#dad Simon Riley

[guppybibi]

The blood on his son's clothes catches his eye, his attention diverting away from the daily newspaper to the cherry red splatter. Simon places his reading glasses down the wooden coffee table with a sigh before approaching his son.

"One question. Is it yours?" Simon asks, glaring down at the teen who was biting back his lip nervously.

"No." The boy answers straightforwardly, losing the tension in his shoulders when he sees Simon ease up and crack a small smile.

"That's good. I would've been disappointed in you."

And he certainly wasn't when he learned that his son fought someone to protect a lady, what a true gentleman he raised with you, no? Hopefully you're proud as well.

[bunnybeaches]

Simon calls you his ladybug while he calls your daughter baby bug, or just bug.

[ilostthewar]

Your baby is born and Ghost feels like he is on one of the most high-stress stake outs of his life.

He insisted you go to sleep, cause god knows you need it. He watched all your organs leave your body and then get stuffed back in like sausages. Simon has seen more gore than most of these doctors, and he still stared in mild horror when your screaming baby was pulled from your womb and placed on your chest.

So he insisted you get some rest. He promised, unnecessarily, that he would keep watch over both you and the baby. After all you have been through, if there is anything he can do, it’s this.

He has been shot at, held hostage, shared bathrooms with Price. He has dealt with live bombs that haven’t made him as anxious as he is now. You are vulnerable, exhausted and freshly stitched up. And this baby, so defenseless and entirely reliant on him. Unaware of the world outside of his arms.

He’s pacing the length of the room. He’s shirtless. He had fucked up the swaddle somehow and then the baby had started those little high pitched whines that foretold the end of the world, and Simon had all but torn the fabric in half. Skin to skin contact was important, that’s what the nurse had said earlier. So here he was, the big bad Ghost, with an infant pressed against his scarred chest, the world’s softest and most aggressively pastel blanket coiled around their back.

He doesn’t know what he is waiting for. For the door to burst open, for this bubble he finds himself in to pop. For his damned phone to ring, calling him away from you both. There are a billion things that can go wrong, he knows that. He’s seen it.

But then he feels the bundle in his arms wriggle and he angles his head down to see their blurry eyes as they coo, and the weight in his chest lightens, just enough. He raises the blanket to gently wipe their chin. He lowers his nose to smell the top of their head, and they smell like milk.

He hears you adjust and call his name, soft and sweet. And he turns to go answer you, his hand smoothing over your head to see the drowsy smile that forms on your face.

Maybe he can exist in this moment, just for a little while.

[yourstrulyrani]

Hi luv!

I am new to Simon Riley but I am DOWN BAD lmao

Could u please write something about mommy reade being insecure and struggling with like body image after pregnancy and during post-partum. Like being a REAL MAN he is, he just adores his mama and loves how her body changed and created their baby.

U can totally change it however u like, i am bad at explaining 😭😭

I absolutely loved ur last dad!Simon imagine, I could never 😭

Keep it up 🫶🏻🫶🏻

dad!simon riley x mom!reader

blurb: dad!simon soothes your insecurities about your postpartum body. cw&tws: body image/weight, suggestive right at the end // wc: 1279

a/n: aw hii you’re so kind, thank you! & don’t worry you explained it perfectly and i am so in love with this idea so here it is, thank you for your kind words btw 🥹🫶🏼 i want to bring attention to anyone reading who needs to hear it, that no matter your weight or how your body looks: you’re enough. your looks are not “hideous” or anything else along those lines just because society tells you otherwise. in no way do i have the intention of promoting body negativity/shaming. every body is a body worthy of love and respect as long as you treat others the same. please take care of yourselves & love yourselves as much as possible 🤍.

With the spare time you have now as your baby is asleep in her nursery, you take off your tank top, now clad in only a nursing bra and your underwear.

You step in front of the mirror. You thought your heart sunk enough when you saw the number on the scale, but you were wrong. You run your hands along your stomach. The skin is still saggy from the pregnancy and birth, and the stretch marks from your pregnancy that were once faint now boldly start at your hips and vine their way to your belly button. At this point, you let the tears fall. You want the body you had before pregnancy. You want the body where you could see where your waist ended and your hips started. You want the body where your breasts don't have stretch marks. You want the number you had on the scale from before. You don’t even recognize yourself.

