Some Martin bs I wrote because recently I’ve been feeling a little too affectionate for him and now I have to make him suffer for making me love him so much
WARNING!!!! THIS INCLUDES VIOLENCE!!! IT INCLUDES STOMACH PUNCHING!!!! IT INCLUDES VOMITING!!! IT INCLUDES CRYING AND SCREAMING!!!! IT INCLUDES DEATH!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNEDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!
Additional notes; this is a reader insert, but there is no use of y/n. You and Martin are on the streets or maybe in a parking lot, idk, just wherever includes gravel,,, also reader is the aggressor and Martin is the victim
I started writing this yesterday at like 5PM and finished the rest of it at 8AM,,, enjoy
Your fist makes contact with Martin’s stomach again, the sound muffled but the impact no less harsh.
Martin groans, even whimpers as he doubles over, his arms cross over his stomach and his hair falls to veil his face in pain.
You grab his soft hair, gripping it brutally and using it to pull him towards you. Martin stumbles pathetically, his crossed arms immediately flying out and flailing about, his feet almost tripping over each other.
The pain in Martin’s stomach from the amount of punches it’s suffered in the last 14 minutes is almost enough to make him collapse right there on the spot, but he grits his teeth and one of his hands fly up to grip your wrist, trying to wrestle your hand away from his hair.
You kick him in the stomach, your foot flying up into his bowed posture. Martin vomits, the throw up projecting and dripping from his lips. His weight suddenly drops as he blacks out, his body falling to the ground covered in his own vomit. Your hand lets go of his hair as it becomes harder to keep Martin up.
Only a few seconds does Martin start back up again, his eyes fluttering and his shoulders shuddering. His eyes find you standing up before him and terror immediately floods his face. His hands fly to the gravel, scrambling against it to try and get himself on his feet. He gets up to his feet, his converse shoes scuffling against the gravel as he attempts to make a run for it. The pain in his stomach is grand, the air is punched out of his lungs, his head hurts and his legs feel weak. You catch up to him easily and as soon as Martin feels your hand curl in his shirt’s collar, he screams out. A “NO!” rips from his throat and he feels you jerk him back to you. He sobs and continues to scream for help, for anyone to come and save him, he pleads and pleads, but it’s all useless. You punch him in the back of the head, and he blacks out once more before waking up a few seconds later. He’s gasping and breathing in hoarsely, he doesn’t have a pattern but his panicked breathing never slows down, and he blacks out again, this time for a whole minute. You wait for him to wake up again, and once he does you punch him in the stomach repeatedly, punching the last little breaths of air he has left in his lungs. His skin has turned disgustingly pale and his limbs turn weaker the more oxygen is deprived from him, his hands paw at you pitifully, he attempts to grab your wrists but his movement are slow and easy to block. Tears stream down his face and snot oozes from his nose, vomit has crusted on his lips and chin and what little breathing he has left is raspy and hoarse. You punch him in the stomach once more and Martin throws up again, it spills all over his face and onto his baby tee, his body convulses violently and his head falls back, the light leaves his eyes and his body goes limp.
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