#the chokehold this song still has on me...

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Beneath the Apron

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

AU: Baker!Simon

Warnings: Fluff, light teasing, mutual pining

Author’s Note: Simon Has me in a chokehold, tbh I need more baker Simon-

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The first time you walked into Simon Riley’s bakery, it was pouring rain. Not a gentle drizzle, but a torrential downpour that left you drenched from head to toe. You ducked inside, shivering and muttering curses under your breath, only to freeze when you realized you weren’t alone.

Behind the counter stood a man who looked like he belonged in a different time and place—broad-shouldered, with sharp features and piercing dark eyes. He stared at you for a moment, silent, as water dripped from your hair onto the floor.

“Uh… sorry,” you stammered, clutching your soaked bag to your chest. “I’ll just…” You gestured vaguely toward the door.

“Don’t be daft,” he said, his voice a low rumble with a thick accent. “Yer already in ‘ere. Might as well dry off.”

Before you could argue, he disappeared into the back and returned with a towel. He tossed it to you without ceremony, then leaned against the counter, watching as you awkwardly patted yourself dry.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, feeling strangely self-conscious under his gaze.

“Coffee?” he asked, already reaching for a mug.

“Oh, no, I—”

“Yer freezin’. Coffee,” he said firmly, leaving no room for debate.

A few minutes later, you were sitting at a small table near the window, a steaming cup of coffee in front of you. The rain hammered against the glass, but the warmth of the bakery and the rich aroma of freshly baked bread made it feel like a haven.

“Don’t get many people comin’ in this time o’ day,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Well, I wasn’t exactly planning to stop,” you replied, smiling faintly. “The weather had other ideas.”

He grunted—his version of a laugh—and you found yourself oddly charmed by the sound.

After that, you started coming in more often. At first, it was just for the coffee—well, that’s what you told yourself. But it wasn’t long before you found yourself lingering, chatting with Simon between customers and slowly peeling back the layers of his quiet, guarded personality.

---

One morning, you walked in to find him hunched over a tray of cookies, his brow furrowed in concentration. He glanced up as the bell jingled, his expression softening slightly when he saw you.

“Late today,” he commented, his accent turning the words into a soft rumble.

“Had a meeting,” you replied, dropping into your usual seat. “But I couldn’t skip my daily dose of grumpy baker charm.”

Simon snorted, shaking his head. “Dunno why you keep comin’ back.”

“Maybe I like watching you scowl at dough,” you teased, resting your chin in your hand.

He gave you a mock glare, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Yer lucky I make good coffee.”

---

One quiet afternoon, you caught him humming to himself. The bakery was empty except for the two of you, the soft rhythm of his movements lulling you into a comfortable silence. Then you heard it—a low, quiet hum, almost imperceptible over the sound of the mixer.

“Is that… singing?” you asked, looking up with a grin.

Simon froze, his hands stilling mid-knead. “It’s not.”

“It so is!” you said, laughing. “What was it? Some folk song?”

“Shut it,” he muttered, though the tips of his ears turned red.

You leaned forward, propping your elbows on the counter. “Come on, Simon. Give me a performance. I’ll even clap.”

“Yer impossible,” he grumbled, but there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

---

Another time, you showed up with a batch of cookies you’d tried to bake yourself. They were… well, let’s just say they weren’t exactly bakery quality.

Simon picked one up, inspecting it with a raised brow. “What’s this supposed to be?”

“A cookie,” you said defensively.

“Looks like a rock,” he deadpanned.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Well, excuse me for not being a professional.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “S’alright. Can’t all be as talented as me.”

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, but you couldn’t stop the smile creeping across your face.

Simon took a bite of the misshapen cookie, chewing thoughtfully. “Not bad,” he said finally.

“Really?” you asked, brightening.

“No,” he replied, smirking.

---

One morning, the bakery was unusually quiet. You sat at your usual spot, sipping your coffee and watching Simon move around the kitchen. His hands were deft and sure, rolling out dough and piping frosting with an ease that came from years of practice.

“You ever sit down?” you asked suddenly.

“Don’t have time,” he replied without looking up.

“You’ve got time now,” you pointed out.

Simon paused, a tray in his hands. He stared at you for a moment, then sighed. To your surprise, he placed the tray on the counter, untied his apron, and sat down across from you.

“Didn’t think you’d actually listen to me,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

“Figured it’d shut you up,” he said, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

“You’re full of charm, aren’t you?” you shot back, smirking.

