#x doe!reader

Simon has only met two of your sisters, but he knows there's almost a whole clan tucked away in the countryside that you haven't visited. Since when? He doesn't know and he doesn't push, there's no reason to make you so uneasy. Especially since he doesn't open about his own familial woes. It's a subject that subconsciously the two of you decide not to speak on. No reason to open such wounds.

When he returned home later than usual, with take out from your favorite restaurant and a bouquet of flowers as an apology, his ears pricked up to the tight sound of your voice in the bathroom.

Never a good sign.

Disregarding the take out on the counter, he hunted you down and felt himself almost shrinking away at your body curled up on the cold tile. Phone pressed against your ear and vacant eyes that don't even look to find his as you speak. The word cuts like a knife falling from your lips, "—yes mum, I know. I'll try."

Though he cannot hear the words spilling out of the phone, Simon's certain it's cruel. His knees creak as he bends to meet you on the floor. Calloused, rough hand brushing over your hair with a gentle touch that makes you shiver. It breaks you from the cold call, a breath of warm air after a long frigid winter.

"okay, yeah." He wants to pry your fingers away from your phone. The grip tight enough that your knuckles burn white. Wants to coax you off the tile, a place you only go when your body and mind are betraying you after a long day. The hard floor and surfaces that cut off all other senses, grounding you in a way that makes him hurt. Makes his resolve crumble.

When the words, "goodbye mum—" and the blunt dial tone that signals the woman on the other end of the line has hung up, he pulls you into his arms. You do not protest, you do not even squirm. Melting into the steadiness of his body.

"Sorry I was late." Don't mention the call Simon decides, not until you offer it that is. "Brought dinner."

You nod, his throat tightens and bites the urge to yell. Not at you, no. At your fucking mother, at whatever reason or thing had made you upset.

His doe, that's what his captain had labeled you. Small and soft compared to the wolf that he was seen as. His doe that Simon would bend and break the world if you'd ask. But you never ask, always holding back from something. The cryptic words left by your sisters makes him point the blame towards your parents. Caregiver wasn't an appropriate title with the way you spoke in hushed tones with your older sister, hand shaking as she consoles you.

"Come on, doe." The name that he'd agreed fit you so well tumbles from his mouth, split lipped, with adoration. Those same lips find your cheeks, kissing away at the salty, soft skin. Wanting to lick clean any crystal tears that spilled from your lashes. They flutter open and close like butterfly winters as you register his words. Recognition finally crossing your vacant face.

"They want me to come home—" You stop. No, not home. This apartment was your home, its walls and ceiling were what kept you out of the elements. The bed that has molded to the positions you and Simon fall into, like a dominos in place. The farm house hadn't been home since your girlhood and you had no other choice but it.

Simon recognizes the change, feels you incline your body closer to his. Listens to the long drawn out pause as you choose the right words that fits your feelings.

The words come out, a regurgitation of whatever your mum had said over the phone. Impersonal, unloving, only guilt and duty."They want me to join the rest of the family for Easter. It's fallen on my aunt's birthday this year and it's due time I visit anyway."

Who's due time, Simon does not know. Nor does he agree with. That term was just a way to guilt people like you, children who'd crawled away from the home with bloodied knees and heavy baggage, back into the place that had made them complacent. He would not let his doe return to that.

"Do you want to?" It's a simple question, but it is more than you used to receive. Or still receive now at work or with friends. When had someone last asked if you wanted to? Selfishness was a trait beaten out of you by your father, greed ridiculed from you by your mother.

"I should—"

"Didn't ask that, Doe. Asked if you wanted to." He cuts the obligation out, blotting it from the situation like misspelled words are covered with white-out. Simon didn't care about the shoulds, he should've done a lot over his life. But that doesn't mean he would, nor would you. "Do you want to spend your Easter holiday with them?"

Silence, he knows what you want to answer but can't find the strength to say. But Simon won't speak for you, so he slides his hand down to find yours. Flesh against flesh as he squeezes his grip, reassuring you and offering up a shred of strength. He'd offer it all up should you ask.

"Be selfish, Doe. Shouldn't waste your time on those who don't deserve it. Y'know that, love?" Simon reminds, letting his hand slip from yours to tilt your chin. Brown eyes that are the ocean you're sinking in, every day growing weaker yet somehow stronger from him. "We can enjoy the holiday on our own. Capt'n's wife extended a lunch invite to us. Or, stay in and sleep the day away."

His offer finds a resting place in your rib cage, the choices being tucked into a special place nestled between your heart and lungs. Simon was giving something that would seem so little to some, but so much to you.

"Yeah?" You finally speak, voice barely a whisper as your body comes to a still. Guilt falling away in your lover's arms. The ink on his arms binding you together in safe warmth.

Here he was, the escape you'd spent so long looking for. Teeth that graze but never bite, strength that builds but doesn't destroy you. Simon, for all his silence and flaws, was a looming shadow that you could rely on. The person who had become your home, where you had a place tucked under his chin. Your heels next to his boots, your trinkets next to his books, your body next to his body. Flesh on flesh. Love on love.

"Be selfish. Be blunt. Be mean to that mum of yours if you want."

Somehow, his words arouse a soft little laugh. Blushing your cheeks to replace the flushed color from before. A rose in bloom in spring in front of him.

Simon presses a kiss against your forehead, wishing his split lip was softer. Soft enough for you. But it's soft enough not to smother you, letting you breathe in the damp air. "Promise me that, Doe."

You look up, lips pressed in a line. That was a promise you didn't know if you could make.

"Promise me you'll be selfish sometimes? I can take it." He says with solid certainty, enough to make you sure.

"Promise."