Whiskey on the Tongue
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Summary: You are the forbidden fruit Dean had always wanted to taste, and when you steal his whiskey the way you do, he is powerless to resist.
Words: 2.2k
A/N: This is my first ever Supernatural fic after having started watching the show just before Christmas. I know I'm late to the game but is it ever really too late to start loving a fandom? I've tried to make the reader generic in every way other than being cis-female, and Dean finding her hot.
It's been an absolute age since I wrote anything and probably longer since I posted anything here on Tumblr but I'm getting back into it now. Hopefully this finds its way to people in the Supernatural fandom who love a bit of Dean smut.
I hope you enjoy and, as always, I value your comments and feedback.
Warnings: Smut, explicit smut, alcohol consumption, mentions of people who have passed away, profanity as standard with pretty much everything I write.
*** Minors do not read or interact - 18+ content ***
Dean let his head fall back against the headboard, clenching his fists to try to distract himself from the deep ache in his left leg. It had been falling asleep for well over an hour now, but he didn’t want to move and disturb you.
The door to his room in the bunker was closed. Locked, in fact, though he did not remember doing it. You didn’t comment or so much as move when Sam brayed on the door and tried the handle, calling out for Dean to return his book. The very book that was in your hands right now.
“I need that book back, Dean.” Sam grumbled.
“Not now, Sammy!” Dean called back, hoping his little brother would just go away.
“I’m researching Nephilim to help Cas with the Kelly situation, Dean. It’s important.” Sam became more insistent.
“I said NOT NOW, SAM!” Dean hollered with a kind of finality that even Sam wouldn’t argue with.
Outside the door, Sam huffed and stalked away. Dean looked down to see you looking up at him from your position, lay on his bed. Your head was resting on his left calf, his leg bent with his foot tucked under his right knee. You had your knees up with your foot tapping along to his banging playlist, your jeans tight around your thighs and with your head tilted back he could see all the way down the deep V of your t-shirt.
He was going to hell. Straight there. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. And he probably deserved it.
He snapped his eyes up towards the ceiling but it was too late, he could feel himself stirring uncomfortably in his jeans. If Bobby was alive he would have skinned him raw just for having you in his room. Bobby was always protective of you, his niece. You were only a couple of years younger than Sam but Bobby had made himself very clear that you were off limits.
“If you touch one single hair on her body, I’ll make you regret the day your balls dropped. Do you hear me, boy?”
Bobby Singer. That man did not mince his words. And to this day, Dean had taken that threat as gospel. Even now that Bobby was up there with the Angels, that son of a bitch would find a way to keep his word.
You shifted, causing a painful twang to shoot up his leg. The reflexive grunt he failed to stifle made you look back up at him, giving him that glorious view again.
Dean decided he could die like this. If having a dead leg was a legitimate threat to his life, he would go out happy with the view of your rack in that lacy black bra he could see within the V-shaped window of that too-tight t-shirt.
He raised his eyes, once again to heaven, asking Bobby to forgive him or give him strength or something because – god help him – he wanted to take you right then and there.
It wasn’t unusual for you to seek him out after a case when you didn’t want to be alone, but you didn’t want to talk. You would just sit while he drank, reading or working on spells. You said he quieted the noise in your head. Hell, he wasn’t going to argue, you were a sight for sore eyes every time he came home. You were wicked hot and sexy in a non-slutty way. Not that slutty was bad. Dean liked slutty. But that wasn’t you, you were different.
A drink. That’s what was missing. Dean needed a damn drink, especially if you were going to torture him by laying on him all evening.
He reached over to his bedside unit, for the bottle he kept in there for special occasions. A bottle of twenty-five-year-old Speyside single malt that he liberated from the British Men of Letters on his last interaction with Ketch.
The pour made you stir again but it wasn’t until he raised the cut crystal tumbler to his lips did you move. Your hand came up and claimed the glass from underneath, twisting it as you sat up so as not to spill any.
“Where’s yours?”
The cheeky glint in your eye had him pursing his lips in mild annoyance.
“Don’t pout.” You lifted the glass, turning it until the mark left by his lips touched yours and you sipped, looking him straight in the eye.
Dean’s jaw went slack. The glisten of the whiskey on your lips and the satisfied hum you made when you swallowed – he swallowed unconsciously when you did – made his mouth go dry. He had never seen you like this.
You moved to kneel on the bed and walked your way slowly closer, giving his leg a tap; an instruction to move it aside. He did, causing pins and needles to infest his nerves like ants swarming on a log to escape a flood.
