A Collection of Imagines

Tom

Doll

1, 2, 3, 2. 1, 2, 3, 2. I only concentrate on the pattern. Hitting the mits over and over again. First, hitting with a my left jab, then punching with my right, a thrust to the side with my left, and finally ending with another right punch. Over and over again till my muscles burned. Power. My trainer ends the drill by clapping the mits together loudly. I stop to take a deep breath through my nose and I release it with a rather loud grunt. I'm doing great today, apparently.

I enter the gym, placing my bag on one of the benches to retie my shoes. As I reached down, a loud clapping of mits directs my attention towards the ring. A woman, around twenty maybe, is in the middle of the ring, heaving as she lets out a scream. She looks too fail to be in the ring. What the hell is she doing there? I look over at the person who's training her and I recognize his face. Why the hell does he have her in the ring?

I crouch down, catching my breath before I spar. I close my eyes while I try to focus on the air going through my lungs. In and out. In and out. I hear my trainer talking to the female boxer I'm supposed to fight. The beating of long boxing bags and punches sync up to the rhythm of my pulsing heart. In and out. In and out.

I slowly walk up towards the ring and I watch her crouch down towards the floor. The closer view lets me see the prominent muscles in her arms. Okay, she might have some strength, but she still looks too small for the ring. I reach her, "Hey ..."

I hear a different voice. My eyes fly open and I see a very well built man in front of me. His arms that are covered in tattoos are hanging over the straps of the ring. His face is serious for some reason. I have never seen him before. Is that a slight British accent I hear? I stand up, "Hi."

She stands. Her tight leggings cling to her figure. Whoa, she is fit. Yet, I still don't see the point. "Do you know what you're doing in here, doll?"

Oh, come on. Why does this always happen to me? Whenever I'm in the ring, some macho always has to come up to me and tell me I'm too much of a pussy to be in it. For some reason, this guy seems like he's flirting with me. The way he smiled as he said it, his eyes flashing with a mixture of confusion and merriment. Okay, I'll lean in, Macho. "Doll?"

She smiles before walking towards her trainer. Another woman enters the ring. Well, I tried to stop it, but if she has a deep desire to get her ass beaten, be my guest.

My trainer gives me some water before the fight begins. The chick in the other corner looks like she can take a hit. But the question is: how many? I jump up and down, trying to bring up my energy. I look back at Macho who is still staring at me. Yeah, I'm going to fucking spar.

Her trainer gets out of the ring and walks towards me. He taps his hand on my shoulder and flashes me a smile. I glare at him, but he chooses to ignore it. This guy must be fucking crazy. Great, now I'm worried about her.

The other fighter steps out and the fight begins. It takes a couple seconds before she throws the first punch and I slip out of the way. I rise back up to connect my right fist to the left side of her jaw. She takes a couple steps back and I hear my trainer cheer. She comes back, bringing her right hand into a 4 jab. I step to her right side, slipping under her attack and bringing a punch to her lower abdomen. I rush behind her. She turns around in a rage. Her shoulder slams into my chest, separating my arms away from my lower body. This makes me fall against the straps of the ring. She starts to hit my stomach. One after another. After about 10 seconds, I gain control again and I hit her with a 3 jab. Knocking her to tumble on her feet. I glance at Macho that is surprisingly still there.

Holy shit.

She comes back without her hands protecting her face. Rookie mistake. I bring a powerful punch across her face, following through, knocking her to the ground. In the corner of my eye, I see her trainer throw in the towel. I sigh in relief. A fierce pain goes through my lower torso. Damn, she did get me good.

That was probably the fastest fight between two women I have ever seen. I look over at her trainer, who is already looking at me. His smile and head nod said, "Yep, you shouldn't have underestimated her." Oh, fuck off. I hear a sharp intake of air enter her mouth, causing my eyes to take in her view once again. She clings to her stomach.

I hear the straps of the ring move. I glance to my right and Macho has gotten into the ring. He looks down at where my gloved hands are. He yells at my trainer to go get an ice pack. He guides me back to my chair in my corner. I wince as I sat down. I lift up my shirt to examine my injury, seeing the bruise that's already starting to appear. He places his rather large hand over it.

She lifts up her shirt and I almost felt the need to avert my eyes, but they stay glued to her. Her toned stomach glistens slightly in the light as there's a thin layer of swear covering her body. It's quite ... what's the world. Entrancing? Enticing? It takes me a while to notice the large bruise starting to appear underneath her skin. Her trainer finally comes back with an ice pack. He hands it to me, congratulates her on the fight and goes off to help the other girl off of the floor. Damn. To be completely honest, it was kind of hot to see her be so strong and powerful physically. She used all the right moves at all the right times. The confidence that reeked off of her was probably the sexiest thing I have ever experienced in my life. I place the ice pack on the same place my hand had already occupied. I look up to find her eyes pouring into mine.

Who is this guy? He's a complete stranger that first decide to underestimate me and now is trying to relieve my pain. I lean my head back on the post and watch as he places the ice pack on my stomach. When he looks up at me, something stops. I don't know if it was my breath, my heartbeat, or the chaos of the room, but something definitely stopped. Like the world paused, just for a moment.

Who is this girl? She was this powerful woman in the middle of the ring and now she has compelled me to be at her side. The heaviness in her breath coincides with mine. We keep up this rhythm for a moment. God, where did she come from?

I see the two trainers help up the girl from across the ring. I let out a breathy chuckle and look back down at him, his hands still on me. "Am I still a doll?"

I shake my head at my ridiculous accusation. I laugh at the humorous nickname that I have given her. It suits her though. I look back up at her and I smile, "Yeah, you're still a doll."

AN: Sorry for the all the excessive boxing terminology.