Bill Skarsgård Smut/Imagines

tough shit | part 1

"Hit me." Bill instructed, both of his feet firmly planted against the rubbery floors of the boxing ring as he slightly bent his body, leveling his tall figure to your seemingly frail body.

Sweat trickled down your forehead, your breathing shallow as you tried to catch it with each heave, your elbows moving up and down. You were obviously exhausted but he didn't seem to care. He remained standing there, physically prepared if you ever give him a hit, but you didn't. Your arms were hurting, your mind was beginning to drift off of reality, it has been six hours since your last nap, and when you woke up you weren't even properly acquainted with the atmosphere yet. This wasn't a good day for you. Not to mention you could feel the scratches on your knees from constantly landing on the floor stretching everytime you'd move around the boxing ring.

That's all you ever did anyways; run away everytime he'd try to throw a punch at you, since you jumped in. When Bill said it was time for training, part of you felt like it was going to be a pain in the ass to concentrate, and indeed you were right. You guys have been training for two consecutive hours and all you've ever done to damage him is kick his ankles, which isn't even part of the training, and he'd chastise you everytime you would do it. You have tried telling him you didn't feel like fighting with him today, but he further insisted, going on about that bet you guys made last week while getting a few drinks. If you win a match; you'd pay him less for being your trainer, and if he wins you'd have to pay him more.

It was a petty debate, but there you are anyways.

"I can't." You breathe, finally giving up.

He furrowed his eyebrows, still in position to accept offense with both of his fists bawled. Even he was sweating; his forehead glistening underneath the hard bright light on the black ceiling of the room. "What do you mean you can't?"

"I just can't." You turned away from him, catching the sight of the glass windows near the exit of the gym. It was already dark outside. When you started training the sun was still blazing hot. You sighed for the millionth time today, "You win, I lose the deal."

"You're not even going to try?"

"What the hell do you call that two hour match then?" You stated stiffly, partly feeling offended over his comment. You weren't even really good at boxing, he just bribed you for a match because he knew you want to pay him less, and since you're desperate you would grab at anything.

"You call that a match?" He scoffed, venom lingering in his tone. "I barely gained a bruise!"

You stopped yourself from walking off the ring, now actually offended from his comment. Bill has been your gym trainer for six months, and you guys have been close enough to make bets you know you're going to lose, but he definitely wasn't close enough to judge your strength over some lame boxing match. Other than that, you weren't in good shape today, if you were better, he'd lose to you in no time. Your fists clenching against the white fabric wrapped around your hands, You turned back to him, your gaze slicing a hole through the infuriating smirk plastered across his lips as he stood there.

The look in his eyes made you want to take him down right then and there while his guard is down, but you weren't a cheater. You were a professional. "Fine." you muttered, and with that his smirk only grew larger on his face, giving you more determination to wipe it off with your knuckles. "I'll show you a real fucking match."

"Give it to me." He rolled his eyes.

You walked back into your previous position and titled your head side to side, stretching your neck muscles while you kept both of your feet in proper distance away from each other for balance. You propped your arms in front of your chest, your knuckles white as aggravation rushed through your bloodstream. You gave him a hit which he swiftly dodged, his grin beginning to get into your nerves, but you ignored the whining in your head, instead you placed it all into your fists to build up strength. If there was one thing you learned from him; that is to never let your frustrations stop you from fighting.