Knelt between his spread legs, you brought the glass to your lips again, sipping at the amber liquid. You leaned in.
Dean watched you, breathing shallow, attention rapt. You hadn’t so much as touched him, yet every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire in the best possible way. The closer you got the shallower he breathed until he was almost holding his breath, looking down his nose at how close your lips were. His eyelashes looked to flutter against his cheeks just as yours did when you brushed your whiskey dappled lips against his.
He refused to lick where you had been. He couldn’t. As soon as he tasted, he would pounce, and…
“Don’t.” He croaked out when you moved to lay your lips on him once more.
You looked confused but at least you didn’t look hurt. He couldn’t bear it if you looked hurt because of him.
“Bobby…” Was all he could say through his constricting throat.
You smiled then, full of amusement, lips brushing against his, you whispered “he’ll understand.”
Dean tried not to respond to you but you coaxed his lips apart and teased your tongue to meet his, short circuiting his brain. The taste of the scotch and the sweetness of your mouth made him groan. He had fantasised about having you for years, but never did he think it would be you seducing him.
His hands on your hips guided you roughly to straddle him, the bulge in his jeans pushing up against you as you settled. He took the glass from your hands and downed the contents, his eyes on yours as he dropped the glass carelessly on the bedside unit.
Your lips met his again but this time you devoured each other, tongues stroking together, moans stifled by each other’s mouths. He trailed his hands up your body, dragging your t-shirt along with them. Finally, he could see what he had been having glimpses of this whole evening. Plush breasts cupped in scant lace that was completely impractical for a hunt, Dean realised, like you had meant to come here like this. You had intended this from the beginning.
He tore at the lace, dragging it under your breasts to free them, shoulder straps slipped down. Pawing at them like he had never touched a tittie before, all he wanted to do was suck and nip and nibble.
Your breathy sigh was divine, and the moan that followed was filthy. You cupped the back of his head as he took your nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, pressing him further, asking for more.
While he worked on your breasts you undid his belt and fly, reaching into the front of his shorts to release him from the awkward angle at which he was trapped. You stroked him, firm but slow, feeling him for the first time. You had always wondered what he had going on down there that every woman he had ever been with would come back for more at the drop of a hat. You weren’t disappointed.
Dean lifted his hips, you thought to allow you to push his jeans down but instead he flipped you, making you squeal. Once under him, he ravished your breasts anew, pinching one nipple hard while licking and sucking the other. Soon you were a mewling mess, hips writhing, begging for something he hadn’t given you yet. Excited that he had taken control away from you, you watched him sit up and yank your jeans down, lifting your legs until they were bare. Your knickers followed and he spread your legs without preamble, lowering himself between your thighs until his hair and eyes were all you could see above your mound.
“Jesus Christ of Nazareth!”
You groaned as he suckled against your sensitive spot. Fuck, he was good with his tongue. Everything about him was good except his image. Bad boy Dean Winchester. He was every woman’s wet dream. He had been your wet dream since you were seventeen. But now you were plenty old enough and finally getting what you wanted.
Bobby had told you to stay away from him when you were a kid. Dean had a reputation as a ladies man even then, but he respected your uncle Bobby enough to keep his distance… until now.
Dean dipped two fingers inside, creating pressure in exactly the right spot. You gasped and gripped his hair as your pleasure began to crest, tugging on it for dear life. He looked up at you then, to see your eyes closed against the intensity of it, neck and face flushed red with your oncoming orgasm. When it came, the pulsing of your core was his sign to slow down. He left off his suckling and stroked you through the pleasure, watching you all the while. You were a beautiful mess.
“That’s my girl.” He praised you in that deep rough tone you adored, helping prolong your climax until you took his hand away yourself. “Are you ready for me?”
You nodded, allowing him to lift your knees up and stroke the weeping tip of his cock over your swollen clit.
From the front pocket of the jeans he still wore, he pulled a foil packet with Trojan embossed on it. He was swift with its application, aiming his tip just so.
When he slid home, your eyes rolled back and you reached to grip his forearms. It was something Dean would never get tired of seeing but it felt that much different with you. You were the forbidden thing he had always wanted but could never have. Even now he didn’t know whether he would come to regret this. God, he hoped not.
Balls deep in you, he leaned forward to kiss you, wrapping your legs around his hips. His instinct was to fold you in half and pound the living shit out of you, but you were already overwhelmed and he wanted to make this soft for you.
“Tell me what you need.” He spoke softly as he nuzzled your neck.
