#pythonmoth

[pythonmoth]

Simon x Reader

except reader is a lesbian and they're both accidentally into the same person. Simon turns into a pick me and accidentally makes stupid comments that only help Reader's case and gets them a date w the beautiful girly

they talk trash about Simon, giggle and then kiss and then they get married and Simon's both their best man AND maid of honor bc why the fuck not

[sheepispink]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MOTH MY BESTIE 4EVER @pythonmoth

I HOPE U AVE THE BEST DAY CUTIE

[doodlenoodleboi]

YIPPEEE IM MUTUALS W/ POOKIE!!!

[pythonmoth]

To Hell and Back

college student!Ghost x demon!reader

cw: mention of sacrifices and virgin blood and yadah yadah. writer thinks this could be a funny supernatural episode. reader is gn but it isn’t important for the plot. reader is taller than simon, cuz they’re a demon and i think it’s hot.

little wink to my friend @4l3xsworld bc they take latin, so i think they will giggle at this.

wc: 2.2k

Simon’s been taking a latin course for a few weeks, mostly because he had nothing better to do and he needed the credit. To his surprise, he’s doing better than he thought he would, so Simon had the great idea of reading out loud as practice. He knows close to nothing about translation yet, so imagine his surprise when he accidentally spills the salt, while trying to grab the sugar for his tea mid reading, and suddenly there’s a person in front of him.

“Hello, handsome.”

Very calm and in a graceful manner, Simon drops his cup, hearing as it shatters on the floor. He can’t care, not when the person in front of him is completely naked and inside his flat, looking very happy, and he’s definitely not ready for that. He has a test in a few days, he can’t do weird right now.

“Who the hell are you? Cover up, the fuck,” Simon hisses, turning away from you, eyes widening before he looks back, a whiplash straight to his chest. “Is that a tail? Listen, I’m not a furry, this is the wrong fucking house—”

“Got a thing against furries?” you hum, arms crossing over your chest. “Please tell me I wasn’t summoned by a bigot. Last time was in the 60s, and I had to eat him because I couldn’t stand him.”

“I’m not— In the 60s?” Simon mumbles to himself, shaking his head, rushing forward to smack you with his latin book. “No. This is not happening. Get the hell out of here.”

He can only watch in awe as the book burns when it touches your skin at the first smack, your eyebrow raised. With a grin, you boop his nose. “No can do, handsome. You’ve gotta work on your pronunciation, though, because it was a little horrible,” you tut at him, your finger moving in front of his face. “Now, who do you want me to kill? Where’s my blood sacrifice? Salt feels a little cheap.”

Simon can only blink at you. Your sigh is so deep and disappointed that Simon almost feels bad, but then he remembers you’re a weird, naked stranger in his house and he grips your shoulders, pushing you to the door. “Nobody ordered a crazy furry with a tail for tonight, so please leave before I call security or something.”

He lets go of you to open the door, and when he turns to grip your arm, you aren’t there anymore. In panic, he looks around, pausing when he sees you hanging from his ceiling —maybe it’s more accurate to say you’re walking on his ceiling. It shouldn’t be possible, because there’s no way, but your hair stays in place somehow, arms crossed, and a happy grin in your face. In panic, again, and convinced he’s going mad, he closes the door with a kick, walking towards you with an accusing finger pointing at your face.

“I have no idea what the fuck is going on, or why I’m suddenly crazy, but leave me alone, now.”

“Again, no can do,” you huff, stressing every word carefully, as if he were a toddler. Simon blinks, and suddenly you’re in front of him, now wearing black clothes. For a second, he’s glad, because he couldn’t have this conversation with a naked hallucination for long, but before he can say anything about it, your finger boops his nose again. “I’m a demon. I’m a devil. Horns and tail and every thing you may think I have. I could turn red but I think you’d pass out.”

“Please don’t.”

“See, you used your silly book and here I am now. Unfortunately for you, you tried to hurt me with it so it’s gone now,” you grin, gripping his shoulder. “It’s automatic, so I recommend you don’t try to smack me with your hand.”

