Coupe was never prepared for how Punch Up made her feel so much like a lady.
Their passionate affair? Yes, that instant connection was something else, bloodlust bleeding into actual lust bleeding into touch starved connection— that was one thing, certainly, the carnality of it. The enjoyment of it. The fact that she could touch and touch and he would never break— something so secure about it, and humbling, to find a match in her skills.
But then it’s afterwards.
She’s laid out on a bed a bit too small for her body, and her target is gone. She actually fell asleep, somehow. She should leave, get away before he realizes just how vulnerable he has her, get her back for trying to kill him. But then the door opens, and she freezes, ready to strike, because now she’s aware just how vulnerable she is, and that is more terrifying than she can ever admit—
“Hey, I brought you some coffee, darlin’,” A voice far too soft for yesterday’s activities comes, and her eyes snap open. If he detects her confusion, he doesn’t show it. Just a dapper smile, holding one big mug and two empty cups. “Doubt you’d need the pick me up, but I got some cheap-ass liquor in a cabinet some where if you take it strong. Otherwise, can’t offer much else, sorry— fridge’s a bit empty o’ sugar or milk.”
Coupe sits up, careful, eyes going over him. She’s never truly failed before— it was never allowed. It had been very thoroughly taught that failure meant death. If not from her trainers, then from those she had tried to kill—
And yet here he was offering her coffee. Like she was… a hook up, a date, like from the shitty romcoms she secretly watched in between targets, or when she’d go undercover and just had to buy herself one of those edgy romance novels to definitely not actually read. She hesitated, taking a mug. She waited for him to pour himself a cup first, wondering if poisons would affect him at all either. “I can take it black, Mr…” She hesitated.
“Name’s Colm, by the way. And if may I have the pleasure of knowing yours?”
She knew his name, of course. She’d been paid to kill him after all. That was why she hesitated to say it. But he responded so… genially. “… Janelle.” It was foolish, dangerous, against every code she knew— but when Colm beamed at her, and poured her cup, it felt like she had done something right. She carefully took a sip, and the warmth of a cup of mediocre coffee had never been so inviting.
They never made it official, her work would never allow it, her vices doubly so. But when they crossed paths, for some reason they always ended up crossing paths, he’s always got something to say, or do, that made her melt bit by bit.
“Silver looks good on you,” when she first changed her suit to its more deadly design. That time, he’d asked her to take a break before her next kill, and go out with him. They did end up going to a pub with a fighting ring in it… but he’d gifted her the silver champion belt. “Got a ton of these things, you know. I’m sure a pretty lass like you could use it.” And she did— melted down, it made a lovely knife.
“Can you stop getting hits on you? It’s a bad look to explain to clients you’re unkillable.” She had said another time, drinking with him at a bar, laughing softly as he teased an olive into her mouth.
“Hey, not my fault you get hired by sore losers.” Colm would laugh, before his eyes narrowed suddenly. “Speaking of losers. Those guys have been staring at you for a while. Friends of yours?”
“Oh, the ones sitting over at the end of the bar? They’re actually some hits of mine, believe it or not. They’re probably casing the whole bar for any one matching my description. Talking to you is giving me some great cover, actually, since I’m not known for being so friendly with anyone.” She leaned in close,
“Oh, that makes sense. Still, I don’t like the look they got in their eyes. I could take care of them for you, if you’d like?”
Coupe paused at that, before she just laughed, and laughed. Softly at first, but harder when she realized he was serious, draping herself over Colm despite their height difference. Because someone being concerned about her? Of all people? That hadn’t happened in a long time— and it felt so, so nice, it made her giddy, like one of her romantasy protagonists. She cupped his face, seeing how his eyes widened as she got so close, and whispered.
“Only if I get to watch.”
“When did you cut your hair, darlin’?” He asks, the next time they got together, on the rooftop of a casino in Los Angeles, the last of her savings spent on the drink she was nursing in her hand.
“My knives kept slicing through my longer hair.” It was a lie. A half lie, sort of. They did do that, she just didn’t care. No, this time was because of her last hit. Well, she hadn’t been paid, and wouldn’t be by her old trainers ever again. Still, you do come to mourn those who raised you, in some sense. Colm seemed to notice something off about her demeanor, and choice his next words carefully.
“It gives you… a stately look, mature. Wisened, I should say.”
Janelle considered those words, overlooking the city skyline. “If I were wiser, I’d get out the assassin business.”
