First night home
(Part 2 to “Blancanieves”)
⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ────𝜗𝜚────⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
(Simon Riley x Hispanic! Reader)
Your family had finally gone home, leaving behind stacks of Tupperware, well-meaning advice, and kisses pressed to your baby’s cheeks. You loved them—but now, it was just you, Simon, and Gracie. Your new little world.
You sat on the edge of the bed, gingerly shifting your weight, wincing as a flash of pain rippled through your lower body.
Simon was already by your side, crouching low. “Slow, love. I got you.” His hand cupped under your elbow, steady and gentle. “Let’s try standing a little longer first, yeah?”
You nodded, cheeks flushed with exhaustion and a touch of embarrassment. You hated needing help, hated how heavy your limbs felt, how sore and delicate everything was. But Simon didn’t mind. He never minded.
He helped you to your feet like you were made of glass, keeping one hand on your back. “There we go. That’s it, sweetheart. Lean on me.”
With his help, you walked to the bathroom. Every step was a slow shuffle. When you got there, you gave him a shy, hesitant look.
“I—I can handle it from here,” you murmured, not quite meeting his eyes. “I just need to shower and change.”
His brow furrowed. “You sure? I don’t mind—”
You shook your head quickly. “No, it’s just… I don’t want you to see me like this.”
Simon’s face softened instantly. “Hey. Don’t do that.”
“Simon—”
“I mean it.” His voice was low, quiet. Full of love. “You just brought our daughter into this world. I’ve never loved you more than I do right now. You’re beautiful. All of you.”
You swallowed hard, chest tight with emotion. “I know. I just—I need a second, mi amor, please.”
He nodded. “Okay. Take your time. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
When you slowly emerged, towel-dried and dressed in the comfiest clothes you could manage, Simon was already at the bed, stacking pillows just the way you liked them, fluffing the blanket you used every night. He turned when he heard you, eyes soft.
“C’mere, mama.”
You waddled slowly over, easing yourself into bed with his help. “God, I feel like an eighty-year-old abuelita.”
He grinned. “Still the hottest abuelita I’ve ever seen.”
You swatted his arm, laughing weakly. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously in love with you,” he countered, tucking a pillow behind your back. “That better?”
You nodded. “Much.”
Gracie started fussing softly in her bedside bassinet. Simon turned his head immediately. “I’ll get her.”
He scooped her up with practiced care, gently placing her in your arms. “You want help?” he asked, already adjusting the blankets around your lap.
“Yeah,” you whispered, already guiding her tiny mouth to your chest. She latched after a few tries, and you exhaled slowly, pain and relief threading together.
Simon sat beside you, watching with wonder.
“She’s… perfect,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Just like her mum.”
“She’s hungry,” you murmured, watching Gracie suckle. “You think she’s getting enough?”
“She’s eating like a champ,” he smiled. “Just like her mum, too.”
You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was real.
After a few more minutes, your eyes began to flutter closed. Simon took notice, carefully easing Gracie from your arms once she finished feeding.
“You sleep,” he said gently. “I’ve got her.”
“You sure?”
He nodded, already shifting her into the crook of his arm. “Sleep, baby. I’ll be right here.”
You were out in minutes.
Simon held Gracie close, pressing a kiss to her soft little forehead.
“Alright, Gracie girl,” he whispered. “Let’s give you the grand tour.”
He padded quietly down the hall to the nursery, flicking on the soft star-shaped nightlight. “This is your room. Your mama and I picked every color, every stuffed animal, every tiny blanket, every book.”
He sat in the rocking chair, holding her securely against his chest, her sleepy eyes blinking up at him.
“You know, your mum yelled at me in Spanish the whole time I built your crib,” he murmured with a smile. “I didn’t understand some words meant—but I knew it meant it had to be perfect. ‘Cause you deserve perfect.”
Gracie blinked again. A tiny sigh left her mouth.
“You’re so small. So beautiful,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “And I—I didn’t think I’d get this. A family. A home. You and her.”
He wiped a tear from his cheek, sniffing once. “You’ve changed everything, little one. You made me a dad. You made me feel whole just like your mummy did when I first layed eyes on her.”
She yawned, slowly drifting off in his arms.
Simon rocked her for a while longer before standing, moving to her crib. “Alright, baby girl,” he whispered. “Time for your first time in your crib.”
He laid her down slowly into the crib, careful to tuck the swaddle snug and smooth. No loose blankets—just the softest fitted sheets. She settled instantly, like she knew she was home.
With a final kiss to her forehead, he turned on the baby monitor and took the receiver with him.
He checked in on you next—still sound asleep, one hand curled under your cheek. He left the door cracked open just in case you called for him.
Then he made his way to the kitchen. The silence was peaceful now.
He moved on autopilot. Packing leftovers, wiping down the counters—twice. Because that’s how you liked it. He swept and mopped the floor. Organized the fridge. Tucked the pan dulce your cousin brought into the bread box.
After a quick shower, he padded barefoot back to Gracie’s room, scooping her up carefully, holding her to his chest once again. She didn’t stir.
He brought her back to bed, placing her in the baby donut nestled between you both. You didn’t wake. You just breathed slowly, deeply, and Gracie mirrored you without even knowing it.
Simon lay on his side, facing the two of you, propped up on one arm.
He exhaled, long and quiet.
This was it.
His girls. His home. His whole life, right here.
Perfect.