“Just you, like this.” You sighed. Who knew Dean Winchester was a considerate lover.
His slow, measured thrusts brought you closer to the edge, your core fluttering each time, he could feel it. It surprised him how quickly is climax built at this pace, but the added connection you both shared seemed to turn him on. He would never give up Busty Asian Babe porn but he could get used to this with you.
You didn’t close your eyes against the pleasure this time, you watched him come undone above you, gasping as his orgasm made his legs and arms shake, muscles clenched tight to keep his weight from collapsing on you. When he swelled you dug your fingers into his hips to pull him deeper with each stroke, and when he spilled you also came, eyes fluttering shut finally.
Dean knelt up, slipping the rubber off as soon as he was clear of you and, tying a knot in the end, tossed it in the direction of the trash can.
“Shot.” You said with a smile as the sticky bundle went straight in the can.
He quirked and eyebrow and give you a slightly smug lopsided smirk that said: What can I say? I don’t miss.
When you moved to sit, he stopped you.
“Here, lemme get that.”
“Thanks.”
He stripped his t-shirt off and used it to clean up the wetness between your legs. Though none of it was his, it would still dribble when you moved. Afterwards he tucked it under your ass and flopped down on the bed at your side, moving his arm behind your head so you could rest it on his chest. You were both content. Both had goofy grins on your faces. Both disbelieving that you had finally gotten what you wanted.
A loud knock at the door started you.
“Are you done?” Sam said. “I need that book.”
“NO!” You and Dean shouted back in unison, laughing afterwards.
“Bobby’s gonna kill you.” Sam called back through the door.
“I KNOW!” Dean yelled gruffly, pulling you closer.
There might be a time in the future where the ghost of Bobby Singer came to make him regret the day his balls dropped and, if it happened, Dean would be happy to see him again. In the meantime, you and he could work on a whole bunch of reasons to make the cranky old bastard come down from up high for a visit.
Dean pulled the sheets over both of your heads, nibbling at your neck until you moaned his name. Aside from the roar of Baby’s engine, he had found his new favourite sound.
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Blue Bunny
prompt: you and the Twins show up to collect the same debt.
pairing: Tangerine x female!reader
fandom masterlist: Bullet Train
word count: 4.4k+
warnings: Tan's real name being Aaron, Lemon's real name being Brian, Mafia antics, depiction of murder, blood, guns, brief physical violence, given nickname, Daddy's Girl trope? dialogue heavy fic.
"I like the lilac, what do you think? Maybe the yellow?"
"The pink's rather nice."
"How's about green? For St. Patrick's Day? Celebration of spring?"
Your lover chuckled over the receiver, phone set on speaker to the desk in front of you. "Think I prefer the blue," he replied, the smirk evident.
"You always prefer blue," you teased, handing the bottle of pale blue nail polish to your nail tech. "So, tell me, where are you now? Haven't seen yah all week," You pouted, placing your AirPods in to keep the conversation private. Not like it mattered, your nail tech, Collette, only spoke French, and she was the only other person in the room.
"'Fraid I can't divulge that information, sweetheart," Aaron sighed, "on a bit of business right now."
"Now? Like, in the present?" You chuckled, nodding at Collette when she pointed at the length of the acrylic.
"Yeah," Tan mused back, "say hello, sweetheart!"
"Hello, luv!" Brian, or otherwise known as Lemon, was heard calling. His twin, your lover, used the codename Tangerine for the contract agency they worked for - keeping their identities safe. Something you didn't necessarily have to worry about, being as your name held power. It was something like a shield in the criminal world, everyone knowing your surname dictated fear.
"Oh, hello, my sweetness," you cooed, grinning slyly. "What's it you two are up to? What sort of business are you on?"
"Ah, hang on a tick, love," Aaron mused, setting his phone down. You waited patiently, hearing a series of gunshots ringing out as you watched Collette paint the pale blue in sleek, professional strokes. Screams echoed over the line, tires screeches, several grunts of exertion, but you didn't so much as flinch, just admiring the work your nail tech did.
You blew on your nails, admiring the color.
Collette asked if you wanted to keep the paint shiny or add a matte overcoat, you humming, replying in French that you preferred the shiny coat. She held up a bottle of silver glitter, perking her brows, watching you nod - trusting her artistic eye.
"Hello? Still there, Bunny?" Aaron got back on the line, using your pet name he bestowed on you after your first date. You had a cold coming on, and after he kissed you, you instantly sneezed - nose screwing up like a fluffy bunny.
