#mma boxer

[barefistfighter]

[bussyyeukie]

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)

[kanimart]

No. 1 MMA Fighter “Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight”, that’s it.

check my insta for more

[marshallisgod]

the last stylebender

[uppercut-athletics]

Heavybag workout

[rrougarou]

Sketch I did for a fan named Silas! I’m doing sketches of people’s characters for $20! DM me if interested.

Also check out my Patreon! Link in bio

[loganslowdown4]

Rookie KO

In Training 🤛🤍 Champion 🥊❤️

[yelenasdiary]

https://www.tumblr.com/yelenasdiary/721332869815058432/mma-fighterboxer-yelena?source=share

Plssss headcanons please I can imagine her blowing a kiss for you before throwing a punch to her opponent.

-👸

Boxer/MMA Fighter! Yelena is so beautiful, I love her!! I hope you enjoy these 🥰

Please note, I don't know all that much about boxing or MMA so please forgive me if I have said anything that is incorrect.

You met her at the gym after you accidentally sprained your ankle on the treadmill and she was the only other person in the gym at the time.

She has a sleeve of tattoos and a stack of piercings in one ear.

She trains daily, except for Sundays.

She loves sending you after workout selfies!!

You're at every single one of her fights.

When she knows she's about to win a fight, she loves blowing you a quick kiss or a playful wink before delivering the final punch and/or kick to her opponent.

You're always there to help patch her up after her matches and making her relaxing baths with plenty of muscle relaxants.

She loves when you braid her hair for her before her matches.

She's beefy, let's be real! & she loves picking you up in her arms!

She loves involving you in her career somehow and will let you help her train, doing push ups with you sitting with your legs cross on her back.

She most definitely has taught you self defensive and is very protective over you!

You love cooking for her and making sure she gets all the nutrients and protein she needs. There's always a smoothie waiting for her in the morning.

She always makes sure you have the best seat in the house at her matches.

She's a BIG cuddler! She's always cuddling you, in bed or the sofa, from behind in the kitchen or while you're brushing your teeth, she always wants to have her arms wrapped around you.

You are her biggest support just as much as she is yours.

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[barefistfighter]

[bussyyeukie]

Neon Lights and Bloody Fights

(fighter!simon x reader)

part one. part two.

Your head hurt. Like, hurt.

A throbbing rolling behind your forehead for the better part of 4 hours.

Unable to sleep, barely able to find the taste in anything you ate. You sat on your couch, leaned back and legs spread as you held the remote in your hand, eyes staring unfocused at whatever the fuck was on the old screen of the TV.

A sandwich with one bite taken out of it sat on the coffee table in front of you, next to the barely drunk cup of coffee. The drip that had spilled down the side dried, cutting a line down Snoopy's head.

Your shirt big on your frame, and your shorts had ridden up slightly, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Your hair was unbrushed and thrown into a claw clip that had actually started to sag, not exactly doing its job since you had to keep tucking hair behind your ears. Lips bitten raw, the bags under your eyes prominent as you stared blankly at the screen. You weren’t even sure if you had muted it or if you just weren’t listening.

It had been two days.

Since the fight. Since the bet. Since your newfound job with (if you had to guess) criminals.

Two days.

Mr. Price (or John, as he insisted you called him) said to expect a call from him within the week to discuss a meeting about your new position. You had offered him your number but he said it was no need, they already had it.

Your phone was sitting on the cushion next to you. It was a flip phone, nothing too fancy even in that department. Looked like something a dad who only wore cargo shorts would own. Your gaze would wander to it every few minutes, wondering when it would ring. Your feet rubbed against the carpet under them, socks gliding smoothly.

For the weather outside, it wasn’t too cold in your little apartment. But you pride yourself on keeping it cozy.

There were maybe two boxes by your front door. Poorly taped shut.

They were your ex-boyfriends. Well, it was stuff you were debating giving back to him. Not that he wasn’t around to collect it, the fucker’d been loitering outside your work and calling you nonstop to the point where he was using his friends' phones after you blocked him. Which, you didn’t mind blocking them either cause they weren’t exactly your friends, and you didn’t exactly like them.