You think: How did I let myself go this much?

You break down on the wooden floor of the bedroom, the hot tears falling on the cold floor.

“Sweetheart?” His voice calls out to you.

You forgot he was home too.

You look up through your tears, a blurry image but enough to know it's your husband at the doorway of your shared bedroom. Simon doesn’t hesitate to walk over and sit down with you on the floor, placing his hands on your cheeks and rubbing your tears off with his thumbs. “Baby.”

Your eyes shut, letting more tears fall at the pressure. You can’t look at him. You can’t be with him. Your body isn’t enough. Enough for you. Enough for him. “Baby, look at me.” His voice tightens along with his hands on your face.

You whimper in pain, “No.”

His hands move from your cheeks to your elbows, lifting you up gently. “Here, let’s get you up on the bed.” You have been recently so happy with the arrival of your baby, Simon too. It pains him to see you like this. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.” He pleads gently until you finally open your eyes.

As soon as you sit on the bed and your bloodshot eyes weakly gaze at him, his chest tightens. Your breathing is labored yet you manage to get out a few words, “My body, Simon.” You wrap your stomach around your arms, clutching at the body that’s giving you trouble. “It’s so ugly. I’m sorry.” You hiccup, the crying making it harder to breathe. “My stretch marks, my belly, my swollen legs and feet. Everything. I’m sorry I’m not as pretty as before.”

“You don’t think you’re pretty?”

“I’m hideous, Si.”

Simon’s ears rang when you called yourself that word: Hideous. His gorgeous, dedicated, sweet wife. The mother to their baby, the love and light of his life, and here she is talking about herself like this.

“Stand up for me, sweetheart.” Simon grabs your hands and you reluctantly do as he says. He tugs at your bra, “Can I take this off?”

“But the doctor said no sex for six wee—“

“I know, baby. Don’t worry. Not planning on that right now. You need to heal." Your nod of permission makes him unclasp your bra. He cups your cheek and places a kiss on your forehead before guiding you by the shoulders to the mirror. Here you are, again, facing the woman you can’t stand.

Simon stands behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder and his hands on your arms. “You’re so beautiful.” He kisses your neck, the touch of affection featherlight but heavy with love.

Simon’s hands move down to your breasts, cupping one in each hand. His hands are big enough to let his thumbs trace over the stretch marks on them. “These stretch marks are normal and perfect. Your body grew selflessly for our girl and this shows it.” His eyes gaze into yours through the mirror. “I don’t think your stretch marks are hideous. I think they’re a physical sign of your strength.” His hands give your breasts a final rub, then move on to rub the stretch marks across your hips and stomach. You turn your head to the side, disgusted at looking at yourself for any longer.

Your husband clicks his tongue. “Look, baby. Please. Right there in the mirror. Look for me.” Simon glides his hands along your stomach. He squeezes gently, enough to feel the softness without hurting you. You turn your head back to face the mirror, and Simon gives you a warm smile through the mirror. You look at your body, analyzing every inch. The stretch marks you once saw as something that should be disgusted over, you now see them as a physical witness to your pregnancy. You start to think they're not so bad.

His hands circled all around your stomach. “And your belly you said? Here is where you carried our baby. You let her grow here. Your stomach is not hideous. It changed beautifully. It’s softer than before and I love it. I love feeling it. I love looking at it.” He keeps reassuring you in your ear and you can't help but to shiver. You always loved Simon's voice, but the combination of it and his honest reassurances does something else to you.

You slowly start to feel better, but your doubts still rise about how Simon feels. “But I don’t feel pretty enough for you. I’ve changed so much after this pregnancy.”

“You are always pretty enough for me. You are always beautiful. You’re perfect, mama. Your body changed because you got pregnant and that’s normal. I’m not disgusted. If anything I am in awe of you and your body’s ability.”