"I'm here," you smiled.
"Right, what color did you go with?"
You grinned, "Take a guess."
"Blue's your color."
"More like yours. I much prefer pastels, but I think this color's the best of both our preferences."
He chuckled, "Listen, yeah? You free Thursday? I'l be in your neck of the woods."
"Ah, I'm traveling this week," you answered with a pout, "what about next week?"
"I might be able t'swing that, yeah," Aaron agreed easily. "You hear from that Edward bloke recently?"
"No, no, I've told you, I'm done with him. You're quite the jealous type, you know, scared him off real good."
"Ah, well, don't like folks touchin' what's mine, now, do I?"
"Apparently not," you smiled, phone line beeping with an incoming call. "Oh, shit, I gotta go, Aaron, Daddy's calling."
"Mhm, and we all know you betta answer, huh?"
"It's how we all stay alive," you laughed. "Bye."
"See yah real soon, Bunny. Make sure your toes match!"
You hung up with a laugh, then accepted your father's incoming call, "Hi, Daddy."
"Hello, sweet one," he answered. "What are you up to?"
"Collette's doing my nails."
"Ah, very good. What color?"
"A pretty pale blue."
"Wonderful. Tell Collette I say hello. We'll have t'get her a sensational Christmas bonus with the way you work her."
You chuckled, "Yeah, yeah, I know."
"Listen, poppet, I need you to do something for me."
"Mhm, anything you need, Daddy."
"One of our associates is late on payment."
"How late?"
"A week."
"Oh, you're taking time in collecting," you mused, appreciating the full set Collette was detailing. "What's the hold up? Why wait?"
"I'm stuck in Prague."
"Daddy."
"I know," he rushed, "but I need you on this one, princess."
"Who's the associate?"
"Fella name Wilmer DeLano."
"I know of him, doesn't he own the chain of pharmacies? His son and I went to university together, right?"
"The exact same," your father confirmed. "I need you to go collect, princess, please."
"How much is the debt?"
"With the added week, chalks it up to $3 million."
"US dollars?"
"Yeah."
"Since when do we deal in US dollars?" You asked with a curled lip.
"Not the question I think you want to be asking."
"Uh, no, you're right, okay, sure, I can collect. Tonight?"
"He's not expecting it, knows I'm still in Prague. Take Rufus and Gunther with you for protection detail."
"I'd rather take Samuel."
"No, he's doing a different favor for me."
"Daddy."
"He's making a delivery, all right?"
"What about Gunther and Casey? Rufus creeps me out."
"That's fine," your father agreed with a sigh. "Listen, princess, tonight might get a little hairy, so I want you prepared."
"Daddy, I'm literally getting my nails done, I'm not handling a gun. That's what Gunther's for."
"I taught you better than that. You protect yourself, you can't depend on anyone else."
You nodded, "Yes, sir. Do you wanna call the boys or...?"
"I'll call them, don't worry. Just be ready to go by 8. Remember, princess, $3 million - and make sure you count it, too."
You agreed, promising you loved him, then wishing him luck in Prague on whatever his business was. After hanging up, Collette smiled, asking in French, "When are you going to tell him?"
"Tell him what?"
"That you have a boyfriend," she laughed. "He's your father, he'll be happy for you."
"I don't have a boyfriend."
"Oh, please," she scoffed, swiping the glitter on your nails. "That boy that you're always on the phone with? You're not hiding it, not from me."
You felt warmth flush your chest, heating your core. "He's still not my boyfriend," you mumbled stubbornly.
"He picks your nail colors," she grinned, "that's a boyfriend!"
You double checked the address your father sent, nodding at Gunther in the driver's seat. "All right, lads, I want this a clean collection. Just got my nails done," you smirked, the lights of the three-story home still on and indicating DeLano must've been home.
"Yes, ma'am," Casey agreed, getting out of the backseat and opening your passenger door; helping you out, letting you readjust your clingy black dress. Gunther moved around the back of the car, grabbing the usual go-bag brought to every collection.
Slowly, carefully, you stalked up the long driveway, heels clacking with every pace. You let Gunther peer through the windows, him nodding before leading the way to the backdoor. It was simple enough to jimmy the lock open, silently swinging the door wide open and stepping over the threshold.
Casey went around the side to enter through the living room as you walked through the kitchen, surrounding your target. Wilmer DeLano was sat at his dining room table with his wife, looking up when you cleared your throat. He jolted in shock, but Casey blocked the only other doorway; his gun in hand, both clasped in front of him.
