#pythonmoth

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

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.”

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

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.

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

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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