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bussyyeukie · 19 days ago

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Neon Lights and Bloody Fights

(fighter!Simon Riley x reader)

At this point in your relationship, you thought you knew your boyfriend. Yeah, he was kinda stupid, yeah he didn’t listen much, and yeah maybe he consistently made bad choices and dragged you along to stupid crap.

But you never thought you’d be standing outside in the cold, watching the sketchiest men you’d ever seen flood into a narrow staircase. Shouldering each other and barking laughs, dampness soaking the ground.

Arms crossed tightly, shoulders raised high and tight, your jeans low on your hips, jacket not as thick as you wanted it to be at the moment. You were told to dress casually, what a load of crap.

Shoes crunching noisily on the gravel. Your boyfriend was a few feet in front of you, and you were trying your best to stay close to him, brows pinched together and goosebumps raising your skin. It didn’t feel safe, and as bad as it sounded you didn’t fully trust your boyfriend to keep you exactly…safe.

The neon signs hanging over doorways and flickering reflected in the puddles on the ground didn’t help add to the comfort of the place.

“Um, Ryan?” you asked, glancing at the men eyeing you, “Wait, hold on, please–”

Your boyfriend huffed and turned to you dramatically, “You’re gonna slow us down, I want to be close to the fight!”

He grabbed your arm and squeezed, dragging you to the stairs, not caring that he was dragging you into people. Apologies rolled off your tongue, almost endless as you bumped into people and tripped over them.

A few swears passed along and a few obscene gestures and you had made it to the bottom of the stairs.

You could feel the heat of the place before you were really even inside, the chill on your skin evaporating into something clammy. The thick stench of cigarettes and cigars hung in the air, not to mention the heavy cologne and sweat. Your lips curling up and your nose scrunching. Looking at your boyfriend who was almost pushing past people, his hand slipping from your arm.

“Wait,” you reached after him, the clanging of metal and bass heavy music drowning out your voice, “Slow down!”

You moved your way forward, and what felt like a large hammer jutted against your back, causing you to trip forward. Yelping slightly as two strong hands grasped your shoulders tightly.

“Careful there,” the voice shouted over the noise, you looked up startled, “Gonna knock someone down!”

“Oh-I, I’m so sorry!” you smiled politely, straightening yourself, the man's hands not yet leaving your shoulders. You couldn’t help but admire the black man in front of you, boyfriend or not, this was an extremely attractive man. Glowing skin, straight teeth and close cropped hair, a yellowish-purple bruise just under his right eye, a small nick in the same place. The lighting in the room was dim, and mostly yellow and orange honestly. But it still highlighted him well. Skin shiny with sweat.

“What are you doin’ here?” he chuckled, looking you up and down in a curious manner, “Not exactly, your scene i’m guessin’?”

You smiled nervously, looking around behind him, through the door he was standing guard next to, trying to find your boyfriend.

“No, not really, I’m just here for my boyfriend, he…he dragged me along,” you said, licking your lips slightly, and shrugging yourself out of the man's grip, glancing behind you to not get knocked down again.

“Boyfriend?” the man pouted a bit, “Wha’ a shame, where’s he at? Seems like he ditched ya’.”

The man chuckled, you let out a fake laugh as well, “Yeah, it seems he did.”

The man put a hand behind your back, pushing you through the door, “Come on, I’ll get you to a seat.”

“Um, I–that’s nice but I–” you swerved out of people's way, eyes widening as you saw the actual “arena” of the event. An old boxing ring-turned cage match, the leather of the mat stained with blood and sweat and who knows what else. A few rows of foldable chairs litter the room. The door on the side of the cage opened, swaying and creaking, trash and cigarette butts laying on the floor. Glancing up, you notice a…commentators box? Or what looked to be one, two large connecting windows at the top of a wall. Not being able to see inside of it.

“Just sit here, you’ll be fine,” the man plopped you down in one of the metal foldable chairs right in front of the rink, making you gulp and look back at him.