Simon walks around to stand in front of you now, making you look up at him by lifting your chin up with his finger. His head lowers to kiss your forehead, his lips kissing their way down to your cheek, and lastly to your neck. “Believe me when I say your body has changed in the best way possible, my love. Every inch. Every stretch mark and curve. It’s all beauty to me. You are beauty to me. Love yourself, please.”

Your eyes tear up. Not because you hate your body anymore, but now realizing just how much you should love it and how much the man you love loves it. "I love you," you whisper. Both of you look into each other's eyes, none of you denying the amount of love in each pair.

"I love you too, mama." Simon brings you into an embrace, wrapping his forearms around your upper back. His face finds the crook of your neck, his lips grazing your most sensitive spot as he speaks. "My beautiful woman. Just a few more weeks and I'll prove it to you just how beautiful you are." He softly kisses your neck, thinking about how fortunate he is to have a woman who loves him like you do.

You giggle and cross your arms playfully, “How so?” You know exactly what he means, but it wouldn't hurt to hear it out loud.

Simon chuckles before moving his head away from your neck to look down at your face. He admires every slope. He loves the way your eyelashes compliment your eyes, the way your lip color is the perfect shade to kiss, and your cheeks soft enough to hold in his hands. He does the latter, his words laced with suppressed desire as he whispers, “The same way I got you knocked up.”

You think: How did I get so lucky?

(brb gonna go cry UGH i need a man to praise me like he's doing RIGHT NOW.)

~ yours truly, rani ♥︎

[ghvst-ing]

The shake in his hands is almost imperceptible, but still there as he holds his phone in his large, calloused fingers.

After years of active service, countless years of handling a sniper rifle, you’d think he’d be completely still at all times. And he is, but the emotions bottling inside him prevents it.

He hits the record button on the camera app the second his seven year old steps onto the stage, dressed up in a costume for the character she was playing as.

He feels proud.

Watching her as she so confidently says her part aloud, shifting into her role easily with an elated smile tugging at her lips once she notices his presence in one of the many seats before her.

Simon, being the tank of a man that he is, stands out amongst the crowd, surrounded by the parents’ of the other kids that came to witness the performance.

All goes well, and as the play comes to an end, and the parents’ cheer while the children on stage take a bow, he stops the recording. It pauses when he zooms in on your little girl, his lips quirking up in a rugged smile underneath the black surgical mask he wore.

His gaze drops, fingers tapping away at the screen as he closes the app, opening another, and finding your contact at the top of the list of the limited people he had saved.

He barely manages to send the messages before his daughter runs up to him from the stage, along with the other kids that rushed to their own parents, and clung onto his thigh, staring up at him expectingly with a face that resembled yours closely.

Attachment sent

Look at our little girl love Sent 16:48

He stuffs his phone into his pocket, brown eyes crinkling in the corners before he lifts her up into his arms, and she squeals in happiness.

It was for moments like these that he continued fighting.

Wish you were still here we both miss you Sent 16:49

[lunamoonbby]

I know for a fact Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley would produce some CHUNKY babies so chunky people would think his Lovie is carrying twins but nope it’s just one CHUNKY ASS BABY and Simon would want a whole herd of babies and people would see the toddlers and young children and look at lovie and be like oh you poor mama

[drifting-along-cai]

Ghost Head Cannons||: Dad Life - Newborn Edition

( No Gender specified for Kiddo or User )

Dad!Simon, who just can't stop staring at his little baby as he holds them in his arms, even when he passes them back to you, he can't stop staring at the little bundle, his head resting on your shoulder.

Dad!Simon, who did cry silently with joy when he was alone with them, processing the fact he's actually got a little family of his own, the possibility once seeming so far from him.

Dad!Simon, who's more than used to staying up long nights, happily taking up the nightshifts while you get proper rest, not letting you take more than needed.

Dad!Simon, who remembers how to change diapers after helping care for his late nephew, so there's no debate when the time comes to it and you're busy.

