A/N: Hi, my lovelies. I'm sorry ahead of time. I love you all. I hope it's not too sad...
Simon's index finger made languid circles over your collarbone as he pressed wet kisses to the damp skin at the nape of your neck, his nose brushing the little hairs and making you shiver. The stink of sex filled the room, clothing littered the floor from the fervor of trying to undress each other as quickly as possible. You didn't want to waste a single minute, not when it was the last night you had with him until he left for a month. At least that's what he told you.
In reality, he wasn't coming back. You laid blissfully unaware, eyes closed and relishing in the feel of his calming touch as he tried not to linger on the fact that he was never going to see you again after that night. It was a suicide mission, one Price had assigned him to. The old bastard insisted it was safe but Simon knew better, knew there was only one outcome. His and every other soldier's death that accompanied him.
It had been impossible to tell you. Every time he tried, something else came out of his mouth instead: a compliment for how lovely your hair was, how beautiful you looked in whatever you were wearing, anything other than what he really needed to say. It wasn't fair to you, he knew that, but you were always so happy and he didn't want to ruin a single day with you. Instead, you will receive his goodbye. The same one he spent hours recording again and again while you were at work the day before. He already emailed it to Price with specific instructions on delivery, and though the Captain again reassured him everything would be fine, he accepted the task.
Simon froze when the thought of you receiving the news of his death crossed his mind. He tried not to think about you sinking to your knees, tears welling in perfect eyes and streaking perfect cheeks; tried not to think about you at the breakfast table alone, a place set across from yours in hopes he might walk down the stairs to share the meal. His shirts hanging in the closet, socks in the drawer, all left for months afterwards; everytime you built up the courage to move them, the day would end with you in bed, clutching one of his hoodies, fast asleep with swollen eyes.
A tear slipped down his temple but he quickly wiped it away on the silk pillowcase, thankful you had your back to him in the bed that had been a sanctuary of shared love for nearly a full year. A year in April - the month he was set to return in. The fifteenth, the day he was going to give you the ring he selected using the little piece of thread he wrapped around your finger as you slept. He knew the box was wedged into the back of his sock drawer and ready to be discovered once you decided it was time to move on. Maybe finding it might solidify what his intentions were and prove how much you meant to him, prove he wanted to share his life with you even if he never said it out loud.
Just then, you interrupted the path of his finger and brought his hand up to your lips, placing light kisses on his knuckles as you turned onto your back. Your smile made his heart stutter as always, though there was something different about it. Something he couldn't quite pinpoint. He brushed it off and cupped your cheek in the palm of his hand, thumb mapping the curve of the bone, eyes flitting across your features and memorizing each part of you. The shape of your eyes, the way your pupils dilated when you caught sight of him, the crease between your brows, the curvature of your nose, the flush of your plump lips, the way your cheeks turned scarlett whenever you were with him.
His eyes fell to your slender neck, your chest that was covered in a sheen of sweat from hours of lovemaking, the rise and fall of your breasts as you took careful breaths, the dark patch of curls at the top of your thighs…it was all you, all his. Complete and utter perfection. He knew settling down with you, marrying you, would have been worth breaking his promise to himself that having a family was forbidden. It pained him to know you would never be his wife.
His wife. Simon Riley's wife. Mrs. Riley.
A name that ended with his mother.
He thought of you in the wedding dress of your dreams, hair done up and skin glowing with excitement as you gave yourself to him. There was at least solace in the fact that eventually someone might be privy to that sight, no matter if it made Simon blind with jealousy. As long as you were happy, that was all that mattered to him.
"Do you have to go?" you asked sweetly, batting those damn eyelashes and captivating him. "What if I called Price myself and told him you can't?"
Simon entwined his fingers with yours and tried his best to be lighthearted so nothing was suspicious. You were always so keen to spot everything, even the slightest changes of moods. It was a surprise to him that you hadn't mentioned anything at all since he was assigned to the mission last week.
"He will call you loony and force me to stay two months instead of one," he said with a chuckle, hoping it was convincing enough.
Ringing laughter filled the room and his heart stuttered again. "I doubt that, Si," you managed through giggles, his eyes tracking the way your thumb stroked his wrist. Then you released him and flipped onto your side, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and shove his face into your neck. He skirted along your collarbone with his lips, breathing in your natural scent, a sweetness he never wanted to forget.
Your fingers made soothing patterns on his upper back, tracing old scars and imperfections, all things he hated about himself that you loved. It was a gentle reminder that he was dying knowing he was cherished by at least one person, and felt a passion that not many do in their lives. He pitied the people who wouldn't get to experience a love like he had, but at the same time, he envied them. At least they didn't have anything to lose.
"I have a gift for you," he heard through his relaxed stupor.
Simon slotted his eyes open and furrowed his brows. "A gift? For me?" He secretly hoped it was another photo to accompany the other in his vest pocket.