“I’m not really sure this is the best idea,” you smiled, teeth clenched. Sweat building up on your hairline. It was boiling in this room. Hair heavy and murky, so stuffy it made you stutter a breath in.

The man waved you off, tisking, “Nah, it’ll be fine, trust me.”

He winked as he walked off, patting you on the back one last time.

Huffing, defeated, and wanting to go home, you slumped into the chair, crossing your arms across your chest. Looking up into the ring again you nearly jumped out of your skin. A hulking man standing in the ring on the other side of the cage. Your heart was in your throat, eyes wide and skin breaking out in a cold sweat. The beast was looking straight at you. Or you think he was, his body was positioned directly in front of you, as close to the metal as possibly. His hands wrapped in white tape, and fists clenched. Black shorts tight on his thighs, showing off the toned muscle and dark bruises. His chest was bare, unmoving, like he was holding his breath. Scaring and bruises stretched across abdomen, dark tattooing stretched up his arms.

He was like, a bear, huge and shadowed, his muscles taut and defined, barrel chested and wide shouldered. Waist thick as he dropped to defined hips and bulky legs.

A tight mask over his face.

His eyes blackened out by the lighting, and by the dark the dark eye makeup. A skull painted white over his face. Green neon lighting around the cage casting deadly shadows. Making the atmosphere sickly in it’s light.

Your muscles were tight as you sat in your chair, in some kind of staring contest with the man. You felt suspended in time, even the music seemed to quiet as you stared at each other. Like a deer spotting a hunter all too late.

Blinking, you raised your hand, waving softly. The man looked at your hand, then back to your face. His own hand raises slightly to wave back, his shoulders lumbering.

“Ok,” muttering to yourself, you cross your arms over your stomach again, tearing your eyes from the lumbering males. The music faded out, and the lighting started to go down.

“Hey! There you are!” hands slammed down on your shoulders from behind. Causing you to yelp and jump, whipping your head around to see your sweaty boyfriend standing behind you. He smelled like liquor.

“Where were you?” you frowned, watching as he walked around you, hand dragging over your back and shoulders to plop into the seat next to you.

The large man in the cage still watching,

“Baby, you left me,” he said, smiling and slinging an arm around your shoulders, “I was looking all over for you.”

“I–” before you could get your argument out, the lights shut off, and the music shut off.

One bright light flickering on over the arena. The big man was gone, off in the corner now. Another man in the opposite corner. Dread fell into your gut, dripping down through your nose as it filled your throat. Your boyfriend started cheering with everyone else. The man on the opposite side was twitchy, large but twitchy, and couldn’t stop wiping his nose. The man with the mask didn’t move, again, like he wasn’t breathing.

Your boyfriend’s hand curling around the nape of your neck, bringing you close to his mouth, and shouting into your ear, “You’re gonna love this!”

A sneer pulled its way onto your face, love this? Was he kidding? 2 years and he thought this was something you’d enjoy? It was bad enough that you weren’t surprised he pulled something like this. You looked at the ring again, flinching when the masked man was looking at you again.

“That guys such a monster,” your boyfriend laughed, “I swear he’s killed someone before.”

You shot a side eye to the prick sitting next to you.

“Really?”

“Yeah sweets, he’s ruthless,” dragging a hand through his hair, smirking at you, “But tonight’s gonna be interesting, the other guy’s supposed to be a killer too.”

“Yeah I guess,” you pulled away from him a bit, heart leaping at the bell that rang. Thoroughly spooked by how fast the two were on each other. Fists and knees flying.

Near squealing at the sight of the masked man threw the twitching one of the ground roughly, the crowd screaming, and landed a knee right on his head. Your boyfriend stood and cheered. You sent him a look, and looked back to the fight. The masked man brushing off punches like they were nothing. Sending them back so hard you swear you heard the sound of flesh on flesh and crunching over the noise of everyone shouting.

Pulling our limbs closer to yourself as the crowd abandoned their seats, or the ones sitting at least, the air heavy with smoke. The floors sticky under your shoes.