Simon wishes he hadn’t eaten ice cream the night before, because the way his butt clenches isn’t a good sign.

“With the book gone, you can’t get rid of me and now you owe me something, otherwise I’ll eat you,” you continue, your smile in place. “Money doesn’t interest me, but virgin blood sacrifices are greatly appreciated. Tell me what you want, so I can do it, claim my yummy reward and then be on my way.”

Much to his surprise, living in this world for nearly thirty years, Simon maybe isn’t as fazed as he wishes he were, but the longer you speak, the less weird it is, so by the time you’re done explaining, Simon’s arms are crossed, staring at you in silence.

“I don’t want you to kill anybody. Well, there are many CEOs and presidents I’d love you to take out, but I’m guessing the virgin blood sacrifice thing would be per head?”

“Bingo.”

“Did that exist when you were born? Scratch that, do you know what internet is?”

“I live in hell, I’m not uncivilised.”

“So where does that leave me, if I don’t have anybody I wanna personally ruin?”

For a moment, you blink at him, looking bored out of your mind, sighing before turning your head away. When he follows your gaze, sees nothing, and turns to look at you, you’re gone. “What-”

Simon looks for you, surprised when he finds you sitting on top of his fridge, eating some of the cookies his friend Johnny had given him the day before. You’re covered in chocolate, the corners of your mouth stained. “Good gods, this is delicious. Tastes like heaven.”

“... Are you even allowed to say that?”

“Has anybody told you you’re boring?” you sigh, grimacing at him. Simon opens his mouth, closing it again. With a shake of your hand, the cup he had dropped fixes itself, landing in your hand. The water starts boiling somehow, Simon doesn’t want to ask, and stares as you take a little sip. “Well, you’re boring. You don’t bring me a virgin as a sacrifice, you don’t have anybody you want to kill, and I’m sure you don’t even have a cat I can cuddle with before I eat it. Or do you?”

“Cats aren’t allowed, so no.”

“Again, boring.”

You refuse to talk to him until you finish your tea, humming contently and singing off key to yourself. The cookies are gone, and you’re looking mournfully at the jar, so Simon decides to play a nice host. In silence, he walks to the fridge, avoiding your legs, and takes the pie his other friend Kyle got for him a few days ago; it might be a little old, but he’s sure you won’t mind. He barely has time to take it out, when it vanishes from his hand. 

“You can ask for fortune and fame,” you say then, your eyes all misty as you devour the pie, using your fingers to scoop it. Simon hands you a spoon, which you take without a second glance at him. “Or love, or anything. Oh, there’s this singer who asked for a big bag of crack, but legally I can’t say her name.”

As the pie disappears and your shoulders relax enough for you to stop looking so weirdly stiff, Simon notices the seriousness behind those playful eyes. They’re devoid of emotions, and he’s unable to tell which colour they are because it’s like they change every time he blinks. “Can’t I ask you to leave?”

You shake your head, taking a sip from the tea. “No. You must ask for something that involves only you, then you’ll give me a sacrifice as an offering, and only then can I leave. It’s the, ah, rules.” You jump off the fridge, dusting the cookie crumbles from your clothes, and finish the tea before handing him the cup. “Well, I’ll have to stay until you think about it. Don’t worry, you won’t even notice I’m here.”

“Shut up!” Simon yells.

The teacher stops mid sentence, turning to look at him with an unimpressed stare. “Mr. Riley, it’s the third time this week. If you’re unsatisfied with my class, please leave.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he mumbles, bowing his head in shame as your laughter, and his classmate’s, fills his ears. You’re sitting next to him, using a guy’s head in front of him as a footstool.

Very quickly, and very unfortunately for him, Simon realised —very publicly— nobody could see you unless you wanted them to, and that you’re seriously, very fucking annoying. You won’t shut up when he’s trying to sleep, when he’s trying to study, when he’s taking a shower… very inconvenient.

