just slightly. “I’m not letting you walk five more steps in those torture devices.”

“But—” You paused, heart suddenly thudding. Your voice dropped, awkward and quiet. “I’m not exactly… tiny, Charles.”

He turned his head slowly, his brows drawing together. “What?”

“I’m just saying… I don’t want to break your spine or something.”

His jaw clenched. “Is that why you were pretending everything was fine?”

You hesitated. “It’s not that serious—”

He stood up and turned to face you fully now, eyes locking with yours. “You think I wouldn’t carry you because of your weight?”

“I just—some people wouldn’t be able to, and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to—”

“Y/N,” he interrupted, soft but firm. “Do you think I look at you and see numbers? Do you think I care about anything except the fact that your feet hurt and you didn’t tell me because you were afraid I’d think you were… what? Too much to hold?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

He stepped closer, one hand cradling your jaw. “You could weigh a thousand suns and I’d still carry you. Because I want to. Because I love you. Because your pain is mine.”

Your eyes burned. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m Monaco’s top romantic,” he grinned, wiping your cheek with his thumb. “Come on. Shoes off, backpack mode activated.”

You laughed wetly. “Backpack mode?”

“Yes. You’re my favorite cargo.”

You slipped your shoes off, muttering something about catching tetanus from the sidewalk, and climbed onto his back. He lifted you with ease, settling your legs around his waist and hooking your heels into the crooks of his arms.

He didn’t even grunt. He just walked. Like carrying you was as easy as breathing.

You buried your face into his shoulder, nuzzling the soft cotton of his shirt. His skin was warm beneath it, his curls brushing your cheek as he turned slightly to whisper: “I meant what I said, by the way.”

“About tetanus?”

He huffed a laugh. “About you being perfect.”

You smiled against his neck. “I still feel bad.”

“You’re allowed to feel bad. But you’re not allowed to hide pain from me. Or to doubt that I’d do anything for you.”

Your chest tightened. You kissed his cheek. “You’re… kind of the best.”

“I know,” he said, mock cocky. “But say it again.”

You pinched his arm.

He gasped. “Abuse! From a woman being carried like royalty!”

“Don’t push it, Leclerc.”

“Fine,” he murmured, squeezing your leg gently. “But just so you know? You being worried about your weight… broke my heart a little.”

You froze against his back, caught off guard by the rawness in his voice.

“Charles…”

“I know I joke a lot,” he said, still walking slowly, “but hearing you say that... that you thought I wouldn’t want to carry you, or that you’d be too heavy for me—that’s not just wrong, chérie. That’s something someone probably made you believe a long time ago. And I hate that. I hate that it’s still living in your head, messing with your mirror and stealing moments that should feel happy.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Your throat was tight, your eyes stinging again.

He glanced back, just enough to catch your expression over his shoulder. “You’re mine. And I love all of you. I love your mind, your voice, your laugh, your body—the way you exist in the world. There’s nothing too much about you. Not your thoughts, not your feelings, not your weight. Especially not your weight.”

You pressed your face against his neck, trying to hold in the tears. But he noticed. Of course he did.

He stopped walking and let you slide down from his back gently. His hands stayed on your waist as you landed, grounding you.

You looked up at him. “I’m sorry I said it.”

“No,” he whispered, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “Don’t be sorry for being honest. Just promise me something.”

“What?”

“When your brain gets mean, let my voice be louder. Let me fight it with you, yeah?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah.”

“Good.” He leaned in and kissed you—soft, slow, and full of every unspoken word. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “Now… want me to carry you the rest of the way, or are you emotionally healed enough to walk barefoot like a French forest nymph?”You let out a wet laugh, swiping at the corners of your eyes. “I think I can manage the nymph thing. Barefoot and slightly feral.”

He snorted. “Perfect. That’s exactly my type.”

The moment your feet touched the pavement, his grip tightened ever so slightly, like he didn’t want to let go of you completely. Like he never would.

“Tell me again,” you said after a beat, your voice softer now.

“What part?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“The part about you loving me the way I am.”

Charles stopped walking. You looked up at him, and he gave you this look—tender, unshakable, like you were the only thing in the world that made sense.

“I love you,” he said simply. “Exactly like this. No conditions, no footnotes. No changing required.”

You blinked back another wave of tears and nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he echoed, smiling now.

“I mean, unless you want to carry me again. For the bit. You are very dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” he gasped. “I’m a gentleman.”

“Mhmm. A gentleman who pouts when I steal the covers and who owns four different hairbrushes.”

He nudged your hip. “Don’t mock the tools of perfection.”

You grinned and started walking again, your steps lighter, your heart steadier. His hand brushed against yours, then laced your fingers together.

“Race you home?” he said suddenly, eyes dancing.

“Charles, I’m barefoot.”

“Exactly,” he grinned, brushing his fingers against yours again. “Still think you’d manage to outrun me, though.”

You raised a brow. “Outrun you? In bare feet? After crying in the street?”

He laughed, squeezing your hand. “You underestimate how terrifyingly determined you get when I tease you.”

You nudged his arm with your shoulder. “Good to know my villain origin story starts with emotional sabotage and sore heels.

He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “As long as it ends with you still holding my hand.”

You burst out laughing, and Charles looked at you like it was his favorite sound in the universe.

So you walked home together—barefoot, brave, and just a little bit ridiculous.

And somehow, in that quiet space between your old doubts and his steady hand, you started to believe it too.

