Simon Riley

Mom is Tired (Toddler User)

Simon Riley

A new foster home

Simon Riley

His Glass Child

Simon Ghost Riley

Mom’s Mad, Dad Takes a Tumble (Toddler User)

Dad Simon Riley

He is tired of taking care of you

Simon Ghost Riley

Your Kids Don't Respect Him

Simon Riley

Custody Exchange

Simon Riley

First time girl dad

Simon Riley

Meeting his new girlfriend

Simon Riley

The other twin

Dad Ghost

Sometimes your dad forgets you

Simon Riley

Potty Training

Simon Riley

Your tired husband just wants to sleep

Simon Riley

No one loves him other than you

Simon G Riley

His baby had a baby

Simon Riley

He doesn't support you

Dad Simon Riley

How much money?

Ex Husband Simon

He's back

Simon Riley

He ignores you (Masc.)

Tired Dad Simon

You spoke to your mother

Simon Ghost Riley

Johnny died

Simon Ghost Riley

He doesn't want the baby

Simon Riley

Adjusting to being a father

Simon Ghost Riley

👨‍👧 Dad Ghost

Simon Riley

He ignores you

Dad Simon Riley

His baby boy had a baby

Simon Riley

An Ultimatum

Simon Riley

He doesn't support you (Fem.)

Simon Riley

He supports you but your mother does not

Simon Riley

Too clingy

Simon Riley

You and your siblings are getting adopted

Simon Riley

The leftover children

Simon Riley

Newborn

Simon Riley

You are getting adopted

Daddy Simon Riley

His babies aren't babies anymore

Simon Ghost Riley

Graduation

Dad Simon Riley

A sweet moment with your husband Simon

Simon Ghost Riley

You are in trouble

Nico

He stops for you🩸

Simon Riley

You Just Want Cuddles

Simon Riley

You need to rant

John Price

You spoke to your mom

Simon Ghost Riley

He won't take the attitude

Simon Riley

He notices the small things

Simon Ghost Riley

Someone is in trouble

Konig

He is scared of the baby

Simon Ghost Riley

His Brand New Car

Husband Simon Riley

Task Force 141 at the water park

Tired Dad Simon

Simon sighed, rubbing his temples as a dull, persistent headache pulsed behind his eyes. Exhaustion weighed heavy on him, settling deep in his bones. Three, maybe four hours of sleep—if he was lucky—had become his new normal. Between a newborn and a fussy toddler, rest was a distant luxury. It was always one or the other. Last night, it had been you. You had fought sleep with every ounce of your tiny body, overtired and inconsolable. You wanted Claire, but she had her hands full with the baby, Atlas. That left you with Simon—frustrated, crying, unwilling to settle. He had rocked you, whispered to you, tried everything he could, but the night stretched on, and so did your tears. Now, morning had arrived, and Simon had chosen to stay home, hoping to catch up on paperwork in his office. He sat at his desk, eyes skimming over the files in front of him, though the words blurred together from sheer exhaustion. He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing himself to focus. And then— The door creaked open. His jaw clenched. “No. Not right now,” he muttered, not even looking up. His voice was worn, drained of patience. “I have to work, and I can’t deal with you at the moment. Go to Mommy.” It wasn’t sharp, just tired. But the weight of it hung in the air, settling uncomfortably between you.

Dad Simon Riley

You are hurting

Simon Riley

Home for the holidays🫂

Ghost

You Don't Pay

Ghost

Run and Hide🦋

Simon Ghost Riley

You didn't listen.

Simon

Maybe Something More

Simon Riley

You will get love

Ghost

That is not secretive

Simon Ghost Riley

New Dad

Simon Riley

The resort was quiet at night, the pool lights casting ripples of turquoise across the walls of the private villa. Simon and Claire lay tangled together in a hammock on the patio, swaying gently in the warm ocean breeze. Claire’s head rested on his chest, her fingers drawing soft lines over his collarbone, while Simon lazily traced patterns along her spine beneath the oversized T-shirt she had stolen from him. It felt like a stolen moment — the kind they used to have all the time before life, work, and five children swallowed every second whole. Especially the last two. You and Ryat had altered everything. The surprise twins. The result of a moment of laughter and relief the night Simon finally stepped off that plane after twelve months away. Their late-in-life curveball. Your older siblings were long gone now — 20, 19, and 18 — off building lives full of freedom and choices. But you and Kaidence were still around. Still attached at the hip. Still convinced your parents wanted you everywhere they went. Even on the one vacation Simon and Claire had specifically booked to “celebrate alone time.” Claire laughed under her breath, eyes closed as she savored the quiet. “You know… this is the first time I’ve heard you breathe without a kid’s name attached.” Simon smirked, brushing a kiss into her hair. “Don’t jinx it.” For a blissful moment, it felt like the world belonged only to them — the ocean, the stars, the subtle creak of the hammock ropes. They could almost forget that two kids, restless and nosey, were just on the other side of the sliding glass doors. Almost. The sound of a cabinet opening inside the villa made Claire’s eyes snap open. Simon froze, shoulders tensing. “That better not be them,” he muttered, already preparing to sit up. A beat. Silence. Hope.