Dad!Simon, who talks to the kid like he would another grown person, like they'll understand or retain any of rants he shares "'M only sayin', Price keeps trustin' yer Uncle Johnny to handle the recruits, we're only gonna get a army of Johnny's and I can barely handle one as it is." *Baby makes a low noise or flails a tiny hand* "Y'know that's exactly what he did, toss a hand and gruff at me when I told 'im that, but 'M tellin' you, it's just gonna be a headache at the end of it."

Dad!Simon, who goes about the trouble of finding "excuses" to hang out with his own kid, always cooking or helping clean with them in his arms when he has the chance to, "Look at you, layin' about like yer gonna live rent free forever. Oh no, you and I are gonna do some work round the house together, start you early on how things are run here."

Dad!Simon, who, yes, does explain every recipe and chore to the baby. You're not quite sure if he's legitimate about it or it's for his own amusement, but he looks happy anyways.

[stargirlstabber]

a lil 'part 2' of this

just as you opened your mouth to ask if he had seen your favorite bra, the piece of clothing wasn't in the laundry basket, not in the washing machine, nor in the dryer or in your wardrobe and it can't just magically disappear, his finger went straight up, silencing you before you could even bring a word out. "lovie, wha'ever it is, not now. ava and i are having our princess tea time. you gotta wait." in his daughter's pink tutu, small cup filled with imaginary tea in his hand, simon riley just sat there on the floor, with ava's fluffy blanket under his butt. "yeah mommy, you heard daddy. shoo shoo, we're having tea time." ava adjusted the little toy crown on top of her styled hair, a work of her fathers skilled hands, getting up and placing another one on her daddy's head. simon wanted to place it right that it wouldn't fall down, but his actions we're stopped with a "daddy nooo! you'll ruin your nails! they're not dry yet." the sigh that left his mouth as he looked at his painted nails- well no, painted fingers, made you laugh, leaving the two of them alone to enjoy their very very pink tea time.

[divine-draws]

POV you knock on the Riley-MacTavish door and get greeted with this (originally posted on my ko-fi)

[bts5sosempire]

A/n: another blurb cuz why tf not? Another Dad!Simon and this man deserve all the softness in the world. Plus, I am not a professional in baby-ology, so take this cute drabble with a grain of salt. 🤟🏻

Simon was convinced his child hated him; the first six months were hard. He might as well get a reward trophy for participation in creating one of the prettiest girls in the world instead. The man tried to get his daughter to get used to him, but every time he hold her, the baby girl realized she wasn't in her mother's arms and they wriggled, before fussing and let out a few cries before going to a full-blown one. Thus, this lead you having to drop whatever you're doing and tend to the baby instead as Simon take over the current chore(s).

"Simon, just give it some time."

The sentence you always use to comfort him, but he still feels a little discouraged, maybe a bit hurt on the inside at the baby's refusal to be in his arms. He was excited for nine months to see his baby girl, but only for her to reject him once she came out of the womb.

"She'll come around, and once she do it'll be worth the wait."

.

The only time the baby seems to stay content in his arms, albeit a little angsty like always when you're not around, and the calmness appears to remain stagnant only for a moment until she starts fussing again; their little whimpers begin to bubble out, as wondering glossy little beady eyes search the room for you as they feel disconnected from their mother who was nowhere to be seen. Simon does his best to quell the child and soothe them before they can cry again.

But alas, it failed as their eyes had tears wounded up in them, and he already knew the signal cries she was going to make. So he had to speed dial you on call and put you on speaker to talk to the child. Honestly, Simon felt terrible for calling you for something as minor as this when he promised to take care of the baby and that he 'got this' for the next few hours when you did the shopping run. "Sorry, Love, it seems she wants to hear you."

Once the baby has heard your voice, they immediately stop crying and listen intently to your sound, like in a trance. The man felt hopeless about the child wanting you only, not him; he watched how they calmed down into obedience as he rocked them from side to side. The amazing things you do that soothe the child in a heartbeat.

But it wasn't until your voice was directed at him.

"Simon, I know you're doing your best trying to have her adjust to you, and I want you to know that I am proud of you for not giving up."

His heart warms at that.

.