You were beyond thankful you two didn’t live together. Suddenly grateful he had denied the offer 6 months ago, which you’re pretty positive is because he was cheating on you. But at the time you didn’t want to admit that. 

Letting your head fall back against the couch, huffing out your nose, you thought back to that night.

You haven't seen your ex the rest of the night. Only the next day when you went to his house to collect your things. Honestly you almost forgot why you had gone when you saw his face, it looked like one big mash of black and blue. Both eyes nearly swollen shut, a bandaged gash on his eyebrow, and on his cheek under his eye. A pretty busted lip, a swollen nose, his jaw even looked swollen. He was almost scared to see you, kept looking over your shoulder and flinching.

He had let you in, bracing the whole time like you were going to hit him. Which, admittedly you were going to until you saw the number that Simon and the other guy had done on him.

…Simon.

You glanced back to your phone, then to the ceiling again.

Subconsciously narrowing your eyes, you thought about the hulking man.

The way his shoulders heaved as his breath huffed into the air in front of him. Stance tall and head bent down, shoulders rounded with fists clenched. Blood coloring in the black and white tattoos drinking up the expense of his arm. Sweat dripping from his nose and splashing onto the ground in front of him. He turned to you and his face–

Blank.

“Right,” you sighed, rubbing your face and trailing your hands up to your hair, “he’s faceless…”

He was strange, the opposite of what you’d expected the man to act like. You almost wished he’d just been some cocky asshole so it didn’t confuse you as much.

Something loud happened on the TV that made you jump and look forward. Hair nearly all fallen from the sloppy excuse for an updo. A breath escaped you, jumping again as your phone rang.

The silly, bubbly song falling from the rough speakers–your friend had changed it years ago and you had no clue how to change it, so you were stuck with some preppy pop song–buzzing erratically on the cushion. Your heart was beating out of your chest, stomach turning, face burning red. You watched it buzz for a second. The brief thought of not answering shot through your mind, but you decided against it. There was no way they’d just give up after one call. An unrecognized number on the dingy yellow screen.

Your throat was dry so it didn’t do much good. Swallowing, you grabbed the phone and flipped it open, hesitantly holding it up to your ear.

“Hello?”

Your voice was a little scratchy, but nervously high as it echoed back to you. 

“Ah hello!” the voice on the other end was deep, rough as it struggled through your speakers, “Beautiful mornin’ init?”

You shrugged, “Um, I’m sure it is Sir.”

You hadn’t left your house this morning. It was only about 11 anyway, so it’s not like you were shut in all day.

“Ach what’d I tell ya’ about tha’, John is just fine missy,” a chuckling rang between his words, and the grin on his face was evident through the words.

“Right sir–uh John,” you put a hand to your face, pinching between your brows, “John.”

He chuckled again, deep from his belly, “Don’t worry abou' it, darlin', expect ya' know what this call’ll be abou'?”

You nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see you and felt your cheeks flush, “Yes. T-the job right?”

“Indeed,” there was some shuffling on the other side of the phone, “Meet me at 2 today, I’d like ta' speak abou' this in person, face-ta-face, ya' know, not’a mention there’s someone I wan' you ta' meet!”

Licking your lips you paused your show, a rock on your stomach, “Um, are you sure? I really, I’m not sure if today would work best, I have some things to drop…off, and–”

“No,” the word was so solid, even through the crummy speaker you shut your mouth, “You’ll be 'ere at 2:00pm, dress yerself up proper, an' bring a notepad or some'tin to write on.”

With your elbow on your knee and your head in your hand, staring at the floor under you, nodding, you answered, “O-of course, I’ll see you at 2:00. Where would–where would you like to meet?”

"I’ll send you the address, we’re all very excited to welcome ya' to the team, 'eard some good things,” you heard the door open on the other side of the door, perking up slightly, listening in. You couldn’t hear what the other man had said, but Price sighed, “Gonna 'ave'ta cut our lil' convo short, I expect to see you at 2:00 sharp.”

With that the phone was hung up, your tongue fat and choking in your mouth. You threw your phone down, annoyed. With everything, the whole stupid situation. You should just call the cops. The idea seemed bright in your head for two seconds before it fizzled out.

