Cw: Toxic!Simon x GN Depressed Reader, manipulative/toxic behavior (Simon), depression (bed rotting, ED coded, etc.), encouragement to get worse, cnc coded (?), kidnapping coded (?)
There’s something special about wearing a mask.
Simon realized it the day he started wearing it.
People tend to fill in the gaps, humanize and characterize, conjure up grand delusions and dreams. Act like they know you, feel like they know you.
It’s logical of course, evolution from hundreds and thousands of generations formulated to survive. It’s in our nature to categorize, fill in the gaps. Not a wild leap in logic to think the big scary skull masked man has been through. Sure acts like he has.
But despite that they always seem to think he’s a good man. Or rather as good as a man a killer could be.
It’s a bit appalling. That despite how cracked palms with stained crevices that carry the retched stench of blood, there’d be an inkling of hope, that within that reservoir there was a shine of someone real. Someone who was a child once too.
That the jokes, and banter were the real him.
Teammates always seemed to spill their guts, tongues loosened by the looming danger of sinking too far, grasping and scrambling for that elusive moment of humanity. It’d be just as easy for him to ruin them. Tell that commanding officer, write that report, let a few words slip back to a loved one back home, loosen his tongue as well.
He never did of course. That means he’d lose his leverage. He could ruin people’s lives, be the stain that lurched and bleed into all facets of their life, irrevocably tie himself to them. Forever changed. He’s a horrible man, in a position of power.
But you. You were just as bad as him.
You didn’t wanna get better, did you?
Rotting in bed, scrolling on your phone till you head ached, eating absolute shit that ruined you inside or even nothing at all. Even the way you talked to yourself, stupid, dumb, useless. Normal symptoms of depression, probably anxiety and control issues to tackle on. Nothing special, no real schtick.
What made it special was how you always tried saving yourself. To do lists, calendars, alarms, some type of schedule or routine. It always worked a bit, the saving grace to get you out of bed a little bit longer.
You always would boast about, speak like you knew what you were doing, a self made guru. But everyone knew it was always something you picked up from social media, convinced some random online had the solution to fix what’s wrong with you, or fill in that hole in your aching heart. And just when it started to get good, take effect, actually mean something. You’d quit.
It’s too hard, it’s too much effort, one day couldn’t— wouldn’t hurt. But it did, and you knew it did. It’s like you craved that fall, that stretching moment of wax wings beginning to melt, how it seared at soft flesh making it itchy with irritation.
You liked the novelty, the pain. There was no fixing you. You didn’t wanna get better, and neither does he.
It was only right you be together.
He’s outwardly destructive and bad, you’re internally destructive. A hundred percent match.
It didn't matter if you wanted him, or even wanted a relationship, he was going to have you. When you finally get that glimpse of attention, even just the idea of getting better, of fixing you, you wouldn’t run and he knows it. He’s stalked all your socials, the depraved yearning for someone to make it all better. How whenever you were praised or rewarded you look upward, grappling for that slight scrap of something more, love, and he had heaps of it for you.
There was no fixing either of you, neither of you wanted it, no other reality in which either of you could be “normal”.
But that’s okay. Even if you never get better, both of you could get worse, forever tether together.
So just let him take you home, love. He has everything you’d ever need or want, not that you’d even take the time to take care of yourself, but he’d always brush your teeth or wash your hair. All you gotta do is not fight it.
Now, won’t you go home with your boyfriend?