Simon buries his face between his hands as he hears you sing Pink Pony Club over the teacher’s voice for the seventh time in a row, but nobody but him can hear your cries, and he wishes he could kill himself and end his misery. 

“Kill me. That’s my wish.”

“Nope. Who’s gonna give me my yummy blood if you die?” you laugh, inhaling some tiramisú in front of him, your red shirt with devil horns feeling like a personal insult.

“At this point, just kill someone at random.”

The tilt in your head tells him you’re considering it, but then you’re stealing his apple pie and tut again, wiggling your finger at him. “No. Ask something else.”

After class, and as you choke on chocolate cake, Simon turns to you, placing his phone next to his ear so he doesn’t look so crazy.

“End world hunger.”

“With these presidents? Be realistic.”

Of course, Simon can think of nothing for weeks. There’s nothing that makes him feel passion. His hobbies? He’s alright with sucking at them. Money? He lives fairly alright. Beauty? He’s not totally disgusting so it’s fine. Fame? No, thank you. Being in a band and becoming slightly famous had been enough to scare him.

And so, he goes to the grocery store, buying ingredients to bake some brownies, apple pie, lemon pie, pumpkin pie… whatever it’s sweet. Cookies are less annoying than pie, so he makes sure to buy a lot of sugar.

“Oh, don’t forget the lavender tea,” you call out from behind of him, your hands resting over his shoulders. Simon sighs and complains inwardly, but he does grab it.

Watching you commit little crimes over the next seven months is hilarious. You make somebody trip and he has to bite back a smile; you make people lose their bus and trains, and okay, not so funny, but the delight in your face has him in awe. You definitely do not look cute when you’re munching on the pies Simon bakes for you when he hands them to you in the middle of a (totally by accident) picnic. 

It’s really disgusting the way you eat ten cookies in a single breath and he’s totally not happy when you complement his flan. “You’d get so many souls in hell for this.” No that he wants souls, at all, but.. It’s good to know. 

Denial aside, he loves it when you accept to have some tea with him. Lavender is your favourite, but his peppermint one, with milk, seems to be of your liking as well. He’s really not— Well, Simon is very happy when you add honey to your tea, which he started placing closer to you, the happy glint in your colourful eyes sending a shiver of satisfaction to his chest. It’s the same when you accept to learn how to make tiramisú on your own, yet ask him to make it anyway.

Just a few weeks from the first year of you two together, of you waiting for him to make his wish, as you munch on caramel popcorn and the two of you watch Scary Movie, Simon falls silent, turning to you.

“Can I ask for you to stay, but only make it true if you also wanna stay, not forcing yourself?”

Simon watches as your jaw stops working, turning to him in silence. After a moment, you swallow and put the popcorn away. “Well, I—”

“No, right?” he interrupts, standing up abruptly, not bothering to pause the movie. “I mean, you haven’t asked me in a while so you must be tired of waiting. Okay, so I’ll ask for fame. Make me a skilled singer, and… hm, yeah, make me famous.”

There’s a little flicker in your eyes, displeasure clear in your face, but it’s gone in a few moments. Before he can say anything, you grip his wrist, pulling him in and pecking his lips without a care. Simon can only blink, not saying anything. It’s part of the sacrificial ritual, for all he knows.

“That was my reward.”

“Oh... I’m not famous, though.”

“Not—” you cut yourself off, your horns flickering over your head, and he catches a glimpse of your real face, but then it’s gone and it’s human skin again. “No. You asked for me to stay, only if I wanna stay. I’m staying. That’s why that’s my reward.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

You lean closer, frowning as if you thought he’s really fucking stupid. Which he is. “I will stay,” you huff, stressing every word again. “I’ll keep you from dying because I enjoy the human world and fresh cookies, but when you die, I’m claiming your soul and we can be attached forever. Also, I like you too, so you can’t say no.”

“Ah. Are you proposing?”

“I’m commanding, actually.”

“Okay, sure.”

Your lips taste like caramel and lavender tea.

And really, he can’t wait to die and sell pies in hell with you.