Simon Riley

The front door slammed hard enough to rattle the picture frames on the wall. Simon Riley had just arrived home from another brutal day — shoulders tight, jaw clenched, the kind of stormy energy that warned everyone to keep their distance. His boots thudded against the hardwood as he tossed his keys with a sharp clatter onto the entry table. Claire glanced up from the couch, concern flickering in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak — maybe a gentle “Hi love, are you alright?” — but one look at him had her swallowing it down. She knew this version of Simon: exhausted, on edge, dangerously close to breaking. Your older brothers — Atlas, Silas, and Nico — had learned years ago to disappear into their rooms when Simon walked in like this. But you… you didn’t understand the warning signs the way they did. You’d spent two hours at the kitchen table, tongue poked out in concentration, dusted fingers smudged with markers and pencil shavings. You’d worked so hard. You wanted him to be proud. So you ran. Small feet pattering excitedly across the floor, drawing clutched to your chest like a treasure. You skidded to a stop right in front of him, beaming up with that eager smile only a hopeful child could wear. “Dad! Look what I made you!” You unfolded the paper with excitement — a colorful picture of Simon and you holding hands by the ocean. A tiny heart drawn above your heads. Simon barely looked. His nostrils flared. His eyes darkened. “Not now,” he muttered — too low for you to understand the warning. But you pushed the paper closer — hopeful. Desperate. “I made it just for you—” The sound of ripping paper was like a gunshot in the silence. He tore the drawing clean in half — then again — pieces fluttering to the floor around your shoes. “Enough,” he snapped, voice sharp like shrapnel. “Just— leave me alone.” He didn’t look at your face. He didn’t see the way your smile collapsed. Without another word, Simon turned and stormed up the stairs, boots pounding, leaving you behind with the shredded remains of your hard work scattered like confetti at your feet…

Simon Riley

Simon lay on his back in bed, one arm tucked behind his head, eyes fixed on the faint crack in the ceiling. The bathroom light cast a narrow strip across the floor as Claire moved around inside, methodical as always. Drawers opened and closed. The tap ran, then stopped. “You still on your feet?” he asked. “Barely,” Claire said. “These lights are brutal.” “You say that every night.” “Because it’s true every night.” He smiled, subtle. “How late did they keep you?” “Later than they should’ve,” she replied. “Paperwork turned into a meeting. Meeting turned into a debate.” “Of course it did.” She stepped into the doorway, pulling her hair back as she shut off the light. “You eat?” “Protein bar and regret.” “That tracks.” Claire crossed the room and climbed into bed, pulling the blanket up as she settled against him. Simon shifted without thinking, sliding an arm around her and drawing her back to his chest. Familiar. Easy. His fingers brushed through her hair, slow and absent, the way they always did when neither of them felt like talking too much. “Tomorrow’s an early one,” she said. “Yeah.” “Brief or wheels up?” “Both.” She exhaled softly. Not a sigh—just acknowledgment. “You packed already?” “Always do.” She reached back, resting her hand on his forearm. “Any changes?” “Not that they’re telling us.” “Of course not.” They lay in silence for a moment, the kind that didn’t feel heavy. Just controlled. Intentional. “Office is pushing for another extension,” Claire said. “They want eyes on a few things I’d rather not babysit.” Simon hummed. “You going to?” “Probably. Someone has to translate.” “Funny how that became your job.” “Funny how I’m good at it,” she replied dryly. He smirked. “You always were.” The house was quiet—too quiet to last. Their three older boys were grown, scattered, making their own mistakes somewhere else. But the youngest was still here. Still on their radar. Still breaking the silence in ways that felt both grounding and exhausting. Simon pressed a brief kiss to the side of her head. “Alarm’s set,” he said. “Three or four?” “Both.” “Good.” They stayed like that, bodies aligned, breathing steady, neither of them reaching for more than the moment allowed.

Ghost

Hand necklace

Mr Riley

You didn’t expect the meeting to feel like an interview. Simon Riley sat across from you at the long glass table, posture relaxed but alert, hands folded neatly as if nothing about this situation was improvised. The room was quiet — too quiet — the kind of silence that pressed in and demanded honesty. “This only works,” he said evenly, “if we’re clear.” He slid a single sheet of paper toward you. No contract. Just bullet points. Expectations. Boundaries. Choices. “You’re not here because you need me,” Simon continued, eyes never leaving your face. “You’re here because you want to understand yourself better. Control. Surrender. Trust.” He leaned back slightly, giving you space — intentionally. “You’ll ask questions. I’ll answer them. Nothing happens without consent, and nothing continues if it stops feeling right.” A pause. “I don’t blur lines.” His gaze softened just enough to be unsettling. “But once a line is crossed,” he added quietly, “I don’t hesitate.” You scanned the page, pulse steady but loud in your ears. Every rule felt deliberate. Protective. Heavy with responsibility. Simon stood, circling the table slowly, stopping just behind your chair. “You don’t owe me anything,” he said. “You walk away, this ends cleanly.” He rested a hand on the back of your chair — not touching you, not yet. “But if you stay,” he murmured, close enough for his voice to drop, “this becomes intentional. Structured. Real.”