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devnmon · 14 days

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Reason on the Common Tongue (of you lovin' me)

Dutch Van Der Linde x F!Reader

Summary: You’ve taken another man in camp out for drinks while Dutch was busy and unwilling to take the night off. Who’s to say he’s forgotten where you’d gone by the time you return?

warnings: oral (f&m receiving, sir kink, rough!dutch, dom/sub roles, unprotected piv, orgasm denial, cumming inside (not recommended for irl experiences), sweet aftercare <3

a/n: anyone else insane about dutch van der linde? just me???? anyways just wanted to say this is filthy and also one of my favorite things i’ve written. i say that everytime i write something new but i truly love this fic. [who would have known this was going to be my first fic for rdr2.] also huge shoutout & credit to my moot jay @bandittlikemee for everything she’s done to help me write this fic. youre truly a genius bestie! also this is set in the clemen's point camp!

Dutch Van Der Linde was a busy man. So much so that he didn’t have time to get up to ludicrous activities such as drinking the night away in the Rhodes saloon. It was another sweltering night in Clemen’s Point; nothing exciting had happened for a few days on account of lying low to skip out on any face time with the Pinkertons. Since you’d been itching to get out of camp, and your ever-so-important leader wouldn’t spend a singular night with his partner drinking and dancing, you offered the trip up to a familiar gunslinger instead.

With a wave towards his tent, the two of you were off to the local saloon on the back of Arthur’s horse. It was long after dark before the two of you returned; you had been more indulgent than your companion, practically making Arthur carry you out to his horse before you got too inebriated on the drink. Being swept off your feet like Arthur had done felt like flying, especially when he sped up his horse on the ride back to camp.

“Whoo! That was one fun night, Mister Morgan. Even if you didn’t let me out on the dance floor.”

“Don’t you dare get sick on this horse b’fore we get back to camp.”

“I ain’t drunk!” you called out.

“Yeah, and I ain’t a gunslinger.” Arthur joked.

You both boasted with laughter and quips during the ride back into camp, fairly shortened by Arthur’s ability to ride a horse, and soon enough you were entering the clearing.

Dutch, spending his night nursing a cigar, perked up once he heard your familiar laughter in his ears. He knew the minute you’d left camp with Arthur, it was a mistake. Were you to blame? Or was he? Surely you could’ve known all he was combatting at the moment; the leader of a powerful gang, the Van Der Linde’s, had more on his plate than you could even fathom. Moves, and countermoves, he’d say. All in good time, Dutch has a plan.

To find out you’d left camp with Arthur of all men, his son, whom he’d raised since just a boy– was he a fool to you? Did you underestimate all he was capable of? Did you think him a fool?

He’d show you, indeed he was not.

Dutch took another deep inhale of his cigar, the tobacco filling his mind with a haze of your figure. Then he’d remembered who you’d been spending the time with. Another laugh escaped your lips, louder than usual, and his dark eyes found you sat on the back of Arthur’s horse, reaching toward the cowboy for assistance in getting down. He can’t help but glue his eyes to your waist, accompanied by Arthur’s hands for what seems to be a moment longer than he’d like.

Sat in silence, he's almost as red as his vest when you approach the tent.

“Hey, baby. Wish you came with us t’night. I almost punched a man for makin’ a crude comment toward me. You would’a loved to see it, the guy basically pissed himself when Arthur threatened ‘im.” You're slurring your words while babbling on incoherently; your balance is shoddy at best, and he doesn't even say anything until you mention his right-hand man.

"Have fun drinking with Arthur, dear? Was he able to... satisfy you?"

"Mhm, Arthur was very kind to me tonight." To even suggest you'd be satisfied being in the company of anyone else but him makes Dutch furious.

"Did he... rustle your feathers, dearest?" With the way he punctuated his words, you're a bit confused by what he means, since the drink's gone to your head.

"What'dya mean?" you ask, batting your eyelashes at him by chance he'd forget Arthur was by your side all night instead of him. Dare you poke the bear.

"Did he–" he let out a breath of smoke, "Was he such good company that you'd forgotten about me? Your leader?" The grumble in his voice fans the flames in your chest; if you weren’t warm from the alcohol, you certainly were now.

Your glazed eyes make out the vision of Dutch, his silhouette darkened by one lamp still lit. When he starts sauntering towards you, step by slow step, you know he's not amused by all this Arthur talk.

"Mm, no, never." Your intoxication doesn't help you sound convincing, though sober you knows Dutch loves the reassurance.

"Sounds like you're lying to me, my love."

