boxer!martin x fem!reader ⋆˚꩜｡ in which going behind your brother’s back isn’t such a bad idea 𑣲. cocky martin .✦ ݁˖ warnings: fluff, slight angst in the end, language ᢉ𐭩 enjoy <3
was martin always this much of a jerk, or had winning just made him unbearably cocky?
the gym smells like old sweat and new ambition when your brother first brings martin in.
you're sitting on the bench near the heavy bags, scrolling through your phone when the door swings open and there he is. eighteen, lean muscle, eyes that keep flicking toward you even while your brother explains the training schedule. martin nods along. he’s polite and focused, but every time your brother turns to grab paperwork you catch martin looking again.
you don't mind. you've been around fighters long enough to know when someone's checking you out versus when they're just curious.
"this is my sister” your brother says, clapping martin on the shoulder. "she brings water sometimes. don't get any ideas."
martin smiles, small and quick. "got it, coach."
but he doesn't got it. not really. because three weeks later when you're dropping off fresh towels after practice, martin is the one who jogs over to grab them from you.
his fingers brush yours and he holds the contact half a second longer than necessary.
"thanks” he says, voice low. "these smell way better than the ones we usually have."
"that's because i actually wash them” you tell him, and he laughs like you said something clever instead of stating a fact.
your brother is across the gym yelling combinations at another fighter, too busy to notice the way martin keeps finding excuses to talk to you. you don't mind that either.
martin's got this easy charm, the kind of charm that makes you want to stick around even when you have errands to run.
he starts winning matches. not just winning but dominating them. your brother calls him his "golden ticket" and martin just ducks his head, embarrassed but pleased.
you start showing up to the fights, sitting in the front row with your brother's spare hoodie pulled over your head.
every time martin glances over between rounds and sees you there, something in his posture changes. he stands taller. hits harder. the bell rings and he's a different fighter.
"you know he's only looking at you right?" your friend whispers during one particularly brutal match. "like, the entire crowd is screaming and he's scanning your face to see your reaction."
"can you just keep it quiet?” you mutter, but you're smiling. because it's true and you both know it.
your brother catches on eventually. pulls martin aside after a late practice, voice firm. "my sister is off limits. you hear me? she's not part of this deal."
martin nods, says all the right things, promises to keep his distance.
but the next day when you show up with water bottles, he's the one who meets you at the door again. this time he doesn't even pretend it's about the water.
"you coming to the match on friday?" he asks, casual like he's asking about the weather.
"depends. you gonna win?" you raise your eyebrow.
"only if you're there to watch." he says with the brightest smile ever.
you roll your eyes but you're already planning your outfit.
your brother would lose his mind if he knew, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him. at least that's what you tell yourself when martin texts you after practice, asking if you want to grab food after the next fight.
it's casual at first. small conversations in the parking lot. quick texts that turn into longer ones. he calls you after a win, still buzzing with adrenaline and you listen to him ramble about footwork and timing until he falls asleep mid sentence.
you start showing up at the gym even when your brother isn't there, bringing snacks or just sitting on the bleachers while martin works the speed bag.
"your brother's gonna kill me” martin says one afternoon, unwrapping his hands after a long session.
"probably” you agree, handing him a water bottle. "but you'll die happy, right?" you chuckle.
he grins at that, the kind of smile that gives you butterflies. "so worth it."
months pass like that. on and off. stolen moments and secret smiles. your brother remains oblivious, too focused on martin's rising record to notice the way his fighter's eyes track you across the gym.
martin gets bolder tho. starts finding reasons to touch your hand when he takes the water bottle. lingers in doorways when you're leaving. the tension builds slow and steady until it feels like something has to give.
which leads us to tonight.
it's almost midnight when you push open the gym door. the place is empty except for martin, still in his training gear, working the heavy bag with single minded focus.
his breathing comes hard, but he doesn't stop until he catches sight of you in the mirror.
"hey” he says, dropping his hands. "didn't think anyone else would be here this late."
"couldn't sleep” you tell him, walking over to the bench where his stuff is scattered. "thought maybe you'd want company."
martin wipes his face with a towel, but his eyes never leave you. "your brother know you're here?"
he laughs, low and warm. "fair enough."
you watch him unwrap his hands, he loosens the tape and flexes his fingers. there's something so sweet about it, like you're seeing a part of him that doesn't belong to the ring or your brother or the crowd that cheers his name.
"you were good today” you say “so good.”, settling on the bench. "that combination in the third round was clean."