“No…” you sighed and looked to the clock, 11:50, “That would be dumb…”

Pushing yourself up off the couch you rubbed your face and stretched your back. You hadn’t slept well last night, or the night before. In fact you hadn’t slept the night of the fight, so you weren’t running on too much at the moment. Shuffling your way down the hall to your bedroom, you looked through your closet. Thankful at least that you had some respectable clothing due to your job, throwing a pair of gray pleated slacks and a button up on the bed.. For a moment you wondered if Price would prefer if you wore a skirt. Then you scoffed at yourself.

Wandering to your bathroom, you started a shower, the water creaking to life through your pipes. Typically you’d throw on some music, but for some reason it felt out of place. Like you were supposed to be in silence, in mourning. The water was the only sound in the house.

Your mind wandered back to Simon, surely you’d be seeing him today. 

You thought back to him standing on the mat in the ring, hands practically grasping the metal cage in front of him, shadowed and standing like a titan in front of you. Shorts tight on his thighs, markings decorating his skin, color blossoming on his body. Muscles taut and rippling under his skin.

His face completely darkened, shadowed and black to your vision.

Sticking a hand under the water, you let it sit there for a second, the warmth engulfing it as you yawned. The door to your bathroom opened, it tended to get overrun with steam when you showered. Looking out into your bedroom, and to the clothes laying out on your bed. 

This couldn’t be real, there was no way. It sounded like some…shitty story you’d read on tumblr or something. Your boyfriend bets money he doesn’t have on an underground fight and loses, and now you have to work for the big fighters. What a joke.

You looked to your sink, pursing your lips at the potted plant that sat in it. You reached over and turned on the faucet, letting the pot fill to the brim, then turning it off, poking some holes in the first with your finger, watching the thirsty plant drink up the water.

Taking your hair down you sighed, and started to take off your clothes.

The shower passed quickly. Washing your hair, putting products in, and blow drying it in almost a trance. Standing with your arms crossed in front of your bed, staring at those clothes, skin soft with lotion and goosebumped from standing in the non-steamy air in just underwear and a bra. Lips scrunched and pouted. 

“Just put the damn clothes on,” you muttered, shaking your hair out, “You’re being a baby about this…”

You felt cheated, almost like you’re taking on someone else's punishment. The image of your ex’s face flashing through your head made you freeze up, brows raising a bit. He would probably have a TBI from the way those men–Simon, the name rolled through your head like a tumbleweed again–had dealt with him.

You didn’t want a TBI.

Quickly getting dressed, you tucked the creamy pinstriped button up into the slacks that were a little long while barefoot, you had bought them for heels, and buttoned it to the top, not tight enough on your neck that it left you clawing at it an hour into the day. Huffing dramatically you smacked your bed, looking to the clock. 1:20. 

Feet padding against the hardwood of the hall, leaning over the back of your couch to snatch up your phone. The screen reading one notification, you flipped it open, seeing the address that was sent.

You knew what street it was, about 20 minutes from your house, not too far of a drive. The office was at least a 30 minute drive, though it usually turned into 50 due to traffic and your car needed 10 minutes to heat up or it would crap out at a stop light.

You were relieved that the address wasn’t in the middle of one of the crappier areas. Not that the street was high end, but it wasn’t known for the drug corners or stabbings.

Hurrying to the bathroom, you threw your hair up, a little nicer than earlier, pulling parts of the front out by your ears and around your face. You debated makeup for a second, then decided a little wouldn’t hurt. Rubbing the lipstick onto your lips, nothing shocking, you honestly didn’t want to stick out at all, and bright red lipstick might not have helped that goal.

You grabbed a sweater, a dark piece with a wide square neckline. Stopping just below the waistline of the slacks, Belt sleek under it, you hated when a belt was bulky and obvious under a shirt or a sweater. It made your skin crawl.

You snapped your fingers, “Fuck right, a notepad…”

Looking around your apartment, you grew frantic, not finding anything. 

“How the fuck do I not have a notepad,” messing around in your bedside drawer, you found a thin brown notepad, the kind you flipped open, it was pretty much blank, save for a grocery list on the first page, but you can rip that out later. A pen clipped to it already.

Gazing at the clock, you groaned, 1:30.