It was late noon when he let his baby girl sprawl on the floor inside her playpen as he was watching a show while keeping an eye on her. The moment the little girl gained consciousness as a separate entity from her mother, she began to roll over on her stomach before crawling to sit up, and her little eyes glossed over, looking around the playpen, searching for the maternal needs before it landed on Simon who took his eyes off her for a fraction.

Her little bottom lips begin to quiver and poke out before bursting into tears as Simon quickly steps into his fatherly instinct and scoops up the baby into his arms, silencing her. They bleary wipe their beady tears away with stubby fingers before looking up at him and seeing her father's eyes looking down at her. She sniffed as Simon wiped the snot away with a thumb under her nose, "It's okay, I got you," his voice deeply resonated when he patted her back as his baby girl kept looking at him like it was seeing him for the first time in a different light.

With another sniffle and a little disgruntled noise, she rubs her eyes again and presses her forehead to the thumping side of his heart, slowly calming down. She realized it wasn't so bad to be in her father's arms and have another parent close to her to ease her separation anxiety.

It felt like magic for Simon, how she eased her miniature body into his instead of rejecting him and crying for you until you had to come and get her. He continues to soothe her while swaying from side to side, and you pop out of the corner on the open archway into the living room from the kitchen to see the rainbow after the storm.

You were about to say something, but you quietly mouth:

"I told you so; enjoy it."

With a smile.

[mattiewrotethis]

simon’s never been much of a fan of video games.

his job keeps him from the free time to play them, and they really just don’t interest him overall. he’s definitely the type to point out unrealistic scenarios in movies, so why wouldn’t he treat video games the same?

(however, he loves watching you play the sims. hanging over you shoulder, forcing you to make you and him and make them woohoo over and over again.)

after your daughter was born, she also loved watching you play computer games. anything that moved quickly would catch her attention and she’d just stare. it was only natural that she’d want to play them when she got older.

she asked for a gaming console, and simon, being the girl dad he is, happily got her one for her 15th birthday as well as took her to get a couple of games. one of which being a fps war simulation game. simon would sit on the couch and watch her play, pointing out and complaining about how inaccurate it was and “did they even ask real soldiers what war is like??”, which made your daughter yell in offense and tell him to go away and if he hated it so much, then don’t play it.

that was, until she was stuck on a particular level and was getting increasingly frustrated. usually, she’d ask you for guidance since you have experience gaming, but you weren’t home, and simon was. so she meekly walked into your bedroom where simon was on his phone, put on a sweet voice and asked him for help on this level.

begrudgingly, he went out to the living room and pressed resume, completely blind sighted as to how to play as well as use the controller.

when you got home, you walked in on your daughter, jumping up and down yelling “GO LEFT!! LEFT!!!” and simon shouting about how stupid and inaccurate this game is.

big high fives were exchanged once the level was passed.

yes, simon hates video games, but the second his little girl needs help on a level, you bet your ass he’s stomping down the hall to (try and) wipe the floor with the bad guys.

[certifiedcodbabygirl]

Baby's first fever

Simon Riley x Reader w/ daughter (Lizzy)

(Photo credit to @ave661, go check her renders out, they're really good)

Parenthood is a terrifying experience, especially as first time parent. Even with preparation, all the books, and a loving husband. Lizzy had been sniffly the night before, but not too terribly. Nothing of concern though.

So imagine your surprise when you go to check on your 6 month old in the morning and you feel her head is hot.

"Ohh no no no baby" You say, panicked as you gently pick her up. Her little whimpers practically break your heart as you take her to your shared with Simon. You push the door open and see that Simon is already getting dressed, pulling his shirt off.

"Si she's sick, like really sick" You say, trying to not cry, anxiety rising. Fevers as an adult or even as a teenager are easier to fight off but as a baby? It truly is cause for concern.

He holds his arms out to hold Lizzy and puts the back of his hand to her forehead, frowning at the warmness. He gently swipes his thumb on her cheek and kisses her forehead.

"You not feelin good, sweetheart?" He asks her, "come on, let's get ya some medicine, hm?"