He flicks his cigar out of the tent and watches as you stumble to sit down in a chair facing him. Then your mind pulls you back to the events at the saloon– drinking with Arthur and watching him dance drunkenly to the piano– you're giggling at the image. But Dutch.. he's not finding this funny.

"What’s laughable, right now, dear? "He asks, accentuating the h sound while tilting his head at you down with his dark eyes.

"Jus'... Arthur was so fun to be with t'night. An’ I missed you... wish you'd come with us, handsome."

"Well I had to tend to more pressing matters, my darling. You'd only understand if you weren't so piss drunk right now. Maybe I ought to teach you a lesson about what company you should be keeping."

Dutch takes a seat on his cot, his right hand tapping the corresponding thigh. As if instinctual, you lunge yourself over to him and take your rightful seat.

Dutch has always been intimidating, it was one of the reasons you've become enamored with him. But when he narrows his eyes and guides them down your face and figure, close up? you're blushing out of being perceived by such a man of power in this world.

"What're you giggling about now?" he inquires, holding your head with his palm so you'll make eye contact.

"You're jus' so handsome, Mister Van der Linde. My sweetest, the most dashing man I've met."

"You, my dear, are adorable,” he began, and with a click of his tongue, he continued, “But, I still don't believe you. How ‘bout you… make it up to me, hm?"

At that point, you can already feel him hardening under you in his lap, and you clench around nothing. For the first time tonight, your voice shakes.

“What.. would you have me do?” You swallow nervously, wavering your eyes from his for a moment; he ordered your gaze be brought back to his immediately with the clearing of his throat. As if to check you for disobedience.

“On your knees… now.” Dutch’s voice lowered, his words putting a spell on you once spoken. Sliding down to your knees, your hands glided over his thighs for just a moment, letting the friction spike his legs with another level of desire to show you who you belong to.

“Don’t tease me, darling… lest I have to remind you why you’re on your knees for me.” Dutch’s eyes darkened once you were firmly on your knees, tongue darting out to wet your lips. It was as if a Greek god asked you to bow down to him and solely him– Dutch’s physique and natural manliness only contributed to that image of him in your mind.

Your hands reached for the button of his pants, pulling them down his muscular thighs to see his growing hardness underneath the cloth. For a minute, your palm brushed against his girth, earning a grumble from the man above you. It wasn’t lost on him the way you were acting, all innocent like you weren’t aware of the way you were making him burn for your touch.

Once your hands had them down far enough, the dark tuft of hair from his mound came into the light, which opened your eyes wide upon pulling it all the way off. Dutch’s length sprung upwards and caught your eye, especially frustrated and swollen, much like his growing displeasure with your actions. Freed from the confines of his pants and undergarments, his cock stood tall, lying well past his navel against that black vest of his.

As your grip surrounds his base, Dutch clears his throat once more whilst observing every move you made. Your thumb runs along the prominent vein sticking out and moving your hand up his length. He’s certain you aren’t aware just how vexed you had gotten him.

“Get to it.” he spat, enunciating every part of his words with that sharp wit and tongue. Without another second to spare, you licked the pearling precum resting on his tip, before enveloping it with your lips. Luckily for you, he filled your mouth quite nicely, his fingers running through your hair to grip tightly at the back of your head. Tongue running down the underside as you began to ravish him with your lips, he took the advantage to push you down a couple inches more.

With his tip almost nudging the back of your throat, you push down another inch or so and bobbing up and down on him to your heart’s content. The alcohol-buzzed vision of him, burning brighter with each inch you took further past your lips. Dutch rolled his shoulders and neck out in a slow motion, locking those gluttonous eyes of his back onto you with a smirk.

You came up for air with a pop of your lips, his erection shining under the warm light from your saliva.

“So big…” you whispered, stroking him with your hand and going back down for another taste. This time, Dutch was not simply fooling around; his hand forced you down rougher this time, the back of your throat welcoming him once again. It was ravishing to be put under the control of a man such as Dutch; the power he held over you was maddening and traveled to your head every so often. With the tip kissing the back of your throat after each shove down his length, your eyes begin to well up.

“Takin’ me so deep, love, you’ve got tears in your eyes. Now I have truly seen it all.” Releasing his hard grip for a moment, you come off his cock and wipe them away like they aren’t anything special.

“I’d do much more for you, sir.” You choke out, lips swollen from just his cock, and you press a kiss to his tip before sticking out your tongue and swallowing him whole again. The hand that was once gripping your hair was cupping your cheek, the other had undone two of his vest buttons, leaving his broad torso on display in just that white and blue striped shirt.