Stopping by the door, you grabbed a pair of heeled boots, only about three inches, and not big boots. In fact you weren’t sure they were boots, you’d just always called them that. They might have just been regular shoes. Grabbing a bag, your wallet and phone in your hand, you paused at the door, hand gripping the handle. The metal cool under your touch.

Debating again, if you just ignored them…

Ryans face popped into your head. Broken bones, TBI…right.

With that you jerked open the door. The old thing creaking on its hinges.

The radio played in your car. Nearly silent with how low you had it. It wasn’t very cold out, slightly on the chilly side but there were plenty of people in shorts and t-shirts. 

But you’d also seen people in shorts and t-shirts in snow, so it didn’t really mean all that much.

You’d been sitting in the parking lot for 5 minutes already. You have 5 minutes to walk to the door. You’d driven past it, it was two stores down. You felt a little silly expecting it to be some super obviously sketchy place. But it was just a gym, a boxing gym. The sign was pretty nice, reading 141 with neon lighting around it. It wasn’t crazy fancy, it looked like one of those old school places. 

Your head hit the headrest, you turned off your car, and stepped out, keys clutched in your hand, squinting into the light. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this…”

With a sigh, you rubbed your eyebrows, checking your reflection in the mirror. You looked tired, but not bad. Your lips had regained some moisture since this morning, hopefully you wouldn’t pick at them too much.

Checking the time you sighed, locking your car and quickly jogging to the street, making your way over to the building. Stopping in front of it and swallowing the spit stuck in the back of your throat. There was a big glass door on the wall, pushing it open, a bell dinged, as you tentatively walked in.

There was a front desk, and it led into a very open gym with a boxing ring in the back. Lots of punching bags littered around and some other equipment you didn’t quite understand.

There wasn’t anyone by the front desk. But there were people in the ring, and people in the gym, even though the number was low–two people in the ring and what looked to be a coach there as well. 

You took a few more steps inside, before a loud voice made you tense up.

“Aye, looky ‘ere,” a boisterous Scottish voice rang through the gym, looking to your side you spotted a tall man with a choppily cut mohawk strolling up to you, a bright pink cast on his wrist, almost to his elbow. Lots of signatures of drawings on it. Mostly dicks, the closer he got the more you could see. He was smiling wide and sweating, large basketball shorts and a tank top on. The tank top almost soaked through, sticking to his chest.

The gym reeked of sweat, and cheap cologne.

“Class, lookin’ bonnie ye are,” he stopped just about in front of you, hands on his hips and looked you up and down, “Whit are ye daein' in a place like this?”

You grinned at him nervously, almost looking like you were in pain.

“Um, Price?” you said, clearing your throat, “I have a job interview with Price–John…”

“Oh,” the man perked up, then got a little red in the face, “Sorry, lass, didnae realise ye were that bonnie thing, though it wis jist ma lucky day.”

Chuckling a bit you nodded, “Yeah, I, I think I'm actually late?”

You looked around for a clock.

“Late?”

“I was supposed to meet him at 2:00?”

He scoffed and waved you off, “Nah, he’s late, dinnae worry, come wi’ me, I’ll introduce ye tae the boys till he wraps up whit he wis daein’.”

He hooked an arm around your shoulder, stuffing you in his armpit, which reeked of sweat and strong deodorant. You nearly stumbled as he walked forward, grabbing his arm and trying to pull your head away.

“W-what–ugh, please–” you attempted to free yourself, but that man was strong, and his arms locked up, “At least away from the armpit–”

“You’ll like the boys,” he didn’t seem to have heard what you said, leading you to the back of the gym, around the corner to a more secluded looking boxing ring. Where two men were boxing, “They’re reeaall nice, especially tae the bonnie ones! Haha–real jokers those–”

The sweaty man was rambling about something, but your feet felt like lead as you spotted who was fighting.

Solid hits ringing out into the gym. Both in head padding, and gloves.

You spotted the large man in black shorts, tight on his thighs, hulking figure basking in the overhead light, beautiful ink splattered up his arm, his skin flushed as he moved, shirtless and glowy. Heavy grunts coming from the ring, solid punches landing.

Your feet felt heavy, almost stumbling a bit as the man dragged you closer.

