♡ DEAD BY DAYLIGHT || ONE SHOTS ♡

Whiskey Lips || Deathslinger

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Warnings & Details:
Pre-Entity
Age gap
Two rounds (kinda)
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Note:
This is my second time writing this because Wattpad decided to delete all my drafts I was working on :,)

Also the reader in this is OF AGE.

All my shots obviously depict the reader as some who is over the age of 18.

But for this shot I feel the need to make that VERY clear.

I know this has been on a lot of people's mind for a while as I promised it a very long time ago. So here it finally is.

Enjoy ♡
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Your head was pounding as you sat in Dead Dawg saloon, you had a terrible night on the account of having to sleep through a drunk banging on your motel room.

You where in Glenvale for work, apparently the warden of the prison here heard about your skills with hunting and decided to pair you up with his finest bounty hunter; Caled Quinn.

He looked old, weak, maybe mind 50s by the look of him in the photograph that was sent you with along with the letter from the Warden.

It said in the letter that he mets his partners at this saloon.

You sat at the bar, looking over the letter and the photo of him, the sound of shoes tips your ears.

You flick your hat up and look up across the bar, spotting the old bartender with a sly look on his face.

"What can I get ya sweethart?" He says in a, bearing his yellow teeth.

You sigh and stuff the photo in your baggy, coat pocket, placing your arms on the bar.

"Whiskey, Gold Creek." You blankly request.

The bartender nods with a raised eye brow.

"You know, the fella in the photograph of yours often drinks this. You fancy him?" The bartenders speaks, placing a glass in front of you and pouring the whiskey for you.

"Too old." You say, immediately picking up the glass filled with amber liquid and bringing to your lips.

The bartender laughs, swinging a cloth over his shoulder.

"47 too old for ya?" He says, you peer your eyes over the drink.

"He doesn't look 47, why does he look so-"

"Old? You're not the first to ask that, poor man been workin' himself to death since he was just a kid, never stopping." The bartender speaks, leaning against the bar with his forearms.

"You seem to know him well." You say, bringing the glass back to your lips, the whiskey burning your lips.

The bartender scoffs and pushes himself off the bar. "Been servin' drinks to that man since he was 14."