Colm reached out, a put a comforting hand on her elbow. “Well, you could, if you want to. Meself, I’ve got a gig lined up. You could… You could even stay with me, you know. Until you find out something else, you wanna do.”
It wasn’t a fairytale proposal, or the grim dark declaration of mad love she’d come to enjoy in her novels. But yet, it made her feel quite a bit more than she’d like to admit, like a damsel being offered a ride from a valiant prince. “I think I’d like that, Colm. A lot.”
if nottt may i request some spicy thoughts with punch up..
Punch Up is 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓬𝓴
A/N: This was going to be waaayyy filthier until I reeled it in lol ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. I hope this is okay nons. I had fun writing this though. I'm not a Punch-up girly but I can see the vision. As always please like, reblog, and interact. Also my masterlist for more writings.
Warnings: NSFW MDNI. Smut. Female reader. AFAB reader. Explicit descriptions of sexual intercourse. Referring to female genitalia as she. Description of male genitalia and female genitalia. Riding. Intense riding. Manhandling (I guess). Filth under the cut.
-He’s a stand up guy, pun intended. The definition of a big explosion in a small package.
-Though that in itself is fairly inaccurate his actual package is anything but small. Thick, not just in stature but in endowment.
-Having those same beefy arms, those colossal hands slam you up and down his length like a ragdoll, that was not something you could have foreseen.
-The Irishman has girth. It’s not surprising, with arms the width of your head, you could assume a lot.
-Though being nearly split open on his fat dick was an entirely different experience in real time.
-Both mouth and pussy wide open as he fucks you dumb is dizzying.
-Your pussy is weeping, syrupy slick gushing and coating your thighs but somehow you still feel the stretch when his hips swing up.
-Those squelching noises of skin hitting skin are sinful, pornographic, and such a turn on especially for him.
-“Fuck lass, closest I ever came to tappin’ out!”. He’ll manage through strained grunts.
-That girth has you fucked up, fucked out, fucked dumb. You didn’t know she could get that wet, didn’t know she could make that much fucking juice.
-That stretch. He’s filling you, hitting every spot with just that thick cock.
-Every flutter of your cunt, every clench of your wall is his incentive. You’re riding him, but he’s riding your high.
-Every squirt, every sputter, every jerk is for him. His cock was causing your unraveling.
-That would do him in. “Motherfucker! Milkin’ me, lass!” His hot spent would be preceded by a series of more expletives and low groans.
-You’re boneless as you slump forward against his body.
-He’d somehow manage that hearty chuckle while he runs that big hand up and down your back as the two of you come down.
-“Phew, maybe next time you’ll actually manage to make me tap out”. You're smacking him upside the head does little to deter his apparent amusement.
you write punch up perfectly, i am obsessed with you and @crucifem 's punch up...
i would kill to have you write punch up x alt!reader and they seem really dom outside of the bedroom but punch up has them shaking for him every single day 😋😋😋
cw: nsfw content ahead, indulge if you want, gn! afab! reader x Dom! Colm :)
you were bent over the kitchen counter once more, your back had been aching like crazy and it was not just because of work. not when your boyfriend who was inevitably way stronger than you had you pinned down onto the counter, gasping for air.
strong palms hold your hips close for quick rolling of his hips into yours. your lower body fell weak, only his strength was able to keep you afloat, legs shaking as you let out shivering breaths...
you could barely pick your own arms up when he had flipped you over, pushing you into missionary — "y-yeah? are you really the one 'wearing the pants' here, sweetheart?"
his cock sunk into your dewy cunt again, viscosity clashing onto the veins of his shaft whilst plunging inside you. a loud groan emits from his throat, "haaah, fuck...!"
"hnnh! c-colm... m'sorry, p—please!" you had no idea what to grip onto as your hands fumbled to hold onto something, anything. "p-please! pleasepleaseplease I s—aaid m'sorry!" you choke out,
voice uncharacteristically breaking in unison with every thrust his mind had set on penetrating into you tonight, especially when your high-pitched moans didn't match your usual tone.
"can't you, hah, jus' imagine everyone's faces when they see us like this..." his warm breath falls onto your face before leaning back away, pushing you further up onto the wall behind you as you continued to sit on the kitchen counter.
pulling on the choker he never bothered to tell you to take off (mainly because of how hot it was), bringing you in closer whenever you got close and just grinded his big fat mushroom tip onto your spongy sweet spot.
