Am I too late?
Pairings : groom!simon riley x bride!reader
Genre : HEA (I promise), Nightmare, Language, Kissing
Summary : Seeing you marry someone who wasn't him really knocked all the air from Simon's lungs.
Thank fuck it was only a nightmare — one that had felt terrifyingly real, but wasn't.
Because when Simon jolted awake, chest heaving, he realized he: only needs you and the man waiting to marry you wasn't someone else... it was him.
༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹
This is wrong. So wrong.
"No!" Simon's voice cracked between his guttural sobs, the word tearing itself from his throat in a way it never had before.
For a long, agonizing moment, he couldn't move, and his feet remained rooted to the ground as his ragged breaths echoed through the beautifully decorated lakeside venue.
The white flowers swayed gently in the breeze, fairy lights shimmered above the aisle, and the lake behind the altar glistened beneath the afternoon sun.
It wasn't beautiful, it was hell.
And it wasn't true.
Right?
It can't be, but the way it felt so real, he could not deny it, how his breath hitched with every syllable of your name, the painful cries burned into his throat as Simon saw you smile at the end of the aisle, but not at him --
the same smile he had earned after years of hovering around you -- the smile he memorized like a map of a pirate who was on hunt for treasure, and you did it at someone who wasnt even him, while your hand rested in another man's hand way too easily.
Though you looked too ethereal in that bloody wedding dress. The dress you'd chosen with such quiet excitement, the one Simon had sneaked a glance at. It was supposed to be for him. For Simon. Not... not for another man.
And in that moment, Simon Riley felt his heart shatter into pieces he'd never be able to put back together, "Fuck!"
Then he ran towards where you stood, without thinking -- and his lungs burned with every ragged breath he took, while his boots pounded against the rain-soaked pavement creating that shmack-- sound, and soon people around him, blurred past him into nothing but shapeless figures.
The church bells rang in distance, once, twice, thrice, then again and every chime sounded like another nail sealing his fate.
No. No. No.
Was he too late?
He couldn't be. And you simply couldn't do this.
Because it was always supposed to be the two of you. It had always been you — through every year, every deployment, every lonely night he convinced himself he didn't deserve a future.
and in every step of his journey, you'd become woven into every version of tomorrow he had ever dared to imagine.
You couldn't do this. Not to him. He repeated in his mind like a mantra.
You couldn't stand at the end of that aisle, smiling at someone else, promising forever to another man — because if you weren't his... then he wasn't sure there'd be anything left of him. He could survive bullets, broken bones, and wars that refused to end. But losing you?
That would take whatever remained of his soul with it.
Then, through the haze of panic, something felt... wrong. You weren't moving, at all you just stood there like a puppet, a smile so wide, he hadn't seen before.
he will cut that man's throat, if he had to -- whoever that was.
Suddenly, an anguished pain bloomed deep inside his chest — his heart squeezing and twisting against his ribs, while every breath drove invisible splinters of his own bones that started stab at his lungs, as if his own body turned against him and finally wanted to break him apart.
and he realized he could make it to you, he had to, he will deal with the man later he had to save you, first, hold you, have you.
So finally he shoved through the crowd, ignoring the curses thrown his way, his suit jacket hanging crooked from one shoulder, tie half-undone, hair damp with sweat and rain, "Move!" He growled, his tears falling at his side, yet the aisle stretched before him like it had no end.
It felt too long, far too bloody long.
He still ran. "Don't fucking do this, luv," he begged, shoving through the crowd again, but you wouldn't look at him. Wouldn't see him.
Then you moved, and started to slid the ring onto the other man's finger, and Simon felt his stomach drop through the floor. "I fucking object!"
and you finally turned to him then, and finally. He thought— he prayed — he could reach you. He raised his hand toward you, trembling, and you looked at him with something like grief and whispered, "I can't do this—"
"Please." His voice cracked, "Please. I love you." Simon cried.
...
"Ghost!" Then finally his eyes flew open and he bolted upright so violently the cot beneath him groaned in protest, hitched breaths tore from his lungs as he swallowed hard, his pulse thundering in his ears, and his frantic gaze darted around the room, searching for the hint of what he just saw, but there was no church. No aisle. No wedding.