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taglist: @sheepispink

[pythonmoth]

"SIMON'S HAIR IS BLOND" "SIMON'S HAIR IS BROWN"

If i want Simon to have a bad buzz cut and be a fucking ginger, he's a fucking ginger. if I want him to have long black hair, he'll have long black hair. if I want him to have curly pink hair, he'll have curly pink hair

shut the fuck up?

[pythonmoth]

cw: suggestive | gn!reader

Simon knows how to play the piano.

In truth, he never really thought much of it. Of course, he's used to all kind of jokes, to all the flirty comments about his job. Sometimes, he also takes advantage of it, he won't lie. It comes in handy.

When the bar he plays at hires a singer, he's curious, and when he sees you, Simon realizes he knows you. He's seen you around the place, usually on the street with a guitar; mostly only with your powerful lungs, singing to your heart's content. People suggest song after song and your lips curl in satisfaction —he's given you a couple bucks, he thinks, but that's it.

Now, Simon plays and you sing with him. Your voice is delicious, warm like honey under the sunlight. It's rich, sultry, powerful, and it sounds perfect from where he's sitting, fingers sliding across the keys. (And maybe everytime you say his name, his fingers twitch a little. Maybe).

One night, a couple weeks after you join the team, you show him a song you want him to play for you. Its the instrumental, so he has no idea what the lyrics say but it sounds flirty, fun, so it definitely fits your voice. How could he say no?

Simon nods.

And a few hours later, he's playing.

"Hey, Piano Man."

Simon's right eyebrow twitches. He looks up at you from the piano, fingers having already memorized the song. Like a whiplash, it sends an intense heat burning from the base of his spine to his fingertips.

You're flirting. Shamelessly so.

Your eyes are on his, smirk brightening whenever he blinks twice at the lyrics, because you're talking to him.

"When your fingers brush against the keys, I keep getting naughty thoughts."

Simon smirks. He can't help it. You're absolutely ridiculous. He'd be damned if he dared looking away from you, your shoulders loose and comfortable, happily telling everyone around that you want him to—

"Play my body like a piano."

Simon makes a tiny little mistake, eyes wide. He hopes nobody actually heard that, but it's painfully obvious. It makes his boss turn to him from behind the bar, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "Ah," John thinks.

Your voice carries a laugh as you continue, holding the microphone and actually leaving the stage with it, feet light as you walk over to the piano. Simon's blinking at you, biting back a smirk now that the lights are on the two of you.

"Hey, Piano Man, when this song ends, come to me."

Simon's pinky skips a key. Your eyes are teasing, but genuine.

"The last melody. Just you and I."

A breathless scoff leaves Simon's chest and your smile brightens, both of you ignoring the way the patrons are laughing and shaking their heads at the shameless scene in front of them.

"That's how I want to listen to it."

Simon barely manages to finish the song, chest tight and lips pursed. When it's done, you wink at him and try to walk away, but he's faster. With a single movement, he holds you up against his chest with an arm, your feet no longer touching the ground as he walks away from the laughs and the teasing yelps.

Your laughter is bright and content as he drags you to John's office at the back of the bar, away from all of them.

Simon can deal with the rest later.

buy me a coffee

[pythonmoth]

i was eating some buldak and suddenly thought... old men yaoi

old john price finds himself drunk out of his mind, bleeding on the snow and unaware of his surroundings. a kind, older male reader brings him to his farm, stitches him up and gives him a job

snow turns into warm sunlight, blooming flowers, then the fall, and john realises he doesn't wanna leave. they've already gotten used to each other anyway. plus, of course, you pay really well, and your coffee is so good he doesn't crave whiskey anymore

and then, when snow hits again, the perfect excuse is there, and you both take it. no wood for the fire, and the blankets didn't dry because you both happened to wash them too late? no problem. you can hug the night away

out of necessity, obviously

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[pythonmoth]

hello there~

sfw | everyone's welcome to interact | requests: closed | nsfw: @polyphemusboo | ao3 | my beautiful oc

» you can call me moth! ~ ♡

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