Gunther checked the rest of the house.
"Hello, Mr. DeLano," you greeted casually. "Oh, something smells wonderful in here, you cook this?" You asked his wife, casually strolling up to the table, Red Bottoms sounding over the polish hardwood floors. You plucked up a slice of roast, tearing a bite off and humming, "Oh, very good that. You're a lucky man, Mr. DeLano to have such a talented wife."
"Who are you?" The portly woman begged, flinching when you hummed and brandished your gun.
"Right, guessing you don't know," you nodded. "Your husband's in a bit of a lucrative business, Missus. Nice house, though," you gazed around, "lot of fine art you've got hung up, saw all name-brand appliances in your kitchen."
"H-He owns a chain of drug stores - "
"Yes, yes, yes, I know. Very true," you agreed, "but that's only a front, it's not the full picture. I'm here to help illustrate, if you will. C'mon, why don't we all go into the living room? Hear that's where the safe is kept."
"What is happening!?" Mrs. DeLano demanded, gun pointed at her temple.
"Up, up," you demanded.
Slowly, Wilmer lifted from his seat with his hands held in peace, "Okay, okay, we can - let's go talk in the living room. Just don't threaten my wife, she's got nothing t'do with this."
"For now," you agreed, gathering the couple to the living room couch.
"Boss," Gunther alerted, dragging your old university classmate and a previous lover, Edward DeLano, up from the basement, "found this one down there, smoking a joint. Rest of the house is clear."
"Wonderful," you nodded, gesturing for Eddie to sit. "You bring enough to share with the class?" But your old peer just looked around the room of criminals. "Guessin' he didn't wanna share," you pouted, then rolling your eyes. "Well, now that we've all gathered - "
Suddenly, there was a noisy crack and bang as the front door was kicked in, making all three of you gangsters turn with weapons drawn and aimed. However, you chuckled and dropped your arm when you realized it was the Twins, Aaron and Brian, or Tangerine and Lemon, standing in the splintered doorway.
"At ease, lads," you chuckled, holstering your gun to your thigh. "These are friends of mine."
"You outsourced the job? Out your fuckin' mind, princess? Huh?" Casey growled, not lowering his gun as Tan and Lem strolled in.
"Don't fuckin' talk to her like that," Aaron snapped instantly.
"Fuck off, Casey, I would never outsource, I know the fucking rules," you sound more amused than anything.
"Well, ain't this fun?" Aaron mused with a grin, strolling in casually before pausing in the open foyer as Brian tried shutting the door again - but it the very doorframe was shattered, making it impossible. "Sorry 'bout the front door, ol' chap, but you understand, yeah? 'S just business," He nodded at DeLano. "Bunny," he smirked at you, hands in his tailored suit pants pockets; polished Italian leather shoes gently scoffing across the floor.
Aaron magnetized to your side, coiling his arm around your waist to lean in and peck your cheek.
"Hi, handsome. Thought you weren't in town until later?"
"We wrapped a different job early," he answered. "Question is: what're you doin' here, love?"
"Collecting debt payment."
"No shit," he grinned, "so are we."
Your head cocked; leaning into his side with your own arm wrapping around his chiseled waist. You asked, "He owes my father money. You?"
"Owes an associate, too." He smirked at the DeLano's you two stood in front of, "Ain't that right, geezer? Got yourself into a bit of a pickle, didn't yah? Got a bit of a problem with the nose candy, don't'cha, naughty boy?"
"You told me you quit!" Mrs. DeLano hissed, "now you're in debt!?"
"I have it under control," Wilmer deflected stiffly.
His wife sobbed and begged, "W-Would someone please just explain what's going on!? Who are you people!?" Tears fell fast. "What do you want from us!?"
"This ain't rocket science, love, fuck you mean what do we want?" Lemon snickered. "You not listenin' or something?"
"Ah, right, well, I was in the middle of explainin' the situation," you told the Twins, waving a manicured hand in the air as if swatting away a pesky fly. "'Ello, lovie," you grinned at Lemon when he stationed himself on your other side, "good t'see you."
"Sweetheart," he nodded, offering a side hug when you released his brother, "been too long, hasn't it?"
"Since Cancún," you agreed. "Right, then! Onward, ho! Casey, darlin', would you be a doll and open the bag? Get us set up t'count up?"
"'Course, boss," he agreed, kneeling at the mahogany coffee table and unzipping the duffel you brought.
