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s-c-r-i-p-s-i · 4 years ago

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Candy is Dandy but Liquor is Quicker

[Dead by Baelight’s Kinktober // Day 8 and 18 : Outfit/Skin, Cornered]

🖤 🖤 🖤 “Don’t come any closer,” you warned shakily, backing up against the boarded-up door as he stalked forward, every step radiating confidence. “Or you’ll what?” He asked, leaning in. “Arrest me?” Playfully rattling the costume handcuffs on your belt, he set his gun against the door. You stared up at him, eyes wide as saucers, and he just snorted, curling a finger in your hair. “Darlin’…” Tilting his head, his fingers traveled lower, slowly ghosting over your neck, your collarbone…. You inhaled sharply in frightened anticipation, goosebumps rising, only for him to skim over your chest entirely, plucking one of the mini bottles from your bandolier. “I would love…” Long, bony, but strangely elegant fingers unscrewed the cap, flicking it off where it clattered across the floor somewhere. “To see you try.” 🖤 🖤 🖤 Pairing: Deathslinger (Caleb Quinn) x F! Reader

Rating: Explicit

CW: non-con/dub-con, bondage, drinking, smut, canon-typical violence

Word Count: 4,927

Something… odd had been happening lately.

Not the cankerous growths and sickly orange flowers that were always so abundant this time of year - or whatever passed for a year in this everlasting hell. By no means was that unprecedented.

Ask anyone who’d been there long enough to know and they’d tell you; there was a certain… cyclicity to things. Recurring phenomenon - the red envelopes, the flowers, the mysterious gifts wrapped up like Christmas presents. Always sequential, always in order, like some crude imitation of seasons. (And for what? No one ever aged a day.)

No, this was something new.

And new, in the Entity’s realm, was never a good thing. But… You had to admit, this seemed mostly harmless.

Look - It’s not like you were ever really in control of what you wore here, anyway. Most of the time, you were just stuck with whatever clothes you were wearing when you rolled into the fog. Sometimes She (that omnipotent thing in the sky) threw you in something else. Nobody ever really paid it much mind. The Entity worked in mysterious ways. And people, frankly, had more important shit to worry about.

But then when the flowers started blooming this year, things got a little weird.

She -…

She started putting people in costumes.

Cheap polyester numbers, mostly - the kind you’d buy from a big-box store, straight from one of those awful clear vinyl bags.

…It was starting to look a lot like Halloween. Jack-o’-lanterns even began appearing, scattered around the campfire and adorning the generators.

And nobody knew what the fuck was going on. Hell, not everyone even knew what Halloween was. You had quite the diverse cast; some people weren’t even from the same world as you.

The general vibe around the campfire was just… mild amusement if anything. You had a chuckle, then moved on. That was just the way of things. Everyone had these… survivor blinders on. You guess it was hard to get phased by something so minor when you all got murdered on the daily, but…

But you weren’t content with that.

You always had trouble just accepting things at face value. You wanted to know why.

Like - was the Entity stroking out? Things always did get a little strange around this time. Almost as if She were sick.

It was rare, but there were these little… Well, Feng called them glitches, and it was apt a term as any. Just little things, here and there, like She couldn’t quite enforce the rules of her own game.

Almost everything in this world seemed to be harvested from people’s memories. So… Maybe she was starting to pull things at random. Spiraling.

Was this the synaptic failure of a dying god?

Probably not, but there was nothing to do besides let your mind wander, and it was the only theory you had.

And then….

Then She whisked you away to Frontierland in the gaudiest slutty sheriff costume known to man and pit you against the goddamn cowboy.

Yeah, no - that was about a step too far to have been a happy accident.

Maybe you were thinking too hard. Maybe She just had a fucked up sense of humor.

When the fog cleared, you found yourself in the saloon with the others. You half-heartedly laughed it off (“Yeah, yeah. Okay. Very funny.”) and then moved on. Business as usual.

But not before rolling your eyes and discreetly downing one of the liquor minis from the shitty novelty booze bandolier sewn to your costume behind everyone’s backs.

At least She had the decency to stock it.

You were finishing up cleansing a totem when you heard the telltale crack of a gunshot split the air from all the way across the map. Not anywhere close enough to be dangerous, but a dead giveaway as to who you were up against.