He leans over and kisses you on the forehead, "C'mon mama"

He walks to the bathroom, with you short behind, and opens the medicine. He hands Lizzy off to you, and opens the medicine cabinet.

"Glad we got this, huh?" He smiles slightly, opening the bottle of kid's ibuprofen. He Snaps one of the little tablets in half shows the little piece to Lizzy, smiling at her.

"Open up, love" he says softly, "Gonna make ya feel better"

He gently parts her lips and puts the small tablet on her tongue. She immediately starts to suck on the tablet, nose slightly scrunching from the weird tastes. He runs his fingers through her soft curls, kissing her head. He notices you trying to keep calm, your lip twitching slightly and obviously keeping back tears.

"She'll be okay, just a lil sick, ya?", He tucks your hair behind your ear and kisses you, "C'mon, lets give her a bath"

He sits you down on the toilet while he runs an slightly cooler bath so that she doesn't go into shock. While he runs the bath, you look down at Lizzy. Her face is a little red and her nose is runny. Your eyes well up in tears. Logically you know she'll be okay, but she's so little.

You never thought a baby with Simon would/ could happen, yet here she was. Brown curls, big brown eyes just like her dad's, a shining reflection of the man you love. Nothing prepared you for the overwhelming love you felt when you first held her. The click of motherhood that you instantly had when her skin touched yours causing you to cry. Your sweet girl.

You snap out your thoughts as you hear Simon call for you.

"Hm?" you say half mindedly, looking up at him.

"Bath's ready"

You hum in acknowledgement, standing up and setting her down on the counter, undressing her. You check the water temperature, and gently set her in the baby bath basket you got for her. She splashes a little, feeling cold in the room temperature water due to her fever. She whimper and fusses and you sniffle again.

"I know baby, I know", you coo at her, "You'll be okay, my love. Just gotta get you clean, yeah?"

The bath goes smoothly (with a few tears let's be honest). You pass her off to Simon as you go off to get her crib sheets and blankets changed out and pick out her outfit. Simon walks in with her in her little towel and a fresh diaper. You help change her into her clothes and go to the kitchen to make her a half bottle of warm formula.

You grab the bottle and head towards the nursery but notice he's laying on the couch with Lizzy on his chest. Standing in the doorway, you can see how tired they both are, Lizzy sick and Simon, well, REASONS 👀. You go back to the kitchen and put the bottle into the fridge for later. You gently tiptoe into the living room so you don't wake them up, and cuddle up to Simon's arms.

You check Lizzy's breathing and forehead temperature before allowing yourself to relax into him. His arm pulls you into him as he kisses your forehead.

"She's gonna be okay, baby. L'ts get some rest"

[yourstrulyrani]

dad!simon riley x reader

a/n: if u guys wanna request/ask anything (blurbs, hcs, ?s about me, etc.) the button is right at the top of my blog so feel free! once again thank you guys for the love.. you all are such sweethearts. i’ve been craving domesticity lately so here is simon riley as a dad!

dad!simon riley who takes up feeding and diaper changes in the middle of the night after you give birth. he reasons with you by saying you need the rest. giving birth was already physically tiring for you and he knows you need to recover and that starts with your sleep. he knows you’re stubborn and may offer to help, but he sweetly lays you back down on the bed. he kisses your forehead gently, letting his lips linger longer than needed. “all i need for you is to sleep sweetheart, i'll take care of the baby.”

dad!simon riley who makes sure his kids are involved in something they love. he asks the kids first for their preference and then enrolls them. if your daughter is in ballet, he never misses a recital. if your son plays football, he makes sure to go to every game. he needs to make sure he doesn’t reflect his father, whether it be as a husband or a dad. this choice started when he met you and now, it's going to end with you and the kids.

dad!simon riley who definitely forces his kids to support the teams he does. he bought the kids (and you) manchester united jerseys. he even refers to the kids as “the red devils” after the team’s nickname because of how much trouble they can cause at times. whenever man united has a game, he makes sure everyone in the house is on the couch wearing their jerseys.