"Right," your hands clapped, the family jumping at the sudden sound, "back to what I was sayin'. See, your husband owns the drug stores, that's true," you allotted, "but he also launders money for the Mafia. For my father, my family. Maybe you've heard of him?"
You relaid your father's first and last name, seeing the Fear of God paint over the DeLano's. "What?" Eddie snapped at his father sat beside him. See, despite dating briefly, you kept your identity a secret from Ed. "What have you done!? Do you know who her father is? Know what he's done!? He fuckin' gutted his own brother - "
"Allegedly," you interjected sharply.
" - all in the name of business! You don't know what this family is capable of!"
"Yes, boy, I'm well aware, the man is my bloody business partner," Wilmer snapped right back.
"Well, not so much of a partner now, are yah? Just more of a fuckin' nuisance," You smirked, earning the attention again. "So, you see, your husband washes our money, earns a significant cut for shouldering the risk. Payment's collected every two weeks and as of today, your husband's a week late on delivering our cash load."
"I-I can explain, please - "
"No need," you cut Wilmer off, "because I didn't get t'where I am now by listening to pathetic explanations. I don't listen to excuses. Fact is, you own my father money, and because you're late, the total is now $3 million - and he wants it in US dollars."
"Well, ain't that somethin'?" Tan smirked at Lem. "Turns out, he owes our client some million, too."
You hummed, nodding, "Right, right, but see, thing is, if my Daddy ain't paid, he goes postal. Nasty business, truly messy, just a chaotic clusterfuck, bodies left everywhere, cities in shambles." Turning back to the family, you offered, "So, we're just gonna make this easy. You cough up what you owe, we won't blow your brains out all over this nice Persian rug. Mmmh! See that, love?" You pointed to the fabric you stood on, looking at Aaron. "That's real authentic, you can tell by the threading. Be a shame to ruin it, yeah? Exquisite work."
"Sure is," he agreed, "but did you see up there, Bunny? 'Bove the mantel?"
"Oh, yes," you breathed in impression, "an ancient Aztec tribal mask. An artifact, very hard to get your hands on. Heard the British Museum was actually lookin' for that particular mask."
"Seems like Mr. DeLano is quite the collector of finer things," Lemon admired, pointing at a portrait on the wall. "Oi! Is that what I think? Is that a fucking Monet?"
"Priceless," you nodded.
"Listen, right, we've got strict orders, yeah?" Your lover sighed, shifting his weight. "We're t'collect payment by any means, a message is t'be sent. Right?"
"That's right, yeah," Lemon agreed, crossing his arms. "Make sure this kinda misunderstanding don't happen again."
Gunther asked, "You need tarps for this?"
You refused, "No, we're not here to kill anyone. We're here to let a loyal man the opportunity to pay us what's owed."
"Listen t-t-to me," Wilmer begged, stuttering in fear, "I don't have the money. Okay? The government came sniffin', I had tax liens to pay off to avoid prison time - "
"More fuckin' excuses! Jesus, fuck, man!" You groaned. "Who do you think can do more damage - the bloody government or my family? Huh? Look, lad, I know you've got what we're owed, so, be a good li'l boy and open the safe. Huh?"
"Fucking do it, Dad!"
"What're you doing, Wilmer? What are you waiting for!? You can't play this game! You'll get us all killed!"
"I don't have the money! How can I pay with what I don't have!?"
"Why do I not believe that?" You mused to Tan.
"'Cause you've been in this business a helluva lot longer than he has," Tangerine / Aaron answered. "You know a rat when you smell one, I reckon."
You nodded, then pulled your gun out again, aiming, and firing at Eddie's knee to shatter his kneecap. Blood splattered onto the couch. He screamed in agony, you raging above the panicked cries and shocked shouts, "Do I have your fucking attention now, Mr. DeLano?"
Edward sobbed in pain, trying to staunch the bleeding, Mrs. Delano gasping and shrieking. "Do whatever they want, Wilmer! For fuck's sake! Just do it!"
"Listen to your wife, mate," Lemon advised. "Unhappy wife, unhappy life, innit?"
You aimed at Eddie's other knee, firing, causing another flurry of screaming, crying, and begging. "If you want your son t'only have two bullets in 'im, I suggest you get moving!" You barked, aiming at Wilmer. "Now!"
"Well, wait a tick," Tangerine halted, "if we're both on the job, how's it gonna look if the geezer's telling us the truth, hey? Who gets the money?"