…And cold hard proof that your little outfit was far from coincidence. The literal and proverbial smoking gun.

The moment you heard it you deflated, head falling back.

Seriously? What the fuck was She playing at?

Why you?

It wasn’t much of a conscious decision; you found yourself plucking another bottle from your bandolier and knocking it back without a whole lot of thought. You were obviously going to need it. Staring blankly ahead, you incredulously shook your head as you thumbed the moisture from your lip.

Okay. Alright. That was it, for now, you decided.

The Entity gave you a fully loaded bandolier - seriously, you were armed to the teeth with the little mini bottles, to the point it was actually kind of heavy. But you already felt a little weak in the knees after just two shots. It had been a while, so your tolerance was understandably nil. You didn’t want to be useless to your team. More importantly, it now felt critical you get out of there without running into the killer.

The Deathslinger was one of those ones. Not overly talkative, like a couple of the killers were, but he definitely got a kick out of the whole thing. There was a stark difference between the two camps, so to speak - the ones who only seemed like they killed because they had to, and the ones who were completely in their element. And he was obviously one of the latter.

It was that goddamn laugh. Low and sultry. Chuckling whenever he hooked someone or when a survivor did something exceptionally dumb. Even when you weren’t the target of it, you’d come to associate it with pure humiliation.

And you just knew that he’d take one look at you, in your stupid sheriff costume, and… Oh. You were steaming mad only thinking about it.

So you made it your personal mission to avoid him this trial. And to do that, you had to actually get out. Which meant no more drinks for you!

You should have known She had other plans.

You did your best to keep a low profile, tried to make sure you were on the opposite side of the map from him at all times, while still being useful. A difficult balancing act.

But you couldn’t just leave your friends hanging.

When you saw Meg’s aura flare out in distress as she was lowered onto the hook, you began making your way over, quick and quiet and praying to every god you knew that he would be long gone by the time you got there.

And, lucky you, there was no sight of him. So you crept towards the hook, privately taking solace that at least you weren’t alone in the goof factor; Meg was all dressed up like Wendy - the fast-food icon. The Entity really outdid herself, the braids were right on the nose, and you were almost loosey-goosey enough to make some stupid quip. Almost. Maybe when she wasn’t dangling from a meat hook.

You pulled her off the hook with care, but just as her feet touched the ground, another gunshot rang out, this time much louder. A spear whizzed by so close that you could hear it shear through the air just before it embedded itself in the post, inches away from you both. No sooner had you whipped your head around to find the source than the sound of shoes pounding against the ground filled your ringing ears.

You looked back and Meg was gone. Peeled off like a bandaid.

You decided you better get the hell out of Dodge too.

First things first, you needed to get out of the open; that was just asking to get shot. So you made a mad dash for the saloon. You figured you had a good head start since it should have taken him a hot minute to retrieve the harpoon, dislodge it from the hook, shove it back in the gun… Sounded like a whole ass process.

Except, when you looked back behind you he was hot on your tail. Trail. Hot on your trail.

You made a snap judgment, deciding you’d try and lose him by running up to the second story. Was it cheap? Absolutely. He obviously had some kind of bum leg, unless that brace was some kind of bold fashion statement. Not that it had ever slowed him down, any. But you were desperate. And all’s fair in love and war, right?

Swiftly turning the corner, you galloped up the stairs and dove into the first room you saw, hopping through the window.

By the time your eyes adjusted to the indoors and you realized it was a dead-end, it was too late. The only other exit was boarded up, and you could hear his boots unhurriedly thumping up the creaky steps like he was in no rush at all. Step. Step. You rushed to the boarded-up door and gave it a good open-palmed slam to test its strength - you’d seen killers smash through these like they were cardboard, but it just wouldn’t budge. Shit.

He was getting closer. You could hear his spurs. Hissing, you banged your fist against the boards in frustration. What, impending injury wasn’t bad enough? She had to add insult, too?

The footsteps stopped, and so did everything else, it felt like. Holding your breath, you slowly began to turn around. There he was in the window, backlit and silhouette, dusty sunlight filtering through his ghostly white hair. You had to admit, he cut a striking figure, something cinematic. There was just the trouble of the gun. Aimed right at you.