People crowding around the ring, your boyfriend one of them. Even though he was smaller than the others there, he tried to fight his way up front.

You gulped and looked to the ring, seeing both men on their feet again. Realizing they were barefoot. Cringing at the thought of being on the mat, let alone barefoot. Looking up to their faces, the masked man looked no different due to the covering on his face, and the other man's nose crudely broken to the side, blood gushed down his face, splattered on his chest and shoulder. One eye was already swollen shut.

Frowning, you couldn’t look away from the mess before you, you weren’t squeamish, and you’d watched UFC fights before. But this was different, this just felt barbaric. Blood splattered, men cheering, the ring creaking and groaning. Cage rattling as someone was thrown against it. The two men just beat on each other. The bigger of the two, seeming to hold off anytime a knockout was about to come around. Then would start up again when the other regained his feet.

No one seemed to notice this besides you.

Pure entertainment, dragging on the fight so people stayed longer.

You wondered briefly how much your boyfriend had paid to get into this place. To get you both into this place…he really didn’t have that kind of money.

But a sickening crunch brought you out of that thought, just in time to see the masked man retract a kick that was sent to the twitching man's head, snapping it back and you watching him crumble to the ground. Falling almost cartoonishly onto the floor. The masked man went for another knee to the head, but stopped mere inches from it, the crowd booing and bitching about not “finishing him off”. Freaks. Bunch of fucking animals.

The masked man stood up, rubbing his face and looking across the crowd. His eyes finding yours, the amber color intensified by the dark eye-black around them. You could tell one was starting to swell a little bit, drooping slightly.

The crowd shouting and booing and cheering and throwing shit, smashing bottles and bumping into one another.

“No…” your boyfriend snapped his hands up to his hair. Pulling at it till he dropped his hands down his face, “No no no–fuck–no!”

Standing up, you sighed, breaking eye contact with the beast in the ring. You grabbed your boyfriend's shoulder lightly, “Lets get outta here. I want to go home…”

He looked at you, a wild look in your eye, then grabbed your arms violently, nearly shaking you.

“Ow hey–”

“You don’t fucking–he–he was supposed to loose! He was supposed to throw it!” he shouted, frantic, you frowned.

“I don’t–what does that have to do with us?”

“I–” he gripped your tighter.

“Ow–please, you're hurting me let go,” you tried to push at his chest, which was damp with sweat, shift sticking lightly to his skin.

“We have no money,” he stressed, “I–he was supposed to lose, Y/N, we, I bet it all…”

You blinked owlishly at him, “You what…?”

His grip is still hurting your arms. Sure to leave at least nail marks at this point. The sting was buzzing as you processed what he said.

“You dumb–” he dropped his head, “What aren’t you understanding?!”

“Let her go mate,” the deep voice made both of you jump, looking over your boyfriend's shoulder, to see a sweaty, bloody mass of a human standing behind him.

“I, I…” your boyfriend was frozen, his hands still gripping your arms. You weren’t much better, he looked bigger up close. Much more intimidating.

“Hands off.”

He barked it again, putting a hand on your shaking boyfriend's shoulder, squeezing it. It was almost hard to breathe with him so close, air heavy and choking as you gulped it down. Stagnant and reeking of sweat and smoke.

You hadn’t noticed that people had cleared out when he walked up, parting them like oil and water. Never to be mixed.

“R-right,” your boyfriend dropped his hands from your arms, but the masked man stayed on the scrawnier man's shoulder, almost as a warning. If the sharp looming look was anything to go by, then it was a threat. A serious one at that.

“Boss wants ta’ speak wif’ ya’,” he looked at you as well, gaze steady, “Botha ya’...”

The walk to the office you’d spotted earlier was dead silent. There was a spark of conversation at the beginning when your boyfriend tried to reason, tried to convince the man to let you go, but that was snuffed out quickly with a quick smack to the head. Rendering him silent the rest of the time.