"Let's find it first, darlin', distribute later," you breathed as Casey finished setting up the automatic money counter. "Mr. DeLano? I advise you to do what we're asking. See, I use to duck hunt - I'm an excellent shot. The next bullet's goin' in your son's head and I never miss. Now, where's the fucking money!?"
"I don't have it! Please!"
"The money, DeLano, where's the fucking money!?"
"Please - "
"You want a dead son!?"
"All right!" He sobbed, "All right, fine! Yes, you win! Just please, please! Don't hurt my family anymore! Please, just leave them alone! I'll do what you want, just - leave them out of this!"
You nodded, "Well, you fucked with my Daddy's money. Only right I cripple you in a sense. Hey? Now, chop chop," you checked your watch for the time, "I'm a very busy bee and don't have all night."
"You're a smart lad, DeLano, we know you would've wanted to prep for a comfy fall if it came to it," Lemon laughed easily from beside you. "Ain't no way you're bone dry, know you have money stashed for security. Just c'mon, mate, these two sickos consider this a sort of foreplay, they'll go all fuckin' night with yah if you continue to refuse," he gestured at you and Tan.
You tacked on, "Lotta places to shoot someone without killin' 'em. Just saying..."
Wilmer stood from the couch, his wife shooting across the newly vacated space to embrace her whimpering son. The money launderer approached the Monet painting and lifted it from the wall; revealing an iron safe. You shared a look with Tangerine, smirking as the combination was entered and the door opening.
"That's what we fuckin' thought," Tangerine sneered, seeing the stacks and stacks and stacks of money. " Fuckin' hell. Right, so, look, count up the lady first. We'll settle after," he sniffed, fluffing his suit's lapel, picking off a piece of lint.
Wilmer began handing stacks to Casey to count, one of your arms crossing over your stomach to prop up your other arm; hand limp in the air. "Faster," you demanded, the man sweating bullets.
"Oh, now, look at that," Tan mused, taking your hand to admire your fresh manicure, "you went with blue."
"Like it?"
"Looks real pretty, Bunny, but I know something these would look better wrapped around," he grinned, making you smack his stomach playfully. "You wanna go get drinks afta this? My treat."
"Sounds like a date," you accepted, Gunther storing the counted cash into the dark duffel. "How's it lookin', Casey?"
"Looks 'bout right, boss," he reported, handing over another stack of banded money. "You want me t'count the Twins up?"
"Oh, if you would please, darlin', it would be very helpful," you nodded. "But I'm having a thought, right? Stay with me, would yah?"
"Oh, go on, toots, you've got great ideas," Lemon encouraged with a chuckle.
"Not always," Casey snickered, "remember what happened in Texas? At that Western bar?"
"Oi, the electronic bull was not my fault!"
"But the incident with the tequila and donkey was!"
"Hush!" You scolded. "Listen, all right, you see, this fucker tried to stiff us all... Let's clear the safe out. Take away any safety net? Truly cripple him, set him back to nothing?"
"Sound like your father," Gunther chuckled.
"That's a compliment," you shot back. "Go on, I want the lot."
Gunther agreed, standing, and approaching the safe. He shoved Wilmer out of the way, sweeping his arm into the safe and starting to load up the duffel. "You can't do this! If you take it all, what are we supposed to do!? How is my family supposed to survive when leeches like you suck us dry!?" Wilmer barked, making the amusement drop from your face.
"Watch your tone."
"No! No, I will not! You think you're high and mighty because of your father, but you're just a spoilt little girl! You all break into my house, extort me - "
"Can you truly extort a criminal? For the money they owe other criminals?" Brian / Lemon wondered out loud as he meandered the living room, making you shrug.
"He likes playing victim," you mused, but in the time you looked over your shoulder, Wilmer charged. You gasped when his shoulder bullied into your gut, tackling you past Tangerine and into the coffee table, shattering it.
"GO! RUN!" He shouted at his family, Tangerine lunging instantly to wrangle him off of you; the breath knocked from your lungs.
"Got some fuckin' nerve, don't yah!? Touchin' my girl!?" He raged, throwing the man to the floor again. "Nobody fuckin' moves!" Aaron growled, gun pointed at Wilmer.
"Not like they can, two blown out knees," Brian grunted as he helped pick you up from the wreck.
"Yeh all right, Bunny?"
"All right, love, yeah," you answered and adjusted your dress, picking up your weapon as Tan began wailing his balled-up fist into Wilmer's face at a jackhammering pace. It was wildly attractive, watching the man you were in-love with beat the shit out of someone who offered you threat and harm. Then something caught your eye, gasping, "Oh, you rat bastard! You broke my fucking nail!"