[chaotic-evil-ivy]

Charles jealous please, smut!

Author’s Note:

Thanks so much for reading! 💫 This is my very first fic, so I kept it to light smut only—just a little heat, a lot of tension, and all the fluffy feels. Hope you liked jealous Charles as much as I did writing him! 💕

Wrong Match, Right Man

The sun blazed high over Monte Carlo, a salty breeze wafting in from the sea as you slumped on the bench by the courts. Charles was in his element—white t-shirt damp against his back, curls stuck to his forehead, legs flexing as he lunged to meet the ball. Every swing of his padel racket made you smirk. God, he was beautiful.

Unfortunately, he was also distracted. The game was taking forever.

You sighed loudly, crossing your legs, idly scrolling on your phone. No service. Great. Just as you were about to try counting clouds for entertainment, a shadow fell over you.

“Bored already?” You glanced up. Lando.

He had his cap turned backward and a mischievous grin curling his lips. You tilted your head, amused.

“Only slightly,” you teased, tapping your fingers on your thigh. “I was promised a shirtless Charles by now. But this is taking ages.”

Lando chuckled, plopping down next to you without asking. His knee bumped yours. “Well, you’ve got options. I’m available, and I look great shirtless too.”

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider it. “Do you now?” He leaned in, just a little too close, his voice a low whisper. “Want a preview?”

You laughed, just loud enough to catch Charles’ attention. His head whipped over, eyes narrowing. Missed the ball. His partner groaned.

Oops.

You gave Charles a sweet wave and turned back to Lando, who was clearly enjoying himself. “He’s looking,” he whispered in a singsong voice.

“Good,” you smirked. “Let him.”

Across the court, Charles's jaw tightened. He muttered something to his partner, then jogged over to the bench mid-game. Sweat dripping. Eyes blazing.

“Can I help you two?” he asked, voice smooth but dangerously low.

“Lando was just keeping me company,” you replied, a little too innocent.

Charles ignored you, looking straight at Lando. “Game’s over. I’m done.”

Lando blinked. “You forfeiting?”

“No.” He tossed his racket aside. “I’ve got more important things to do.”

You opened your mouth to say something clever, but Charles already had your wrist. His hand was warm, firm, and when he pulled you up, it sent a delicious flutter through your stomach.

“Charles, where are we—”

“Home.”

Lando whistled behind you. “Someone’s jealous.”

Charles didn’t look back. But his grip tightened. Back in the apartment, it was quiet. Too quiet.

Charles locked the door behind you and turned, arms crossed. You leaned against the wall, heartbeat loud in your ears. He looked... mad. Or turned on. Or both.

“What was that?” he asked, eyes dark.

You shrugged, pretending not to be thrilled by the fire in him. “I was bored. Lando’s funny.”

His eyes dragged over you slowly. “You were flirting.”

“Maybe a little.”

He stalked forward, until you were caged between his arms. “Did it make you feel good? Making me watch him lean into you like that?”

You tilted your chin defiantly. “Did you like watching?”

A dangerous smile tugged at his lips. “Not one bit.”

Then his mouth was on yours—hungry, demanding, jealous.

You gasped as he lifted you, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His hands roamed, one sliding up your thigh under your skirt. “No flirting with anyone but me,” he growled against your lips.

You bit back a moan. “Make me forget I ever did.”

He carried you to the couch, laying you down gently but with that unmistakable urgency. His shirt was gone in seconds, and you finally got what you came for: glistening abs, flushed cheeks, those hazel eyes that made you melt.

When his lips trailed down your neck, hands firm on your waist, you arched into him. “Charles…”

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you breathed. “Always.”

His kisses slowed, softened, grounding you even as your heart pounded. Fingertips traced your skin like a promise.

“Good,” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “Because I plan to keep you.”

Later, tangled in sheets and his arms, you trailed your fingers through his curls.

“You know I only flirted to get your attention, right?” you murmured.

Charles rolled his eyes playfully, nuzzling your shoulder. “You could’ve just asked for a kiss.”

You smiled, lazily. “This was more fun.” He groaned. “You’re evil.” You kissed him again, soft and slow. “And you love it.”

[chaotic-evil-ivy]

SEND REQUESTS I GUESS?

i’m a copywriter with a soft spot for cozy daydreams, lingering stares, and coffee-stained love stories. sooo… i’m opening imagine requests 🫶 ( i actually dont have any idea how that works, but lets try it :D) send me your fave characters, scenarios, vibes – i’d love to write something just for you. (domestic fluff? late-night talks? slow burns? let’s make it ✨feel✨)

[chaotic-evil-ivy]

Just a girl and her muse. I am back with yet ANOTHER Timotheé drawing.🙈

[chaotic-evil-ivy]

[chaotic-evil-ivy]

Once again my biggest muse the one and only Timothée 🖤

[chaotic-evil-ivy]

[chaotic-evil-ivy]

Timothée as Cardan Greenbriar.

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[chaotic-evil-ivy]

Mattia joking around with Charles his son

[chaotic-evil-ivy]

“Please don’t. Please don’t look at me with those eyes. Please don’t smile at me every time we see each other again. Please don’t laugh at everything I say. Please don’t hug me so tightly. Please don’t make me think you have feelings for me.”

— it hurts knowing i’m the only one falling.

[chaotic-evil-ivy]

[chaotic-evil-ivy]

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I'd like to thank god and jesus and charles leclerc for hashtag blessing us on a monday😉

[chaotic-evil-ivy]