Simon's muscles rippled under his skin as he threw punches, dodging, and light on his feet. Fully focused. Sweat dripped from him, splashing onto the mat under him. The man he was fighting in orange shorts, and a white boxing mask. It was the black man from the fight, you could see his face better through the mask. Eye still a bit bruised, but looking good, his shirt was tight on his body, like a compression shirt gym guys wear. He was much leaner than Simon, you noticed, but he still filled out the shirt.

“Boys!” the scots voice snapped you out of whatever thought process you were in, making you jolt a bit.

The two groaned and slowed down their hits, almost ignoring him.

“Look who I got!”

The pretty boy glanced over and smiled, signalling to Simon to stop, motioning to you with his head. Simon had his back turned to you, shoulders dropping in an irritated state as he turned.

His shoulders rising back up and his muscles tensing, his eyes widening, pink in his cheeks and forehead. He snapped his gaze to the man next to you, brows pinching.

“Oh hey!” voice muffled, the black man chuckled, pulling his head gear off and pulled out his mouth guard. You cringed as spit stuck to it, splattering a bit as he shook it off. He walked over to you two, past Simon–jabbing him in the gut as he passed. Simon grunted and muttered something under his breath, pulling his gloves off, “How ya’ been!”

You gulped, offering a nervous smile, “Um, pretty good…”

The man holding you chuckled, clapping you on the back, relaxing his grip so he wasn’t pulling you into his armpit as much, allowing you to stand to full height. Tucking some hair behind your ear you glanced at the man next to you then to the men in the ring. The pretty man was leaning against the ropes, removing his gloves, turning to say something to Simon. Who was still lingering back, meticulously removing his gloves.

Simon looked at him from under his eyebrows, then to you and the sweaty man.

“Ach, come on, Ghost, be a pal,” the man next to you bellowed, looking down to you, "He’s a wee bit shy, dinnae mind him."

You nodded, “O-ok.”

Your hair was a little ruffled, and your collar was popped on one side now, you didn’t notice Simon watching you.

“I’m Kyle by the way,” the black man held out his hand, as if for a hand shake, the man behind you nudged you forward, your heels clicking on the cement flooring. You smiled and reached up, shaking his hand, “Or Gaz, whichever you prefer.”

“Nice to officially meet you,” you felt incredibly out of place.

The man behind you snapped his fingers, you looked at him curiously, "Ah'm Johnny. Dinnae tell ye earlier, did ah?"

You shook his hand as well. Both men had strong grips, you’d wiped your hand on your pants after Kyle’s handshake, his hand sweaty from the glove. Made your skin crawl a bit as a matter of fact.

Simon walked up next, not leaning on the ropes like Kyle, his gloves and helmet off.

His hair was damp with sweat, cut short and even around his head, curling and waving slightly in places, stuck to his forehead and around his ears. A long scar running up his chin, and one disrupting his peachy lips, making the top lip curl slightly. Another smaller one on the side of his nose, which was strong and defined. Definitely having been broken before, a white scar splitting one of his eyebrows. His jaw was sharp and set, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. The stubble on his chin gone. You were right the night of the fight, his left eye was a bit swollen, a dark ring encompassing it, making his eyes look even more sunken.

Johnny grabbed your shoulder, snapping you out of your staring at Simon. Your face flushing as you realized you were in fact staring. Hoping it wasn’t for too long.

“Tha’s Simon, ah’m sure you knew tha’ though,” he giggled, Simon grunted.

“Yeah I introduce myself,” the words were a bit sharp, and Johnny waved him off.

“I do too!” he retaliated. Putting his hands on his hips.

Simon rolled his eyes and Kyle chuckled.

“Um,” you felt awkward interrupting them, feeling like an outsider, “Do, you know when Mr. Price is going to be back?”

You looked between them all nervously, Simon had his arms crossed in a broad stance, Kyle looked infinitely more relaxed. They both looked to each other and shrugged.

“Hell if I know, he went out to go talk ta’ someone but wouldn’t tell us who,” Kyle said, thinking for a moment, “I hope he brings back food.”

Johnny perked up, “Aye! I’m starved I tell ya’.”

Simon nodded, his gaze still locked on you. It felt more intense without the mask. Like he was sinking his brute hands into you, squeezing through you like wet clay, pushing their way to the center. Boring into you.

You straightened your sweater slightly, “He just left?”