Didn’t have to climb over the window if he just reeled you to him. Smart man.

Before you could think to dive for cover or something smart like that, he began lowering the gun. It was hard to tell what expression he was wearing, backlit as he was, but you could feel those spectral eyes looking you up and down. From your cheap western style boot covers, all the way up your legs to your fluffy petticoat and layered skirts, the ill-fitted booze bandolier slung around your shoulder… and finally, the gold, plastic 5 point sheriff star nestled between your tits.

Oh God. Here it comes…

He didn’t even have to say a word, hot embarrassment already surging to the surface before he even opened his mouth.

“Well. Pardon me.” You could make out the glint of dirty teeth in the dark as his grin spread. “Didn’t know you were an elected official.”

Why the hell was he exempt from this bullshit, anyway? You’d seen Ghostface in a devil costume, and Myers in a cat ear headband, so you knew they weren’t immune. Maybe the Entity thought he looked stupid and campy enough as is. But… she couldn’t have dressed him up as Woody from Toy Story or something? He probably wouldn’t have gotten it, but you would have found it funny. Maybe then you wouldn’t have felt so small and humiliated.

You hated this. You didn’t even know what to say until he started climbing over the window. Then you had a pretty clear idea.

“Don’t come any closer,” you warned shakily, backing up against the boarded-up door as he stalked forward, every step radiating confidence.

“Or you’ll what?” He asked, leaning in. “Arrest me?” Playfully rattling the costume handcuffs on your belt, he set his gun against the door. You stared up at him, eyes wide as saucers, and he just snorted, curling a finger in your hair.

“Darlin’…” Tilting his head, his fingers traveled lower, slowly ghosting over your neck, your collarbone…. You inhaled sharply in frightened anticipation, goosebumps rising, only for him to skim over your chest entirely, plucking one of the mini bottles from your bandolier. “I would love…” Long, bony, but strangely elegant fingers unscrewed the cap, flicking it off where it clattered across the floor somewhere. “To see you try.”

And on that note, he finally tipped it back - you watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed it down. Shaking the empty bottle at you, he slipped it back into its holster on your belt. “Bit frivolous, you know.” He commented, curling his finger in and snapping it back. “A flask does just fine. No need to reinvent the wheel.”

“Right, well,” you huffed, and moved to squeeze past him - he was clearly in good humor, at least, so maybe he’d let you off easy. Wasn’t a little whiskey and a laugh good enough?

Apparently not.

You were immediately met with an arm shooting out, hand landing right beside your head, caging you in.

“Woah there, where d’ya think you’re going, sweetheart?” He smirked down at you, a crooked thing that flashed his teeth, scarred lip snagged over a canine. You’d never noticed before, but one of his incisors had a gold crown. Now that you’d noticed, you couldn’t stop looking at it, the alcohol still floating around in your bloodstream turning you into some sort of easily distracted magpie. He was missing one of his bottom teeth, too. It was… kind of a mess in there, huh? Smelled like whiskey and tobacco.

“You got me all the way up here, I’m not too keen on leaving already.” Sliding his hand from the door, he guided you away by the small of your waist, and you… you just kind of let him, stiltedly trying to follow his direction.

“So how about you…” You reached the bed and he grabbed you by your shoulders, turning you round to face him. “Just sit your pretty ass down.” Just a slight push and you were bouncing on the bedsprings, palms catching your fall.

In the back of your mind you were already fearing the worst, but much to your surprise he just sat down next to you on the edge of the mattress, looking almost comically large and out of place on the twin-size bed. All you could do was blink at him dumbly, unsure what was happening.

He took a long breath through his nose. It felt like forever before he finally released it and said, “Have a drink with me.”

“I…” You drew out the word dubiously, clearly meaning to decline. You were already too tipsy for comfort considering present company was a killer.

“Didn’t ask,” He said gruffly, pulling two bottles from your bandolier and offering you one. “Indulge an old man. Or we’ll do it the hard way.”

Hard to argue with that! You didn’t know what the hard way was, but you didn’t want to find out. So you took the bottle, lips pulling together in a tight, awkward half-smile when he clinked his against yours.