dad!simon riley who never yells or physically hurts your children. again, he made a vow to you, the kids, and himself: he would never end up like his father. when he needs to discipline them though, his change in tone is more than enough for your kids to quake in their boots.

dad!simon riley WHO IS SO A GIRL DAD. i can imagine his huge tank of a body struggling to balance on a pink kids chair having a tea party with his daughters. he just got back home and had no time to change since he was too eager to some spend time with you and the girls. now, he’s in uniform wearing a pink tutu and a tiara (talk about a fashion statement). his british self shows when he extends his pinky finger around the tea cup. he even “gossips” about you in a perfect posh accent to your daughters, “well i heard she puts milk in her tea? she’s quite the spectacle," as he sassily sips nonexistent tea from the tiny cup, making you and the girls giggle.

dad!simon riley who always wants you to have the final say in decisions regarding the kids. so whenever the kids ask if they can hang out with their friends or go out somewhere, he always directs them to you, “i’m fine with it, but go ask your mom. if she says no then it’s final, kid.”

~ yours truly, rani ♥︎

[obsessivelullabies]

being simon riley’s housewife: pregnancy!

part one.

— when you first told simon you were pregnant, he had to sit down. he was feeling so many emotions; joy, anxiety, infatuation. mainly, he was overjoyed he’d gotten the love of his life pregnant. to him, it was almost like the final way to solidify your bond.

— he soon wrapped you up in his arms and gently kissed your forehead, immediately his hand wandered down to your belly, despite it being flat at the time. this became a habit.

— the first few weeks, he started becoming overly protective and worrisome. “.. you sure you can eat that with the baby?”, “what if somethin’ happened to ‘em in there?” and most commonly, “you feelin’ ok, lovie?”.

— he is at your beck and call. you’re up early throwing up? he’s up holding your hair and rubbing your back. you want takeout? course, what do you want? you want a foot rub? ok. anything for you.

— simon’s whole day revolves around you and pampering you. he’s always looming in the background. you’ll probably have to beg him to leave the house alone.

— as you progress into your pregnancy, his worrying only gets worse. he worries about being a good father. he doesn’t feel ready. yet, when he looks at you, he feels everything will be okay.

— when he’s not deployed he’s at every doctor’s appointment. he keeps a sonogram of the baby in his wallet, alongside a photo of you.

— even during sex, he’s much more gentle than usual. as if he’s terrified he’ll harm you or the baby. this is something you have to gently reassure him about.

— simon absolutely adores it when your belly gets all swollen. he loves go rub his hands on it and kiss it. he constantly tries to feel for kicks or any movement.

— when it comes to baby names, he isn’t picky at all. he’s fine with almost anything. after all, you’re the one carrying it, so he’s indifferent.

— as you go through labor, he’s nervously holding your hand and trying his best to silently be supportive no matter if you curse him, the nurses or the doctor. whatever you need, he understands.

— the moment simon got to hold his healthy, sweet baby, he felt like he fell in love all over again. he glanced between you and the baby. his heart swelled. he knew he had a family with you, something he’d lost years ago.

bonus : simon would be ecstatic if you allowed him to name your baby girl after his late mother. he’d smile to himself, the terrible memory of his mother’s passing becoming a sweet name of remembrance. [if this makes no sense, read his backstory!]

masterlist. | requests are open!

[konigsm]

Simon riley as not-terrible-but-struggling dad hcs :

Simon really thought he could do kids. For you. After all, you managed him, didn’t you? You loved him gently, without breaking him. You softened the edges of his sharp, jagged past, made him feel like maybe he wasn’t the monster his father had always painted him to be.

But when it came to his own children? It wasn’t that simple. He couldn’t just flip a switch. He couldn’t be gentle like you were. With them, there was no softness in his hands, no warmth in his words.

He was too afraid, always second-guessing, always wondering if the anger he fought so hard to bury would surface. He promised himself he’d never turn out like his father, but the fear never left. And now, standing there, unable to reach his kids the way you reached him.