The three nodded. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, checking the time.

2:15.

A snort of laughter rang out. You looked up, expecting something funny. Only to see the three men looking at you.

“What?”

“Wha’ is that?” Kyle pointed to your phone. With a confused look you held it up, “Yeah lass, tha’.”

“My phone?” you looked at it, sure it's a little old but what was wrong with it.

“Thangs a right relic,” Johnny cupped your hand that was holding it, pulling it closer. His hand was warm as it held yours, your brows pinching together as you looked at him.

Missing the way Simon’s lips pressed tight and his scowl grew.

“It’s not that old, come on,” you argued. Looking at the other two, pulling it back to yourself, Putting it away in your pocket.

Kyle grimaced, clicking his tongue, “I don’t know, it’s pretty old…”

You looked to Simon, seeking some sort of…anything as far as support.

He shrugged, a beat of silence, “Things're pretty old, almost as old as Price.”

A ring of laughter echoed through the part of the gym, Johnny clapping his thigh. You smiled as well, giggling to yourself. Simon’s smile was handsome, his teeth surprisingly straight (not perfect but better than you were expecting really), and his lip curled a little funny due to the scaring.

“Wot’s so funny?” a rough voice rang through the gym. You felt your heart jump and you looked back, Johnny doing the same. 

Price was walking up to everyone. Wearing jeans that were worn on his thighs and a tight button up that was rolled up to his elbows, sloppily tucked into his jeans. A tired look on his face and what looked to be an overstuffed planner in his hand. Rings decorating his meaty fingers.

His hair was tousled and shoes clicked on the cement.

“Simon here was just sayin’–”

A thick hand slapped itself onto Kyle's mouth, your eyes widening and a fought down smile making their way onto your face. Simon’s brows pinched tight as he sent a mean look to the pretty man. Whose face was smashed in Simon’s hold.

“Nothin’, sir, mindless chatter,” Johnny grinned.

Price scoffed and put his free hand into his pocket.

“I see you’ve met Johnny,” he gestured with the planner in hand. Eyes crinkling into a soft smile.

“Um, y-yes!” you grinned, holding your hands behind your back.

Price continued walking till he was close to the four of you, glancing up behind your shoulder–to Simon and Kyle presumably.

“Everyone introduce themself?” he looked at you, “Been civil wit’ ya’?”

You nodded, “Yes Mr. Price, everyone’s been kind.”

Johnny clapped you on the back, startling you and jolting your body forward a bit, “See, Cap, she's fine, nae need to worry yer little heid.”

Kyle scoffed, and you swore you heard Simon grumbling behind you. Price shook his head and he walked up, putting a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it.

“You ready for that meetin’ darling?” 

He smelled like strong cologne, ushering you with him, guiding you away from the three men by the ring.

“Yes, I believe so,” you glanced back at them as Price moved his hand to your back, pushing you forward with them. Your eyes meeting Simons, his brown eyes lighting up, his cheeks pink as he huffed. His eyes darting down to Price’s hand then back up to your face, Johnny facing him, saying something you couldn’t quite hear. Simon swung at him.

You looked back at Price who was looking ahead.

He led you both to a door, and inside was an office. Nothing fancy, carpeting, a set of four lockers in the corner, a door in the back that looked a bit more heavy duty than the one you two walked in. A metal desk against the wall with a (dying) potted plant by it, an old looking chair and a little coffee table. A coat rack with jackets and hats on it, and a water cooler in the corner.

It smelled like smoke and old air freshener. 

Price walked up his desk, leaning against it with a heavy sigh, gesturing for you to sit in the chair in front.

“Sit, please, can’t imagine those are comfortable,” he chuckled.

You looked to the chair and sat down, placing your bag at your feet. 

“Thank you–they, they aren’t that bad really, I’m used to wearing them at my job…”

Price perked up like he’d suddenly remembered something, “Yes, you’ll ‘ave to put in your two weeks.”

You blanked, puzzled, “I’m sorry?”

“You won’t 'ave the time to juggle this job an' that one, especially if it's a 9-to-5 gig. You'll be workin' a lot to pay off that debt,” Price rubbed the back of his head, and moved around his desk to sit in the groaning chair.