This was weird. Awkward, and in a whole different way than you’d been preparing yourself for.

You actually found yourself glad for the burn that flooded your body as you downed the shot, heat loosening your tense limbs and taking the edge off this… incredibly odd situation, if only slightly.

Besides the obvious threat, it felt like maybe, despite everything… he was really just a lonely old man. In want of someone to drink with. A slice of normality. Isn’t that what you all wanted? You guessed it couldn’t hurt. It was keeping him away from the generators, anyway. Buying you all some extra time.

And… maybe this was what the Entity wanted. The reason she brought you here like this.

“Now, miss,” He spoke, and you turned your gaze up to him, blinking owlishly, your head swimming. There was a lot to take in at this distance. All these different textures. Scars and stubble and pockmarks. You found it all fascinating. “I’ve got to be frank with you.”

You know, you hadn’t really heard him speak at length before, but you were starting to realize that his whole aesthetic, he didn’t really sound straight out of a spaghetti western like you might expect. There was a trace of that, especially in his vocabulary, but his accent was much more reminiscent of… Canada, somehow. With a slightly Irish lilt.

It was ludicrously unexpected, and something about it just made a dopey smile float onto your face. You didn’t even realize you were doing it, until his eyes drifted down, and he huffed with almost fond incredulity.

“Think that’s funny, huh?”

You’re almost positive you missed something he said. You heard it, you just didn’t… process it right. This time when he spoke, you tried to pay attention.

“I don’t usually go taking what ain’t mine, but damn if you don’t look like a present addressed just to me.”

It was your turn to huff, bobbing with amusement. “Okay, cowboy, I know what it looks like, but…” It wasn’t like you chose this outfit.

“Honey,” he interrupted, “I think you’ve mistaken me for the wrong kinda wrangler. It’s not cows I’m after.” He paused, tipping his head as if reconsidering, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “But if a heifer’s in need of a good driving…”

It took you a solid minute for your brain to catch up. He was content to watch the cogs turn until it did.

He just called you a cow!

A cow in need of a good dicking!

Your mouth hung open in shock and he - he just laughed.

“Little slow on the uptake, aren’t cha? Had a few already? How bout one more?” His hand began trailing up your leg, dirty fingers slowly dipping beneath your pure white petticoat.

Suddenly, one thing was very clear.

You had to get out of here.

Shaking your head, you tried to stand, but you were swiftly reeled back as soon as your feet hit the ground, pulled into a hard lap, all bones and brace and knobby knees and God knows what else.

“We’re gonna have one more,” his voice materialized right beside your ear, tone final as he pulled another mini from your belt. You shook your head, whimpering some protest between tightly closed lips as he pressed the bottle to your mouth. Behind you, you heard him sigh through his nose like a beleaguered bull. Then his other hand came round your face, pinching your nose shut.

You didn’t wait around for your lungs to give out. There wasn’t any point in that. You knew he wasn’t going to give in. But you did. Almost immediately. Your lips parted for air and got tequila instead, swallowing sloppily as you tried not to choke, rivulets of amber dripping down your chin while he murmured, “There you go… Nice and easy…”

His hand lowered to your throat to tip your head back, your world spinning as a wet sensation dragged across your chin, the man licking up the tequila in one broad and obscene lick. That rotten chuckle inundated your senses. “Awful cute when ya can’t even keep your eyes straight.” He tapped his fingers along the column of your throat, adding in afterthought. “Awful cute anyway, but I’m not really in the mood to fight just for a little company tonight. You gonna be good for me now, darling?”

“…Uh-huh.” You nearly sobbed out the sound, voice meek and pathetic. But you’d be lying if you weren’t starting to feel… sweaty under your skirts, inner thighs getting embarrassingly slick. That always happened when you were drunk, but never this bad.

And despite all the awfulness churning in your stomach, you still felt heat pool in your gut as he cooed, “Good girl. Not at dumb as you look, are you?”

You didn’t even realize he was actually expecting an answer until he probed again, “Are you?”

You quickly shook your head.