"He’s Your Dad, There Will Always Be Some of him in you" His mother’s words would haunt him. Some nights, while deployed, he would stare at pictures of his kids and wonder if the parts of himself he hates are already in them — if he’s ruined them without even meaning to. (He'd never say this aloud, not even to you.)

When he’s home, he would stand in doorways a lot, just watching. He doesn’t really know how to join in. If the kids are playing, he’ll awkwardly clear his throat and maybe say, "Crack on," before walking away.

If he tries to play with them, it's stiff, military-like "Right, team, operation clean up toys" and the kids just kind of stare at him like he's grown a second head.

His eldest looks up to him desperately, but Simon is so afraid of 'messing him up' that he keeps him at arm’s length. It kills him, because deep down, he wants to throw the football around, teach him how to build things, even just sit on the floor and play video games — but he doesn't know how to be there without feeling like a fraud.

He’s even worse with the girls. He thinks he's too rough, too cold for little girls who deserve someone softer. Once, his youngest proudly handed him a card, the words "Velcom back dady" scribbled on it in crooked letters. It made Simon’s heart swell, but the warmth in his chest but he didn’t know what to say beyond a simple "Thank you" and an awkward hug, followed by a quick kiss on the cheek.

He felt like he should do more, like he should say something meaningful, but all that came out was a stiff smile and a quick retreat into his own discomfort.

He kept every card, every messy scribble, locked safely in his drawer, a secret place where he could look at them when the weight of being a father became too much. But no matter how much he treasured those little moments, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his kids, especially his daughter, thought he didn’t appreciate them. That maybe, in their eyes, he wasn’t doing enough.

He watched how natural you are with them. How you can make them laugh until they’re red faced, how you know exactly what to say when they cry. And somewhere deep inside, he resents himself becausw he thought he'd be better for you.

But he is the dad who checks the locks three times before going to bed. Who makes sure the first aid kit is fully stocked. Who taught his son how to throw a proper punch "just in case" but can’t tell him he’s proud out loud. His love comes out in safety, in protection but not words, not warmth.

He genuinely believes his kids prefer you. And it's true. He tells himself he’s just the "boring parent," the "strict one," the one they tolerate until he goes away again. (The reality is, they miss him constantly. They just don’t know how to bridge the gap either.)

His son once left a drawing on Simon’s desk, a picture of the whole family holding hands, and Simon stared at it for an hour, too scared to pick it up.

And when all three of them in their teenage years, they've entered that "I hate everyone" phase, and if things weren't strained before, it's worse now. The snide remarks, the cold stares, the refusal to engage, it all hurts more than he admits. And he tries not to take it personally but damn.

One evening, Simon catches his eldest daughter sneaking out of the house, heading toward a car that's waiting outside. It's late, and she's dressed up, clearly for a date. He watches from the shadows, unsure of what to do. He doesn't want to be the overbearing father who controls every move she makes.

He doesn't know how to approach it without making her feel trapped, especially when he's barely ever around to set any kind of example. Instead, he stays back, watching as she disappears into the night.

Whenever you try to talk to him about it, Simon nods and says, "Yeah, you're right. It's just a phase," but he never admits that part of him feels useless. He feels like an outsider, like his kids would rather be anywhere but with him.

He doesn't voice it because he knows it's irrational, they're growing up, they're becoming independent, but the guilt lingers. He doesn't know how to connect with them when all they seem to want is space, and that makes him feel like he's failing them.

(honestly cried a little thinking too much about it bcs most of this just me projecting my own relationship with my father) (I'm sorry)

[sunflwrapple]

[Ghost retired from military and now is a father, he adopted a child, the child ⇒ you]

Simon, reading newspapers :

Kid!Y/N : dad! Dad!

Simon : what is it, little bee?

Kid!Y/N, struggling to climb up on the armchair : what do you used to work as, before you retired? :O

Simon : *doesn’t want to tell them that he used to be in the military*

Simon : well… I used to hunt aliens

Kid!Y/N, giggling, showing off a missing tooth : aliens don’t exist, silly!

Simon, smiling : have you ever seen an alien?

Kid!Y/N : ……no 🫢

Simon, gently pinching ur cheek : you’re welcome