"yeah? you think i was good?”
martin sits beside you, close enough that your knees touch. "your brother would have a stroke if he knew how often you show up."
"well good thing he's not here then, no?”
"good thing” martin echoes, and the way he says it makes you get sweet butterflies.
"so” you start, leaning back on your hands, "how's it feel being the golden ticket?" you ask sarcastically while chuckling.
"exhausting” he admits, stretching his arms above his head. "your brother has me running drills that would make a marine cry."
"awh poor baby” you tease him jokingly as you reach out to give his cheek a small stroke with the back of your hand. "want me to bring you a juice box next time?"
"only if it's the good kind with the little straw” he says back, smiling. "the ones that taste like actual fruit instead of pure regret of being a boxer."
you laugh, and the sound echoes in the empty gym. "i'll see what i can do. maybe i'll even throw in some cookies if you win your next match."
"bribery? from the coach's sister?" martin clutches his chest dramatically. "i'm shocked. didn’t expect this from you."
"nah” he says, his voice dropping a little. "i like having secrets with you."
there's a pause that’s comfortable and charged at the same time. martin reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek.
"you know” he continues, "i've been thinking about that last fight.“
"i kept looking for you between rounds. every time i found you in the crowd, it was like... i don't know. like i could breathe better."
you laugh and immediately cringe out "eww that's so cheesy martin."
"yeah, well you bring it out in me” he says, not even trying to deny it. "besides, you're the one who keeps showing up to watch me get punched in the face. what does that say about you?"
"that i have excellent taste in entertainment?"
"or that you like watching me sweat” he teases as you make a gagging sound. but besides it, you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks from how good his sweet talk is.
"maybe both” you admit, and the way his eyes light up makes you want to kiss him right there.
martin meets you halfway, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as your lips connect. it's familiar now, this dance between you.
the way his other hand finds your resting hand. when you pull back, he's smiling against your mouth.
"been thinking about doing that all day” he murmurs.
"every day since the first time” he corrects. "which was...what, a few months ago now?"
"four months and two days" you say without thinking, then immediately regret it when his grin turns smug.
you push his shoulder “shut up."
he just chuckles and nudges your cheek with his nose, “c’mon i was kidding. that’s so cute.”, kissing you again .
he always stays respectful, never wandering too far. though there's an emotion in the way he holds you that makes your heart beat a little bit faster.
when you break apart this time, martin rests his forehead against yours. "your brother gave me another talk last week."
"again?” you raise your brows. “what'd he say this time?"
"the usual. to stay away from his sister, focus on training, don't mess up his golden ticket's head with relationship drama."
"told him i'd think about it” martin admits, his thumb tracing circles on your hand. "been thinking about it a lot, actually."
"still thinking” he says, but the way he's looking at you suggests his thoughts are pretty one sided. "mostly about how you're worth every lecture he wants to give me."
"even the really long ones?"
"especially the really long ones. makes the reward feel more earned."
you roll your eyes but you're smiling. “ew, corny."
"maybe” you concede, reaching up to run your fingers through his damp sweat hair. "but don't let it go to your head." you say as you stand up. “i should go.”
“already?” martin says as he looks up at you.
“yeah, well… can’t stay forever, y’know.”
then, something in his expression changed. martin shrug his shoulders and reached for his water bottle, “alright.”
that’s it. no arguing. no trying to convince you to stay.
he just gets up, grabs his hoodie from the bench and throws it over his shoulder like he couldn’t care less.
you pause, almost expecting him to say something else.
you narrow your eyes. “that’s all?”
he glances back at you, “what?”
“you’re not gonna try to make me stay?”
martin gives you a lazy little smile, “nah. if you wanna go, go.”
something about how easily he says it annoys you more than if he’d argued.
you grab your bag, “fine.”
you head toward the door. then right before you leave, he calls after you.
“don’t get jealous if you see me with someone on friday.”
he shrugs, “just warning you. we’re not together, y’know.”
you stare at him, “you’re such a dick.”
he laughs under his breath, “night.”
and maybe this is why the two of you had been off and on. but hey, that’s just who he is, right?
ᝰ.ᐟ a/n: hey guyss!!🤍 i’m finally back after my vacation, posting’s gonna be more frequent now hehe😼 did u guys like this ending? at first it was gonna be all sweet martin but i feel like this fits him more😸 official masterlist here!
⊹ ࣪ ˖ perm taglist: @yeeyeehaw22 🫶🏻