You yanked Tan back; aiming at Wilmer, pulling the trigger to let a close-range bullet explode the man's head; leaking brain matter on the Persian carpet. You turned to Mrs. DeLano and Eddie, cocking your head as they begged and pleaded for their lives, but you weren't listening anymore. "Got it all, boss," Gunther informed, dropping the stuffed duffel. "What we doin' with them?"
"Exactly what my father would do," you decided. "No witnesses."
"PLEASE! NO, GOD! NO, DON'T, PLEASE! WE WON'T SAY ANYTHING, I SWEAR! I SWEAR! PLEASE! MERCY! MERCY MERCY!"
Three more gunshots sounded, Tangerine's gun smoking before being tucked back into his shoulder holster under his jacket. "Well," he fluffed his lapels again, sniffling harshly, "shall we be on our way, Bunny? We good here?"
"Oh, might as well - got what we needed," you agreed, grimacing when blood bloomed towards your expensive shoes. "Ugh, what a mess. I'll make a call, have this cleaned up, pose it as a murder-suicide," you side-stepped the puddle. "Gunther, Casey, take what you want from this place, get the cash back to the stash house. I'm gonna grab a drink with the lads," you smirked, looping your arm with Aaron's.
Lemon / Brian packed up their share of the money, following behind as Tangerine / Aaron lead you from the house; placing a cigarette between his lips and lighting the end, inhaling, tossing his free arm around your neck. The night was dark and brisk, refreshing on your clammy skin as you stabilized your breathing; always a little shaken after taking life.
Call it morality.
Once in their tinted Mercedes, Brian got in the backseat, Tan rolled his window down to smoke, and you pulled out your ringing cell phone to answer, "Hi, Daddy."
He breathed in relief, "Good, you answered. Means nothing bad happened."
"That's not entirely true," you admitted. "We're leaving now."
"What happened?"
You winced, brushes already forming, "DeLano got bold, he attacked. So we left no witnesses."
"Good girl," he praised. "You feel all right?"
"Yeah, I'm good. I'm actually going to drinks with some, uh, friends," you glanced at Tangerine - seeing his lips pulled in a smirk as he started the car and pulled off down the street. "Turns out, DeLano didn't just owe us, but some coke dealer, too. Right, love?" You checked.
"Right," Aaron confirmed, reaching over to plant his hand on your thigh and give a soft squeeze.
"Right, yeah, so, he tried lying 'bout money, I shot his son's kneecaps - "
"That's my girl!"
" - and cleared the safe out. That's when DeLano attacked me - "
"WHAT!?"
"Daddy," you reprimanded softly. "I'm okay. Actually, the hired contractors on the job saved my arse - they showed up after we did with the same agenda. Gunther and Casey are gonna take the cash to a stash house, I gotta call Mr. Brooks about cleaning up."
"Did you say contractors?"
"Yeah, uh, you know, from The Agency?"
"You mean hitmen?"
"Yeah, guess you could say that. Think they're more like contract killers? Verbiage is so fickle."
"Who? Who exactly was there?"
"The Twins, Daddy. Don't worry, they're absolutely charming, only took their payment. We're gonna go for drinks, yeah?"
"Huh," he grunted, "must've been some bigwig t'send them two. Or a considerable debt." You were about to reply when he gasped in realization, "Wait, no. No, no, hang on a tick, don't bloody tell me."
"What?"
"This the lad you've got a thing for, innit? The one that sends yah flowers every other week?"
"Daddy."
"Don't tell me it's that Tangerine fucker, princess, please!"
"Oh, no, look at that, we're heading into a tunnel! I'm gonna lose the call; talk tomorrow, be safe, good luck in Prague, okay, muah! Muah! Muah! Love you! Bye, bye, bye!" You rambled quickly, blowing air kisses, then hanging up swiftly.
"The hell was that about?" Aaron chuckled. "He mad we were there?"
"Not entirely."
"Was he mad you're gettin' drinks with us?" Brian laughed from the back.
"That's a little more accurate. Well," you winced, "he was a bit testy that I'm goin' with Aaron..."
"I haven't done a damn thing to him," he grumbled.
"You do have a bit of a reputation, bruv."
You smiled sweetly, gripping Aaron's hand on your thigh, "He's my father, 'course he's gonna worry."
"'Bout time he found out, keeping you two a secret was mad frustrating, yeah? You two are disgustingly in-love."
Tangerine squeezed your thigh again, sending you a bright grin, "That we are."
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