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She grabbed his tie. Yanked him down.

Whispered in his ear.

“Good boy.”

He flushed. Static popping. Composure gone.

The Radio Demon —

BLUSHING.

#hellenergy #bathbomb #hot #chill

How to get Alastor to tell you his past— A how to guide by Charlotte

STEP 1: Say you’ll never forgive him and storm out

STEP 2: Invite him to a bar

STEP 3: Flirt with lesbians (preferably princesses) in front of Alastor and Vaggie

STEP 4: have WAY to much fun while he definitely definitely does NOT notice how good you look

STEP 5: Uh oh… When did you run the bartenders wife with a motorcycle?

STEP 6: After Alastor goes ballistic punch out the bartender yourself (while calling him Cupcake fondly)

STEP 7: when the Bartender stabs Alastor with glass storm out dramatically

STEP 8: Demand he takes off his shirt and the conversation will go like this: “Take off your shirt.” “My dear….” Alastor chuckled cheeks warming despite himself, “that is hardly appropriate alley way behavior—“ “TO TREAT YOUR WOUNDS IDIOT.” STEP 9: Threaten everyone who would dare to hurt him while threatening Alastor as well, and he smiles at you like your being romantic

STEP 10: He asks about your past while definitely not wincing in pain and you say: “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

That was it. A challenge.

Read the fic to find out what happens

Char frozen. Alastor: “…Ah.” She hates him. He smiles. But it doesn’t reach his eyes. That moment where the world shifts and nothing is the same… 💀💥🔥

Valentino + Vomit Chaos

Char’s stomach: 🤢 Valentino’s suit: 💀 ruined Alastor’s grin: 😈 impeccable Comedy: 100% Chaos: 100% Ship: 💯

Punching Him Under Blankets

HER FIST 💥 against his ribs. Pain. Pleasure. Chaos. ALASTOR internally: HOW GLORIOUS ALASTOR externally: 😌 calm as ever Me: 🫠 screaming in all caps

✨TIME FROZE✨

“ALASTOR WE NEED TO ASK YOU ABOUT—” There he was, pinning her beneath the blankets like chaos incarnate. Charlotte: 🔥 red face, wild hair, dignity missing. Alastor: 😏 calm, composed, smug beyond mortal comprehension. The world ended.

💀 Chaos. Angst. Flustered perfection.

They act like strangers. They pass each other in the halls. No touches. No smiles. No looks.

But every spike of static, every twitch of her tail… tells the truth. 💀 This is slow-burn tension at its purest. They’re in a truce. And like all truces in Hell… it’s not going to last.