“I–” you looked at him, “I, can’t quit. I, I need the money sir, I don’t be able to pay rent or my-my car payment, I need to buy food and pay my insurance and–”

Price waved you off, “No worries, hun, we’ll take care of all that. Can’t 'ave our new assistant on the streets hungry, can we?”

You swallowed, “N-no I suppose not…I’ll be paying off that debt I accumulate as well I assume?”

Price laughed, crossing his arms on his desk, “Reckon Simon’d 'ave my 'ead for that!”

You tilted your head, confused, “Why?”

The man waved you off, “He’s a sweet man, wouldn’t stand for indentured servitude, I’m afraid.”

Nodding, you glanced down to your lap, where your hands were clasped tightly, licking your lips nervously.

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense.”

“What do you think of them?”

Looking up, you met Price's gaze, his hands folded under his chin. Eyes steady on your own.

“Who?” you paused for a second before pinching your brows together, a little embarrassed, “Oh–yes, them. They are all very nice, and they’ve been very sweet to me…I…”

You rubbed the back of your head, debating if you should bring it up, “I saw what they did to Ryan…probably would’ve done it myself if they hadn’t.”

Price laughed, deep from his belly, spooking you a bit, suddenly embarrassed.

“You should be thankin' Simon for that, 'ad to drag the man off the poor sap!”

Price rubbed his beard and shook his head.

“Oh,” you don’t know why your stomach flipped the way it did, or why your cheeks heated up, “I should thank him sometime.”

“Don’t worry about it, 'e was more than 'appy to do it, darlin',” he rolled back, jerking the top desk of his drawer open. You sat in silence, unsure how to respond to that. Simon sure was weird.

He pulled out a thick manilla envelope full of papers, nearly an inch thick.

He grunted as he placed it onto the desk smiling to himself as he pushed it towards you. The drawer closing with a startling rattle of the desk.

“I’m goin' to need you to fill these papers out and read through 'em by the end of next week, but good news is that’s all the paperwork you’ll 'ave to do for the hirin', mostly just liability stuff an' certain NDA’s,” he explained, you stared at the papers and nodded along, the feeling of your guts tying up. This was a real, dangerous thing. Not just a job interview, this was you tying yourself up with dangerous people.

Blood. Hardened knuckles. Scarred faces. Strong muscles.

You grabbed the folder, holding it in your lap, “Thank you, I’ll make sure it’s done.”

Price nodded, “Just turn it in 'ere when you’re finished. Gimme a call an' I’ll make sure someone’s 'ere to unlock the room for you.”

“Yes Mr. Price,” you gripped the folder.

“So formal,” he muttered, leaning back into his chair, “I’m just goin' to chat with you for a bit, ask a few questions if you don’t mind.”

“Yes sir, that’s no problem,” you smiled sweetly at him. 

He paused for a moment, looking at you, “How long you an' your boyfriend been datin'?”

You gulped, shuffling, “Um, it was just over 2 years…”

“Was?”

“I broke up with him,” you looked to the side, then back to the smiling man, looking very pleased with himself.

“Good! He was a lowlife anyway,” he crossed his arms, “Glad 'e won’t be draggin' you down anymore, you don’t deserve that.”

You blinked, “Th-thank you…”

He spoke like you two were familiar with each other. It was strange.

“Not to sound rude, but, you kind of sound like,” you paused, “Like you know me? I think I’d remember if we’d met before.”

Price laughed again, softer this time, “No, we haven’t met before, don’t worry, but your ex-boyfriend spoke about you a lot, all good things for the most part. Even when 'e didn’t mean 'em to be, they cast you in a good light.”

You scoffed, looking away, of course he would talk shit about you. What did you really expect?

Price’s chair creaked as he leaned forward, “Don’t pay it much mind. Look at 'im now–ah! Don’t worry about fairness, we’ll be visitin' 'im every now an' then to make sure 'e’s been behavin'.”

You nodded, not exactly put off by the idea, “Sounds like something Simon would jump on.”

“See you’re learning already!” he leaned over the desk and clapped your shoulder, jostling you, “You’ll get on fine, won’t be too challengin' of a job.”

You shifted in your seat, it was stuffy in the room, and it was growing hot. Unsure if it actually was or if you were just nervous–very possibly both.