The big man had you walk in front of him and your boyfriend. Your hands shaking and your legs rather weak as you climbed the staircase, a warm glow coming from the room to the right. Muffled laughter and voices coming from it.

When you got just within reach of the door a hand grabbed your hood, jerking you back into a solid chest, eliciting a yelp from you, and looked up to see the masked man behind you. His hand dragged down your back gingerly as he let go of your hoodie. It made goosebumps rush up your spine.

“Wait ‘ere,” he pushed your boyfriend forward, grabbing him by the collar as he dragged him inside, snapping about his shutting the hell up as he went in. You stood frozen.

What, was this how you died?

In some mangy, back alley fighting ring?

Because your boyfriend was as fucking idiot you felt bad for and thought loved you, but turns out he was betting away your money, and now you wer gonna die in some mafia style Saw trap by some boxer-MMA man in a skull mask. Great.

You snapped your head up as you heard heavy boots approaching. The man in the skull re-emerged with a (more brown than white) wife beater that had holes on the bottom and by the neckline, his shorts still on, and large boots now unlaced on his feet. You doubt he had socks on.

Mask still tight over his face.

He looked at you in silence, and closed the door behind him.

You two blinked at each other for a minute, then he cleared his throat and walked forward, leaning on a railing, overlooking a sort of warehouse under you two. You assume that the ring and swarms of men were on the other side of the wall. The thumping of music rocking through the floor, and up the metal stairs.

Both in silence for a minute, before he beckoned you over. It took a second for your limbs to thaw and your feet to unstick, but when you did, you walked over to him, keeping a healthy distance.

“I ain’t gon’ hurt ya’,” he snapped, looking at you. He pulled the bottom of his mask up, revealing a sharp stubble covered jaw, and dry cracked lips. Stopping just under his nose.

Reaching into his boot, you flinched, nearly eating it down the stairs.

“Watch yer-self girl,” he said, looking like he was ready to leap out at you.

“Right,” your voice was strained and tight, “Sorry…”

The man shrugged, pulling out a lighter and a very crumpled pack of cigarettes.

He glanced at you again, shuffling a little awkwardly, and offered the pack to you.

“Um, no thank you,” you politely refused, stiffly standing next to him, eyes lingering on the man's big, bruised hands pinching the cig, flicking his old lighter and taking a long drag. Honestly you could probably use the cigarette, but there was a good chance your hands would be shaking too much to light it.

He stared at you again, a heavy silence falling onto you two. There was a loud bang on the other side of the door, snapping your attention to it. The large man unflinching,

“Don’t botha’ with that,” he grumbled, cig between his lips.

“O-oh…is, is he ok?”

The man tensed up, smoke blowing out his nose, sifting through the fabric, brows pinched, “Why do you care?”

“He's my boyfriend?” you squeeked, subconsciously trying to make yourself smaller.

The man looked down in front of him, then back to the door. Huffing like a bull.

“He's fine.”

You looked down to your feet. Gulping down a thick wad of spit, your heart beating so loud you were sure the brute could hear it.

“Name’s Simon,” he glanced at you, then rubbed a hand down his thigh, almost nervously. Taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke away from you. A little peep in the back of your mind was confused on how polite he was being.

“Oh,” you nodded, not really processing what he had said. Taking a glance down to the dusty crate he was staring at. Eyes locked and unblinking.

“Oh?” he shot you a look, frowning. Lips pulled taught against the cigarette.

“Um–it’s a nice name,” you said, almost choking out the words, nodding and offering a stressed smile, “My friend had a cat named Simon, it was really fat. Like 20 pounds, which you aren’t fat, obviously–but the cats dead–diabetes, it was really old too…but it was a cool cat…”

You looked a mess you bet, hands clenching and unclenching, skin clammy, fidgeting and eyes wide and darting around. Breathing shakily as you rambled.

The man–Simon, looked at you with blank eyes, then looked forward, almost in thought.