Humming, he seemed to accept that, because he was soon re-adjusting you on his lap and catching your lips with his in a messy kiss. He tasted strong and dry, your tongue prickling like your taste buds were trying to retract at the mere slide of his against yours; like salt on a slug. When his hand crept up your skirt this time, you didn’t try to stop him, even as his middle finger began tracing your sopping panties, dipping into the wet seam. You could scarcely think, devolved into a gooey pile of nerves and feelings that he was amusedly plucking at.

Peeling your panties aside, his fingers parted your folds, a pleased rumble emanating in his throat and vibrating in your mouth when his thumb brushed against your clit and your hips twitched in response.

You were gasping for breath by the time he finally pulled his mouth away, but he gave you no time to recover, already pressing two fingers past your resistance. In some attempt to ground yourself, you grasped at his arm as they began curling and pumping inside you, but your weak, drunk grip made it about as easy as catching clouds.

At some point, your barely-there vision drifted towards the window and you dimly realized you were facing it, completely exposed. That if anyone came up the stairs, they’d be able to see everything.

You’d just have to hope his heartbeat would be enough to keep them far away from the saloon. Eyes fluttering to the ceiling, you pushed the thought from your mind. It wasn’t hard. Not when the feeling in your stomach was reaching a fever pitch, nearing the point of no return.

In some ways, he was a lot gentler than you were expecting. Which was good, because you felt hopelessly vulnerable right now, helpless and disorientated in his lap, his looming over you making your mixed up brain feel protected even though some part of you knew that wasn’t right.

Everything felt numb except where he touched you; the heat of his breath on your neck, the kisses he pressed to your skin, the scrape of his beard, the brush of his long hair against your shoulder. All your wires were crossed, every little sensation going straight to your core.

Gasping out as your climax crashed over you, your hips lurched, thighs trying to snap closed around his hand. Unbothered, he just kept stroking you through it until your hips finally began to sink back down and your cunt stopped desperately trying to milk his fingers. Withdrawing slowly, he pressed them into your open mouth, the tang of your own juices spreading across your tongue. You didn’t know what it said about you that your blind instinct was to obediently suck, but that’s what you did, and he breathed out in a low, steady hiss.

“Careful, now. Fool me too good and I might have to keep you.”

Pulling away, he encouraged you to lay on the bed, settling between your legs. You watched the ceiling drift then snap back to place every time you blinked while he fiddled with something - you weren’t sure what until he was fixing your arms above your head and the apparently not-so-novelty handcuffs from your costume were being snapped around your wrists.

Then his hands were skating over you appreciatively, over your ribcage, the curvature of your waist almost reverently. “Guess the good Lord finally answered my prayers.” He murmured, flicking the plastic sheriff star between your bosom. “Not really how I woulda done it, but beggars can’t be choosers, eh? After all…” The man sighed, fingers curling into the top of your blouse and slowly dragging the gingham fabric down over your breasts until they were revealed to his eerie, quietly covetous eyes. “We don’t exactly have all the time in the world, do we?”

What was that even supposed to mean? It seemed to you as if you had nothing but time. Maybe not in this particular trial - and as if to punctuate that thought, you felt a generator kick to life, the familiar thrum of hope in your bones.

Did he know something you didn’t? Or were you just too foxed to follow?

Exhaling, he rolled his hands over your breasts, admiring the feel of them for just a moment. It seemed like he wanted to take his time with you, but the reminder that you were on a timer was the spur in his side that eventually pushed him to move on.

You heard him audibly fiddling with his belts and wondered if you were getting out of this alive. It was cold comfort, but at least you’d probably managed to save everyone else. Not very heroic when it wasn’t even really your decision. But it was something. Maybe. Something to cling to as you felt the heat of him slide across the mess he’d made of you.

Whimpering, you curled inwards from your core as he entered you, bound hands lifting up and both grasping at his chest at the feeling of being run through. By no means was it violent. It didn’t hurt, exactly. But it had been a long time, and he was unforgivingly long and solid and foreign. An intrusion on your body.

“That’s it. There you go, gorgeous. Hang onto me.”

You did, your hands abandoning his chest to loop over his neck, accidentally knocking the hat off his head in your bound fumbling. He didn’t seem to care, swooping down to take your lips again while you struggled to get used to the feeling of him moving inside you.