Simon shook his head, leaning back in the chair. Up close, he was even more intimidating—broad shoulders, strong jaw, and those dark eyes that seemed to see straight through you. But there was a softness to him, too, in the way he rested his arms on the table, his posture relaxed for once.

“You come here every day,” he said after a moment. “Why?”

The question caught you off guard. You hesitated, unsure how honest you wanted to be.

“Well,” you started, stalling for time, “the coffee’s good. The croissants are amazing. And the company’s not bad, either.”

Simon raised an eyebrow. “Not bad?”

“Okay, fine,” you admitted, leaning forward. “The company’s great. Even if you’re a little grumpy.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rumbling, and your heart skipped a beat.

“Grumpy, huh?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“Very,” you said, grinning.

Simon didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he studied you for a moment, his dark eyes scanning your face like he was trying to figure something out.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he said finally, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t catch it.

Your breath hitched, and before you could think of a reply, the bell above the door jingled, signaling another customer. Simon stood, tying his apron back on with practiced ease.

“Stay as long as you like,” he said over his shoulder, the hint of a smile on his lips as he walked away.

And just like that, he was back to being the mysterious baker, leaving you sitting there with a fluttering in your chest and a stupid grin on your face.

I hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Hello! Hi! How are you? :D I love your Alastor fics! I have read nearly all of them they are so scrumptious! Infernal Shadows has me in a chokehold! I was wondering if you could possibly write an Alastor x Reader (Romantic preferably but I'll still melt into a puddle if it's platonic) with an overlord reader that never smiles? Like the complete opposite of Alastor but somehow they just work together? Like the power couple (or besties) of hell? If you do I'll literally die and ascend to the heavens, but no stress if not! Either way, Thank you for your time!

A/N: I love this sosososos much, I literally feel like this is Madame from my Infernal Shadow fanfic, so thank you so much for this request!!

Warnings: A lot of talk about emotions and Alastor being himself per usual

Naviagtion!!

The Devils Opposite

In Hell, the laws of power were simple: strength ruled, and emotions were something to be used as tools—tools of control, manipulation, and intimidation. Alastor, the Radio Demon, had mastered these laws long ago. He was a creature of fire, energy, and exuberant joy. His control over Hell’s various sectors was legendary. But, even with all his power and influence, Alastor could not seem to grasp the one thing that truly eluded him: the emotions stirred by you.

The moment you had come into his life, everything had shifted. It wasn’t a shift he welcomed at first, not willingly. You were a mystery—a stark contrast to everything Alastor represented. You were cold, calculating, and composed, an overlord of immense power whose expression rarely shifted. Smiles were as foreign to you as warmth was to him. You didn’t need to. Your power spoke for you, and your stillness commanded attention. Alastor had always prided himself on his exuberance, on his ability to charm and control, but you? You were the embodiment of control in its purest, most unsettling form.

You never smiled, never gave away any emotion. You were always perfectly composed, a force to be reckoned with not because of your display of power but because of the sheer quiet strength that exuded from you. Your gaze was piercing and unwavering, your presence cold and calculating, and that made Alastor feel something he couldn’t quite place. You were the only person he couldn’t predict, the only one who didn’t fall for his usual theatrics and flamboyant charm. And that made him both wary and captivated.

The two of you worked together in a delicate balance. He was the public face—the charming, charismatic figure who could win over anyone with a smile. You were the one who did the real work, manipulating events from behind the scenes. Where he was vibrant, you were shadowed in a quiet power, and it made you a force to be reckoned with in Hell. The dynamic between you two was a force no one could deny, though they never understood how such opposites could fit so perfectly together.

It was late one evening when Alastor found himself staring at you from across the room in your shared domain. The flickering lights of the city outside cast strange shadows on your figure, highlighting your cold demeanor. You were leaning against the wall, arms folded, eyes never straying from the figures moving below in the streets. There was a tension in your body that made his stomach tighten.

“I thought I told you not to take care of things personally,” Alastor remarked, his voice light, almost sing-song, as he approached you. His eyes were bright with amusement, yet there was something in his gaze that betrayed the small crack in his usual confident veneer.

You didn’t respond, and that only made the air between you two heavier. Alastor leaned in closer, his tone softer now. “What’s bothering you this time, darling?”