“Hm,” he hummed to himself, “She get a new cat?”

“Y-yeah, um, it was a guy, guy friend,” you pulled at your fingers, then tucked your hair behind your ear, “H-he did, it’s a few years old now. Got it as a kitten.”

Simon pressed his lips together again, sending you a mean side-eye, hunching his shoulders up, “You still friends with him?”

“Y-yeah? Kinda, we haven’t talked in a while actually…” you felt awkward. Why was he asking about your friends? Why were you sharing your poor social life with him?

“It got a name?”

“I don’t really,” you thought for a second, “Mimi? I think it was Mimi?”

Simon nodded, blowing smoke out his mouth, pinching the cigarette, “Good name for a puss.”

You felt your face flush lightly, you were grown obviously, but something about his rumbling voice made you want to turn around and just risk it by walk away. Embarrassed by your own reaction.

“Yeah…”

“How long you been datin’ tha’ shit?” Simon shot a look behind him.

“2 years.”

You really felt no need to defend him, he was a shit.

He grumbled something to himself.

You sighed, more confused the longer you spent in the weird conversation with this man. Glancing repeatedly at the door, begging for it to be open and for your boyfriend to come out so you could both leave…and so you could beat the shit out of him as soon as you got to the car.

“Why are elevator jokes so good?”

“Huh?” you looked at Simon, who was snuffing out his cigarette, pulling his mask back down over his mouth.

“ ‘Cause they work on so many levels…”

It took a moment, but a giggle bloomed in your chest, covering your mouth in hopes of silencing it. Lips curled up as you looked at the brutish man. He stared at you, you didn’t notice that he took half a step forward, listening closely.

“That was a really bad joke,” you giggled, smiling at him.

He shrugged, “Made you laugh…”

A loud bang of the door behind you made you jump out of your skin, almost falling down the stairs again, Simon's hand jutting out behind you, as if prepared to catch you. Looking to the door your eyes widened at the man who opened it, it was the beautiful black man from earlier. He smiled at you, chuckling.

“You twos can come inside now,” he beckoned you in, Simon putting a hand to your mid back and pushing when you didn’t move.

The thick smell of cigars filled the room, and warm glowing lights. As well as your boyfriend who sat in a chair across a large desk, a rather shitty chair. Curled in on himself and whining something.

“Please, please don’t, she,” he looked at the man across the desk, “She didn’t know honestly…”

The man across the desk was a large hairy man, with thick mutton chops and soft eyes, a cigar smoldering in the ash-tray in front of him. Button up tight on his figure.

“Ah please,” the man beckoned to you, still hyper-aware of Simon's meaty hand on your back, “Come ‘ere, my name's John, it’s a pleasure.”

He stood, and leaned over the desk, holding out his hand. You looked to it and back up to Johns face, hesitant. Simon’s hand shoved at you, making you squeak and jut your hand out, shaking Prices.

He chuckled and sat down, sinking back into his chair, “Come on Ghost, you can take your hand off the poor thing now.”

SImon–or Ghost you suppose–dragged his hand down your back again, pulling it off, the black man who was standing next to your boyfriend chuckled as well. You didn’t see, but Simon had sent an annoyed look his way, and the other man sent back a teasing smile.

“Let her leave man–she didn’t know–”

Your boyfriend's whines were cut off by a smack to the side of the head by the man standing next to him.

“If I wanna hear from you i’ll ask.”

“Settle now, don’t wanna scare the poor thing any more,” John smiled, he looked at you and clasped his hands together, “Now, we have some things to discuss.”

You looked from your boyfriend to the man at the desk, “O-oh? Really?”

“Yes, really, now as you may know, your boyfriend here seemed to have lost a little,” John paused, looking for the word, “Money is some games he played with us.”

“Yeah, he mentioned it,” you thought back to not even half an hour ago when he was gripping your arms and shaking you. Shooting a glance to Simon, who was leaning against the doorway, staring at you.