“What would the job be, exactly?”

“Mostly just runnin' errands, keepin' medical papers in check, watchin' over the boys–make sure they don’t get into too much trouble, ya know–keep fight schedules in order, make sure the boys know what that is,” he thought for a moment, muttering to himself, “Ah–you’ll be accompanyin' me to meetin's an' 'elp a little with the tension between some of the fighters… they usually take information better from a pretty thing rather than a grumpy old man.”

You nodded, it was different from your other job, but nothing you couldn’t handle. You’ll just be his personal assistant pretty much.

“As you know Soap’s injured at the moment and –”

“Soap?” you felt your skin clam up when he shot you a look, realizing you’d interrupted him.

“Did he not–” with a sigh he explained, “Johnny is Soap, the loud scott out there, handsy one.”

You nodded, “Oh, sorry Mr. Price, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

He scoffed, waving his hand, “Don’t worry, those boys interrupt more than anyone I know. Get out a paper an' I’ll tell you their 'code' names.”

You rummaged around your bag, pulling out the brown pad and pen, opening it, looking at the large man.

“Soap, is Johnny MacTavish, Ghost would be Simon Riley, Gaz would be Kyle Garrick,” he paused, “I’ll send you a list of some of the other fights from other rings, they fight 'ere occasionally an' vice versa, you’ll need to know that as well. When in the ring, you are only to use those code names, for everyone's safety.”

“Yes sir,” closing the notepad, and placing it on top of the folder, which weighed heavy on your thighs. In fact your shoulders weighted down heavily as well, and your head, pulling at your neck.

Price clapped his hands together, “I believe that covers it for now, feel free to call if you’ve got any questions or anythin'. I’ll get you the boys' numbers as well, in case you need the muscle. Oh–and the ‘gym’ is open from 10:00am–11:00pm, I expect you to be 'ere at 8:00am, but I’ll let you know if that changes on the day.”

You clenched your teeth, he didn’t really expect you to work for over 12 hours did he. Everyday?

“Of course Mr. Price,” you nodded, forcing a sugary smile onto your lips.

“I’ll be payin’ you well, let's say $30 an hour?” he nodded to himself, “Yeah, you can do the math on 'ow long that’ll take you to pay off–probably good to mention that I’ll only pay for the 8 hour day, any time I keep you past that will just be your kind donation to the gym.”

He smiled, soft and sweet like he didn’t just tell you you’d be working for a few hours each day no pay, and you're just going to do it. Not like you could argue. You were already in this mess. 

Pressing our lips together, and then prying them open to flash teeth you nodded and made a noise in the back of your throat, “Yes sir. I’d be glad to.”

“"I’m sure the boys would appreciate it as well,” his chair groaned and creaked. It sounded like your bones were doing the same as you sat there. His gaze was sharp, even with the smile, it’s like he was looking at your thoughts, your inner workings.

Like he knew everything you were going to say before you said it–and he was waiting to get his witty reply out. Ready to bite at whatever managed to slither it’s way out from between your lips.

“You’ll start today, be 'ere for a few hours, learn the ropes,” he grinned wide, “I’m sure you’ll find it very fun, girly.”

Your heart sank.

(Word count: 6098)

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@msjaeger @jamdoughnuts

[roughridingrednecks]

Jake Paul

[guysshowingofftheirmuscles]

[jamesedwardclark]

ONLY ONE WEEK LEFT TO BACK EVIL Comics On Kickstarter! Back a commission tier and get a drawing of whatever you want and the original artwork sent to you along with your copy of EVIL Comics! Gentlemen who is a big supporter asked for another piece featuring Chris Evans as a boxer. Want to guess who he’s supposed to be punching?

BACK HERE!!!!!!!!!!

[uppercut-athletics]

Fight prep 💪🏾

[stargirlstabber]

if yes, throw in some characters in my inbox and i'll try to finish it as soon as possible. only taking characters from call of duty, tokyo revengers, jujutsu kaisen and maybe maybe from haikyuu if i feel like it. just bombard my inbox :3

btw- anon or not anon, dont be shy

(i promise it won't land on my forgotten hill of drafts and other reqs-😭)

[rckboxer]

street fighters🥊👊🏼