Just the familiar walls of his quarters, and standing over him was Soap, his brows knitted together, equal parts confused and concerned. "Bloody hell..." Soap muttered, taking a cautious step forward. "Ye alr't, mate?"
Simon dragged a hand over his face and felt the wetness there , he'd been crying in his sleep, his cheeks still damp, his throat tight.
He blinked still in shock, heart hammering, the image of you slipping that ring onto another man's hand still seared behind his eyelids. What the hell was that?
Simon turned his face towards soap and tried to breath evenly but even so, he failed, because all that came out was a broken sound of him inhaling the air, "wh're, 's , she?
Soap frowned at him, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder, but Simon yanked himself away before his hand could reach him, "What the--... she is--" Soap stammered, confusion written all over his face.
"Wh'e's my girl?" Simon growled, cutting him off in between. "F'cking answer me!"
"In her quarters," Soap answered, with no hesitation. Because he knew better than anyone: Simon usually don't look like this, but if he did, you didn't ask questions.
and right now Ghost wasn't just rattled by the dream he had -- he looked like he'd lost something irreplaceable to him, his breathing came uneven, his eyes darting, searching for something that wasn't there.
Soap had seen him furious, seen him exhausted, seen him bleeding half to death in the back of a moving truck. But never like this.
Honestly, he had only come to tell him you were in your quarters getting ready -- to remind him it was almost time for him to start preparing too.
Standard wedding-day preparations -- but when he saw him like this crying and reaching for something that wasnt there, he got worried and looking at his mate now, at the devastation carved into every line of him—Soap told him where you were -- instead of telling him to get ready for the day.
as soon as Soap told him where you were Simon was already moving.
He shoved Soap aside before he could stop him and stumbled out of the room, barefoot, he didn't bother fixing his wrinkled clothes, didn't bother with his hair, or even his mask, while still breathing hard from the nightmare, he tore through the base toward your quarters.
He didn't care who saw him. He didn't care what they thought.
He just ran.
...
Moments later, he reached your quarters and pounded against the door like a frantic man, each knock louder and more desperate. It didn't take long before the handle turned and the door swung open.
There you stood, wrapped in your wedding dress, looking every bit as breathtaking as you had in his dream —only this time, you were looking at him.
For a long moment, Simon could do nothing but stare at you, drinking in the sight of you as though he needed to convince himself you were real.
You blinked up at him, your innocent eyes filled with confusion at the sight of his disheveled state — his hair a complete mess, clothes wrinkled, feet bare against the cold floor, his chest rising and falling with frantic breaths.
Slowly, your confusion gave way to worry as your brows knitted together. "Si?" you called softly to him.
Then it hit him. You hadn't married someone else. You were still here. Still his to love. Still the woman who would soon become his wife — not someone else's. "Bloody hell," he breathed, relief crashing into him with such force that his knees nearly gave out.
You wanted to tell him it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding. The words reached the tip of your tongue... then died there the moment you saw him like this. "Are you okay, si?"
He let out a shaky laugh, shaking his head as though he couldn't quite believe it himself.
Then, without another word, he walked straight into your room and pulled you close against him, his one hand gently tilted your chin upward, forcing your eyes to meet his, while other hand wrapped itself around your waist pulling you flush against until there was no space left between you and him, and then he finally kissed you. Almost desperately, and you kissed him back almost, with same desperation.
He did it like he'd spent an eternity believing he'd already lost you. Like if he didn't kiss you now, you'd slip through his fingers all over again.
The kiss was messy, and breathless, almost —filled with every ounce of fear and relief he'd been carrying since waking from that nightmare.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours and his chest heaved with each inhale of breathe, "Promise me, that you will be mine forever."
"I vow to be yours forever, Si," you breathed against him, your arms slipping around his waist as you held him close. "But now..." you smiled softly, "...we have to get married."
Simon let out the faintest huff of a laugh, and pulled you even closer to him his hands tracing small circles into the dip of your spine, which makes you involuntarily sigh in releif, "Just five more minutes like this," he murmured before stealing another kiss.
You melted into him almost instantly, smiling against his lips. "Okay," you whispered. "Five more minutes."
And for the first time that morning, Simon truly breathed.
because the nightmare that had haunted him only minutes ago finally loosened its grip on his heart, and he realized you were here. You were safe. You were his.
And in just a little while, you were finally going to become his wife -- for this life and every other to come.
༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹
