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There were two things for sure that Simon knew about his soulmate. One was that they were definitely Hispanic, the other being that they were probably going to be the death of him, literally.
How, exactly, did he know this? Well, the thing about soulmates is that they each have a mark. It can be anywhere on their body, but it’s there all the same, and is as unique as each individual that it represents. It usually consists of the first words that the soulmate hears the other say, but rarely it can actually be an image, or an impression of color.
And Simon, well, he has the most unusual / off the beaten path twist of words etched across his ribs that he’s ever heard of. The font is an elegant black crawl with perfectly dainty pretty loops and swirls, and it says “Dios, I’m going to eat you if you don’t shut up!”
Yeah, so Simon is pretty sure that the great love of his life is also a murderer (maybe even a serial killer), and is that just not Simon’s luck?
Most people get kind, sweet words, or some cheesy pick up line. Clary, his best friend, has “You can see me?” in blocky macho letters with splashes of orange interweaving like graffiti. They had always had a lot of fun imagining the context in which their words were said.
That’s not the only unusual thing about Simon. You, see, he was born with his words already in place. Usually, words didn’t start writing themselves across people's skin until at least one of the soulmates were well and good undergoing the wonderful evolution of puberty. So not only is Simon’s soulmate probably mentally unhinged (and possibly cannibalistic), but also guaranteed to be at least 12 years or so his senior (if not more).
Simon has had more than one nightmare of being chased by an old abuela, dressed in a cooking apron, and brandishing a meat cleaver.
-
Fast forward to his late teen years when Clary stumbles onto the fact that she’s, surprise, actually literally angelic, and burdened with glorious purpose. Simon is understandably feeling way over his head. His whole world has been tipped upside down. The things that used to be in his nightmares, the things that were just scary make believe bullshit they watched on weekends, turns out to be real. It’s taking him a little bit to adjust to that.
The entire situation with Clary and her missing mother, this fucknut Valentine douche, and the careful lines they have to toe with the other Shadowhunters and Downworlders is making him feel just a couple seconds away from one hell of an anxiety attack.
And now, now he’s been fucking kidnapped, by VAMPIRES! Granted, Camille is hot as fuck, but that hardly makes up for the situation he’s found himself in, all because of Clary and her family curse/drama whatever bullshit. He knew he should have just stayed home. Why did he have to come running like an overexcited puppy every time Clary came calling? Ugh, whenever he got out of this mess (if he gets out of this mess) it will never happen again. No more supernatural related anything. He’s so fucking done.
Camille scoots closer to him, her body all languid and sleek. He’s kind of got a fear-boner going on, but it’s not like he can help his bodily functions. He nervously crosses his legs in an effort to try and hide it. He did not need crazy vampires honing in on his junk. He doesn’t think that any scenario with that happening would end well. Fangs and his dick do not sound like a particularly pleasant combination.
She reaches out and smooths her palm against his cheek, continuing on down the side of his neck, and coming to rest in the middle of his chest. She catches his eyes with her own and holds them there. His thoughts clog up and his head feels thicker, like it’s been filled with smoke. God she’s so pretty, so so pretty.
She laughs, a high tinkling bell sound. “Why, thank you sweetheart.”
Oh god, did he say that out loud?
She leans in so very close, until he can feel her breath ghosting across his face.
“Mmmhmm.” She comes in close, until her face fills his vision completely and all he can see is a swatch of her skin. He feels a sticky press of lips against his cheek, the cut of his jaw, the corners of his mouth. His breath comes faster, and he can feel his body flushing and heat radiating outward in response. His fear-boner is painfully aware of the situation.
When she finally wetly kisses his mouth, Simon can’t remember what he was so afraid of in the first place. Camille has been nothing but nice to him, and god she’s so beautiful. Something so beautiful can’t be all that bad. She kisses him until he forgets he’s supposed to be afraid. Until he forgets that she kidnapped him in the first place.
She pulls back slowly and captures his gaze one more time. He leans forward, as if to chase her mouth, can’t get enough of it.
He hears a dark laugh in the corner. He’s too caught up in Camille to pay attention to it, but he sees a look of irritation come across her face. She turns away from him briefly.
“Raphael, why don’t you do go do something useful, like -oh I don’t know- patrol the perimeter to make sure his stupid little friends don’t come looking for him.” Simon can see her flash a little bit of fang, and he shivers in response, but not the instinctual fear for his life shiver, it has the opposite effect. He wants that mouth on him, those teeth on him, and god does he want it to happen as soon as possible.
“If they’re as stupid as he is, you don’t have to worry. One kiss and you’ll have them enamored and eating out of the palm of your hand.”