“So, he did mention that it was your money?” John asked, leaning back in his chair, picking up his cigar, looking between you two.

You didn’t move. It felt like your heart stopped beating, in fact you were a little dizzy. Your stare blank and slightly slack jawed as you stared at the bear behind the desk.

“My money?” you asked, pointing to yourself.

“Baby please you gotta–”

“Yes.” John looked at your boyfriend–ex boyfriend you’ve now decided–and made a ‘quiet’ motion with his hands, “Your money.”

“How… much of my money?” you still didn’t know how to react, yes you were angry, yes you were sad, yes you were shocked, betrayed, livid. But you just, stood there.

Price looked at a paper he had on his desk, “Just about 15,000 dollars.”

You slapped a hand to your mouth in an attempt to quiet the scream you were about to let out. It felt like all the blood had rushed to your head. You looked at Simon in the doorway–you looked just about as angry as you were–to your boyfriend in the chair who looked like a kicked dog, to the man next to him who stood with his arms crossed, and a disappointed look on his face.

“How the fuck did he get 15,000 dollarrs–” you snapped to look at the slime sitting in the chair, “How the fuck did you get 15,000 dollars!”

He gulped, and looked down to his lap, feet tapping on the concrete floor.

“Tell her.” Simon snapped, his voice spooking you slightly.

“I-I took out a loan in your name,” he spilled, “I forged your signature, your credit is better than mine so they let, you take out the loan…”

Your blood was boiling.

John chuckled, “Well, now that that's settled–”

He turned to you again, your jaw officially slacked up, and your brows pinched. You had a headache…

“Since technically it was your money that was wagered, you have the final say in this…there’s two options, we can, deal with the boyfriend problem for you, and either you pay us back within the month, or you could pay it back via working for us,” John’s eyes crinkled in his smile. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Simon shift, straightening up.

“W-work for you?” you thought about the fight earlier, the knees cracking noses and the fists working stomachs to mush, “I-I’m not a fighter, I can’t fight for you.”

“Oh no love, none of that,” John waved you off, “Don’t want muck up that pretty face’a yours, I need a secretary of sorts. An assistant. Help me set up meetings, file papers, keep our boys in check. A pretty thing to bring to meetings and such.”

You blinked owlishly, looking at your ex-boyfriend on the chair, tears in his eyes and quiver on his lips. He was shaking his head, in a silent plea. His eyes jumping from yours to over your shoulder behind you.

Looking back at John, you rubbed your face, a sigh fighting its way out your throat. You could not pay off $15,000 in a month, much less alone, much less at the shitty office job you had right now. But you worked an office job so you’d have some basic qualifications to do the job offered well. They seemed, understanding of the situation at least, and hopefully give you more time to get the money than just a month if you worked for them.

“Would I have more than a month?”

“Depends on how well you do the job,” John mused, “Do it well and you'll have all the time you need.”

Licking your lips, jaw clenched, you looked at John sheepishly from under your brows.

“I…I’ll work for you, just, don’t kill him…please–I don't care if you fuck him up just don't kill him,” you looked to your ex, who slumped back in his chair, a shell shocked look on his face. But was snapped out of it quickly as the pretty man grabbed the collar of his shirt, jerking him up.

“Brilliant!” John grinned, opening his arms wide, “We’ll take real good care’a ya’, promise.”

The man walked your boyfriend out the door, Simon following behind them, a heavy stomp to his step, and fists clenched.

You looked back to John, you were sure you looked utterly defeated, shoulders to your ears and a pout on your lips, browns pinched and shallow breaths.

He stood up, walking around the table, your steps involuntarily matching his, backing up as he walked forward. A very large man indeed. Intimidating.

He grinned, teeth shining, as he held out his hand, yours awkwardly held out to meet it. His hand engulfed yours in a crushing grip, knuckles throbbing in pain. He leaned in closer to you, pulling your body close to his. You swallowed and pulled your head back, muscles tense.

“Looks like we have a deal.”

(word count: 4480)

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