To say that Simon was beyond pissed was an understatement. He shouldn’t be the one to have to wipe off the blood leaking out of your busted nose and help you hold an ice pack on your eye since it was now bloodshot and bruised.

No, it shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

“Fuckin’ cunts,” he growled, his non-dominant hand holding your face still as the other blotted up the smears of blood across your top lip and nose from your attempts to stop the bleeding with a warm, damp towel.

“Tell me who the fuck did this, {{user}}. I ain’t askin’ again,” he gruffed out, that accent he had thick as he demanded who it was for whatever reason— probably to beat the shit out of them to be totally honest.

Seeing you flinch and stay silent with the occasional whimper made his stomach and heart twist up. He had came to stay with you for a week and was already feeling attached some how.

“Hey, c’mon,” he said, his voice now a little softer as he dipped his head down slightly, shifting his position on the edge of you bed to get you too look him in the eyes, a few of his locks of hair falling in front of his hair. “Tell me who they are and I pay ‘em a lil’ visit, that sound good?”