Your eyes flicked to him—those eyes that held the weight of centuries, yet were as unreadable as ever. You let out a quiet sigh, shifting your posture ever so slightly.

“You’re too reckless,” you finally said, your voice almost inaudible in the quiet room. “You’re too quick to make decisions based on impulse. It’ll bite you one day.”

Alastor chuckled softly, his usual charisma creeping back into his voice as he straightened up. “You worry too much. This is Hell. If it weren’t for the chaotic nature of things, I’d be bored out of my mind.”

He took a step toward you, his cane tapping on the floor as he leaned closer. His presence felt overpowering, like an electric current running through the air, but you didn’t flinch. He knew you never did. But this time, something in his chest tightened. “No,” you answered, almost too quietly for him to hear. “What you think is a web is just a facade. I’ve been watching you, and I see the cracks forming beneath your smile.”

That hit harder than Alastor would ever admit. He frowned, his usual smile faltering for just a second before it returned, though now it felt more forced. “Is that what you think?” he asked, his voice dripping with both amusement and curiosity. “You’ve been watching me for so long, darling. Surely you must have noticed the delicate web I’ve woven. Every move is a calculated step, and it’s why I’m at the top of this infernal food chain.”

He took a step toward you, his voice softer now, though his mind was still racing. “No,” you answered again, quieter, yet firm. “You’ve woven yourself a web of lies, of empty threats, and empty gestures. I see through it all, Alastor.”

And that was when the weight of her words truly hit him. He stood there, for once rendered speechless, trying to come to terms with what you were telling him. But no matter how hard he tried, your words lingered in the air like a haunting melody.

Alastor didn’t know how to respond. Instead, he chose to step away, too proud to admit that, for once, he was unsure. What you had said gnawed at him, and his carefully constructed walls began to crack. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but here, now, with you standing before him, he was being made to feel things he couldn’t control. And that was terrifying.

And so, he did what he did best. He ran.

But even as he left, his mind kept drifting back to you—the one person who made him feel vulnerable. And in that vulnerability, something strange began to form inside of him.

Was it possible, Alastor wondered, that he… needed you?

The days that followed were filled with a quiet tension, with Alastor putting on his usual public face, pretending that nothing had changed. But it was impossible to ignore how your presence seemed to fill the room even when you weren’t there.

It wasn’t until that fateful evening, when everything came crashing down, that Alastor could no longer deny what he was feeling. The reality of his emotions hit him all at once, and for once, Alastor didn’t have control. You, the cold, composed overlord who never smiled, had shaken him to his core.

And in that moment, Alastor realized something that he had spent so long avoiding: He wasn’t just captivated by your strength. He was deeply, unconditionally drawn to you in a way he couldn’t explain. You were his opposite, but you fit him in a way he couldn’t deny.

And when you finally looked at him that night, your eyes colder than ever, something shifted between you two. Alastor stood taller, meeting your gaze with an honesty that he rarely allowed himself.

“I don’t need to control everything, do I?” he asked, his voice raw.

You stepped closer, the space between you two shrinking as your eyes softened ever so slightly.

“No,” you replied simply, your words hanging heavy in the air. “But you do need to let go.”

And Alastor realized, finally, that letting go of control might be the only way to truly have what he wanted.

The difference between you was undeniable, but perhaps, just perhaps, it was the difference that made you two the perfect balance.

[mizugucci]

FAV KPOP SONGS — [ 3/∞ ]:

LUCY ☆ JOGGING (2020)

[thelucidduchess]

Unpopular opinion but Wouldn’t You Like is really good and people should pay more attention to it

[alibeehaw]

Starry starry night 🌌✨

[vagueconfusion]

I've been having this thought about Alkaline and the process of alkaline hydrolysis/aquamation (aquamation -> cremation -> funeral pyre?? (all the burial/earth imagery in the eps*) brain please I'm busy) and had the thought in the shower of wondering what the pH of the human body is and now it's taking over my brain and I can't tell if this is too far of a reach because I'm on the verge of doing a whole write up about this topic too.

(Summary: Alkaline possibly referring/being a metaphor for/about about a process called alkaline hydrolysis, which is used as an alternative to cremation and uses water and a strong alkaline solution (lye) to rapidly decompose a body in a matter of hours. The human body's pH is around 7, which is also the track number of the song Alkaline, and also the line "neither acid nor alkaline" would put the subject of the song at pH 7 as well. Which would make The POV Vessel sings from the lye solution)

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