With how wet you already were, it didn’t take all that long before pleasure started to win out, every little bump and grind against your sweet spot pulling you closer to the edge again, his mouth muffling the pathetic stream of sounds trying to escape yours.

This time, the fall from the top was a slow one, liquid heat spilling out across your core - though you weren’t quite aware how literally until you felt it physically starting to pool beneath you, a wave of embarrassment flaring when you’d realized what just happened. Okay - you didn’t - that had never happened before, drunk or not.

Your hopes that he didn’t notice were dashed as he pulled away to chuckle heatedly in your ear. He wasn’t far behind though, laughter broken by a groan as his hips snapped against yours, burying himself deep as he could go. You felt the alien jerk of his cock inside you, radiating warmth.

Panting, he nuzzled at your neck as he came down, whiskers scratching at your skin. You felt… suspended in place, not sure what came next. But you guessed it wasn’t up to you. Hesitantly, you let your fingers slip into his sweaty white tresses, the texture thick and rough like the mane of a horse, dusty and… probably unwashed for God knows how long.

There was that awkward feeling again. Like you were two pieces of a puzzle that didn’t fit no matter how you turned them, but you weren’t allowed to leave.

Eventually, he took a deep, centering breath and withdrew from you, guiding your hands back to the bed and clicking open the safety release of the handcuffs, setting you free and letting them fall wherever on the floor.

Rubbing your wrists, you groaned in discomfort as he dragged his fingers through the mess, pushing his cum back inside you. No. You just wanted to be done.

But then he pulled your panties back into place. Pulled your shirt back up. Smoothed your skirts down.

His gaze lingered on you for a long moment before he heaved a big sigh and finally dismounted.

Pulling you up by your arm so that you were sitting up, he grabbed his hat from the bed, and you felt him plop it onto your head and adjust it.

“Suits ya.” He said softly, and it was the first thing he’d said in a while. Part of you was waiting for the other shoe to drop, not sure if he wanted a thank you, or…

He eyed you for another long moment, like there was something more he wanted to say, but… Instead, his gaze flicked down to the bandolier round your chest.

You swallowed hard as he plucked the last two bottles from your belt, the thought of taking another shot making your stomach churn and your gag reflex curl.

Patting your thigh, he bonelessly plopped himself in the nearby chair, rolling his eyes as you just stared at him. “Go on, get.” He snorted, uncapping one of the little bottles. “Don’t fall down the stairs on your way out.”

He was letting you go? Just like that?

You hesitated, something about this seemed… unfinished. You weren’t sure if you wanted to go.

But you didn’t want to wait around until he changed his mind, either.

So you uncertainly began heading towards the window, pausing when you remembered - “Your hat…” You reached for it, intending to give it back, but…

“Keep it, I don’t care.” That sounded unexpectedly crabby, and when you looked back, he wasn’t looking at you. He was staring at the wall, avoiding your gaze as he tipped back a shot. “Wear it if you want to see me again. Don’t if ya don’t. I can take a hint.”

You blinked, unable to believe he was sulking. Now. After everything.

Your fingers hovered over the brim of the hat. You needed to quash this now, while you still had the chance. Your conscience was screaming at you, leave it, don’t encourage him, don’t even give him hope.

Don’t bring it to the campfire. Don’t anything. Just… leave it on the windowsill, you told yourself. It shouldn’t have even required thought. Nothing about this was okay.

You didn’t even know his goddamn name.

And yet… You found your hand slowly lowering, falling back down to your side. You gave him one last, long look before grabbing the windowsill.

You could always decide later.

🖤 🖤 🖤

Thank you for reading!!!

🖤 🖤 🖤

Notes:

Thank you Pugge for beta'ing most of this!

I do not know WHY this took me so long to write but I’m fairly happy with it. Sorta wasn’t the direction I originally had planned for this, but what can I say, I’m cursed. I got the Midas touch, except instead of gold, everything I touch turns to non-con.

This piece was written for Day 8 and 18 of the 🔞 Dead by Baelight 🔞 Discord server’s Kinktober. Anyone over 18 is welcome to join here.

#dead by daylight #dbd #deathslinger #caleb quinn #my writing #oneshot #scripsi

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