Camille gives a scowl of distaste, before turning back to him with a candy sweet smile. She grasps his face in her hand, which surprisingly feel warm (ya know, for a dead person).
“Simon, love. I’m looking for something. Something that is so important to me.”
He nods along dumbly, with a goofy, lust drunk smile on his face.
“Where is the mortal cup?”
“I don’t know.” He replies instantly. He wants to spill everything. Yes, he doesn’t know, but there are things he does know, about the institute, about Valentine, and about Clary. Something keeps him from speaking up though. He can’t tell her, and he feels the guilt wash over him. He should tell her, he feels the words rush up into his throat, but he bites them back at the last second. No. He can’t. He whimpers a bit.
“Anything Simon, any information that could help me find it. You want to help me don’t you love?” She kisses him again, and the fog is getting thicker, so thick he can barely think straight. He feels all muddled and out of focus.
When she leans back he just starts talking. About everything and nothing. He tells her that Clary is a Shadowhunter, and about Jace and the others. He tells her that before that week, he had just been a normal boy trying to woo girls with his band. He prattles on and on. He has to distract her - distract her - distract her. Because,... because he doesn't even know. He can’t remember. He just knows that something's not right. So he does what he does best, he talks and he talks and he talks.
He hears a growl coming from somewhere that seems so far away. His focus goes askew when he feels a hand in his hair and his head is jerked to the side, and he’s staring at a guy (Raphael, the guy that took Camille’s attention away from him earlier) who looks about ten seconds away from murder, with his pupils blown wide, and his mouth opened in a way that makes his fangs look very menacing.
“Dios, I’m going to eat you if you don’t shut up!”
Simon’s body tenses as he hears those words, those fucking words. He could be an amnesiac who didn’t know his own fucking name, and he would still know those words. The words that have their twin scrawled across his ribs. His words.
“If your goal was to scare the crap out of me, mission accomplished.” He feels as if his chest is caving in. His soulmate, the supposedly love of his life, is a monster.
Raphael stops short, and his eyes widen in sudden surprise. He opens his mouth again, about to say something, when loud noises rumble in from the hallway. He springs up and jerks his head around, trying to determine the threat.
Camille springs off the couch as well, a panicked look across her face. Raphael turns to her, and quickly says ‘They’re here for him. Go, I’ll keep them busy.” She gives him a firm nod, and then she’s gone in a blink.
Raphael turns to look at him, his face is grim and his mouth is twisted down into a frown. It makes Simon uncomfortable, the intensity in his gaze. His mind is starting to clear up now that Camille has turned her attentions away and left. He realizes how stupid he’s been, getting glamoured by that she wolf.
He’s pulled from his thoughts when Raphael storms over and yanks him off the couch, pulling a knife from his buckle and holding it to his throat. Oh god, just as he feared. His soulmate is going to be the death of him.
Raphael pushes him through the door, and into the hallway. He keeps a relentless pace, shoving him forward over and over again. Simon can’t get a word in, with the way he’s a little bit nauseous and being manhandled rougher than he would like. Raphael pushes him up the flights of stairs, up and up and up, until they’re halfway up the last flight of stairs leading to the rooftop and the door to the outside bursts open with a bang and a cascade of sunlight.
He can feel Raphael jerk to a stop and go rigid and small behind him. He can hear him hiss in pain. The sunlight causing him some serious discomfort. He can’t really bring himself to care though. The guy deserves it, and not to mention Clary has come to save him. She stands in the door surrounded by the other Shadowhunters, who have stopped dead upon seeing him. Clary is the first to rush forward.
“Simon!” She glances back at Raphael. “Let him go! You let him go right now!”
Raphael drags him back down the flight of stairs, till they reach the landing. Oh god, he’s going to be murdered. His soulmate’s not going to let him go. He’s way too fucking young to die goddammit.
The Shadowhunters advance.
Raphael finally speaks up. “You can have him! I have no need of him.” He removes the knife at his throat and shoves him forward, toward Clary. He’s disoriented and falls into Clary’s arms. He turns to see Raphael duck towards the door frame along the edge of where they’re standing, that leads god knows where, in order to escape the sun's rays. He can still hear him when he calls out, “Don’t forget this Shadowhunters! Don’t forget what I’ve done for you.”
Simon calls out. “Thank you, I don’t know how to thank you--” He’s cut off by Raphael.
“Don’t. You mean nothing.”
Simon opens his mouth, to say something, he’s not sure what (what do you say when your soulmate says something like that to you?) but he can’t get anything out. He has not time to try again, because there are scrambling noises coming from below. The other vampires are coming up to see what’s happened.
Clary and Jace take hold of him, and drag him out onto the rooftop, where the sun’s warm light wraps them in an afternoon glow, and where the vampires can’t touch.