You nodded and pulled away from him, twisting to reach into the bedside table. As you faced him again, he looked down at the gift box you had set on the bed next to his stomach. He glanced up and noticed the large smile on your face as you nudged it towards him, the same little difference as before was seen, but he still couldn't discern it. Though it was like you knew something he didn't…
"Open it," you ordered, biting your lip and looking between him and the box.
"What is it?" Simon asked, realizing a box that large wasn't just a photo.
You pushed it closer to him once more and he carefully lifted the lid, confused when a patch of gray fabric was all that was there. He grabbed the material but you quickly snagged it away from him, holding it to your chest. There was lettering on it from what he could see though nothing that made sense.
"This is for me," you said, your eyes flicking to the rest of the box.
He removed one layer of tissue paper, exposing two things that sat at the bottom of the box, both wrapped in purple tissue paper, one flat and one long. Simon picked up the flat one first and slowly pulled off the tape to reveal the back of a photo. He smiled as he flipped it over, expecting to see an image of our face.
The photo was a dizzying mixture of gray and white, a black patch in the very center and in the middle of that, an oddly shaped white object. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, not fully registering what exactly it was as his smile faded and he shakily lifted the longer object from the box.
No.
He struggled with the tape this time, his eyes flitting to your face for a few seconds before the tissue paper fell away and everything made sense. The room spun wildly, Simon's heart pulsing in his ears and his breaths coming in small shuddering gasps. Your name whispered from his lips as he stared down at the little window on the stick. His chest heaved in time with the clock ticking in the corner, his stomach churning with each rotation of the room. Two pink lines, not one, but two.
He hardly noticed that you had risen to your knees and slipped the gray fabric over your head until he glanced up at you. "Pregosaurus" was in big black letters under your breasts, a tyrannosaurus rex with a little heart on its stomach above that. It was perfect but all he could do was stare in dumbstruck awe, his hands trembling as he clutched the test.
"It's silly, but I know your favorite movie is 'Jurassic Park' so…" you said, looking down at the shirt. "I thought you might find it funny."
"No, it's…it's perfect, I-" He paused and took a deep breath, examining the two lines again then setting the test back in the box. "Are you-"
They had been safe, hadn't they? Apart from the few times - several times - he had neglected the use of a condom…but you were on birth control. It wasn't possible, it couldn't be happening.
Not now.
"Simon, are you alright?" he heard through the rushing behind his ears, the sweet tune enough to snap him back into existence. His mouth hung open, the few tears that managed to slip past his defenses wetting the bottom of the box.
"Yes," he murmured, hardly controlling the quiver in his voice. "This…this is…you are-? Are you certain?"
Please say no, please say it's a mistake, he wanted to say, wanted to beg you to say. The guilt of abandoning you alone was enough but leaving you with a baby…he refused to do it.
Your nod went straight to his stomach and a wave of nausea coursed through him. Without a second thought, he lifted you over the box and set you on top of him, bringing your lips to his and kissing you with a crushing force. It was what he needed to calm down, the only thing that gave him the refuge he needed most. As his tongue swept along yours, his hands traversed every bit of you: your back, your thighs, your bottom. Anything to distract himself from what he knew he had to do.
"I love you," he whispered against your lips. "So much. I love you so much."
"I love you," you returned, rubbing your nose back and forth with his. "More than words can express."
Simon kissed you again, holding the back of your head in his large palm as he slipped his tongue past your lips and devoured you. It was intense, feverish, perfect. Your kiss provided a warmth that was enough to calm the raging thoughts in his head and bring him to the conclusion that he had to stay. He had to convince Price to send someone else…anyone else.
Once he drew back, he held you close to him, shoving your face into the crook of his neck and pawing for the box. He felt inside it for the photo, wanting more than anything to see his baby. He was going to be a father, the father of your baby and you were going to be the mother of his child. The thought of your belly swollen and carrying the life he had created with you…it was an understatement to say he was happy.
Finally, he managed to pluck the photo from the box and brought it to his face, smiling at the little blip in the center. "This is her?" he asked, holding the photo closer to your face.
"Or him."
Simon hummed heartily and kissed the top of your head, eyes glued to the picture as he made gentle circles on the small of your back. Of course the gender didn't matter, but the thought of having a miniature you running around made him grin ear to ear. Still, as your breaths became shallow, he stared at the image, knowing that in the morning, he was going to do something very stupid.
/
A/N: Anyways, leaving this entire story open ended. Did he go on the mission? Did he ask Price to stay? Did he do something stupid to get himself arrested so he didn't have to go? Guess we will never know. Please leave a comment if you want. They make me happy. Also on another note, I will be posting a filthy KönigxReader sometime this week once I find the time to edit it so I will make up for this. Love you all!