This time Dutch chuckles in that deep gravel of his, surging your heat with a plethora of warmth. His chest broadens with every exhale of fervent breath, the slow burn of dissatisfaction eating him up inside. Beads of sweat begin to form on his forehead, the knot in his groin tugging at him ever so slightly.

You let his length fill your throat wantonly, pushing yourself down enough to take every inch. Your nose became buried in the dark patch of curls he’d kept tidy, clearing his throat once more while relishing in the warmth of your tongue against him.

“You’re gonna taste me for days, sweetheart. Gonna – fuck – gonna remind you who you belong to. Make it so you don’t forget this time.” Dutch’s right hand combed through your hair, controlling your mouth’s movements down his shaft, saliva messily covering his skin. A particular thrust of your head in his grip pushes your nose into his curls, making you gag around him. It’s not much to remind him why you were his, the raw class he omitted an infectious disease; it just so happened to be you found under his spell.

Repeatedly, your head moved up and down his cock, Dutch gripping your hair and taking what he deserved. After all, you did take another man out to drink. How dare you not bask in the appreciation of his company otherwise? Dutch had no discretion– no temper to waste on explaining himself to you. You should have known he’d get mad.

On spur of the moment, his controlling movements halted and your tongue swirled around his tip. A feral growl erupted from his chest, painting your cheeks pink before releasing him to catch your breath.

“Mmmph, Dutch…” comes out as a whine, shifting the weight you’d been sitting on.

“What now, dearest? I don’t think you deserve to complain after what you’ve done.” His words manifest a wave of arousal scorching your skin and mind– Dutch was torturous in that regard. When he clicked his tongue, you knew there was only a matter of time until he truly took control. This was only the beginning of a very long night.

Dutch had a way of changing the temperature of a room with one fell swoop. To you, it was a life altering experience being under his discipline, especially in this setting.

Another whine escaped you, words eventually choked out, “I’m sorry, Dutch…”

He solely chuckled, sitting up and raising your chin with his index finger.

“That’s funny, my dear. You didn’t seem sorry when you stormed off and took Mister Morgan as company.” He sneered, the permanent smirk on his face, becoming bigger by the second. You clung to his words like water coating a piece of cloth, soaking up every syllable for a smidge of satisfaction.

“Please, I’m so…” you trailed off, your thoughts whisked away when you heard him chuckling.

“You’re sorry?”

Nodding almost instantaneously, he clicked his tongue.

“Fine. As much as I’d love to fill that sweet mouth of yours all night long, I’m itching for a taste of your perfect cunt. Come here.”

Two fingers motioned you towards him, tongue sticking out to wet his lips, while inclining his head at the vision of you still kneeling for him. Dutch didn’t miss the slightly pained sound as you relieved the weight on your knees, knowing they’d most likely be bruised tomorrow. He took incredible amounts of pride seeing himself in the bruises, teeth marks, and spend he left behind on your saccharine skin.

Your swollen lips wet from your tongue, sensitive thanks to the friction against his length moments ago. Still shy of that dark gaze when he too stood, a forefinger and thumb brought you right back to him.

“I need you to know…” he spoke breathlessly, crushing your lips to his in one motion. Dazed by his sudden affection and the thick tension in the room, you drowned in his taste.

Unbound by any other attachments, your soul was his.

Dutch’s lips pressed against yours were fervent and skillful, a new taste of himself on you. By the third peck, Dutch had forced his tongue into your mouth, venom coating your mouth. Intoxicating.

His right hand finds your waist, pulse hammering in your chest as that broad figure of his flooded your visual field up close.

“... that your actions have consequences.” His grip tightened around your jaw, tobacco on his breath as he spoke.

“Just because I don’t wish to accompany you to the town saloon for a drink does not mean you’re permitted to take the next desperate fella in company who’d so easily strike you from my arms.” That slight growl in his voice paired with the liquor in your system triggered the heat at the apex of your thighs to burn hotter.

“Arthur ain’t like that–” you slurred, getting cut off by a hiccup; a clear sign you were still not understanding how gravely Dutch was taking your little excursion out of camp. His voice was nothing but otherworldly, smooth and rich with charisma and magnetism. No surprise you obeyed his every word without question.

“I don’t remember asking for excuses,” he spat, smirking, “Let’s get you out of this dress..”

Those calloused yet talented hands of your leader find the back zipper quite easily, wasting no time by pulling it down your shoulders roughly. The fabric was tight, but with the level of Dutch’s strength, you wouldn’t put it past him to create a few rips. His movements were followed accordingly, still ravaged with the current indignation he held upon you.

Once you met his eye, seeming to shrink a bit more when looking up to him, that foreboding glare into you was similar to putting a flame near a stick of dynamite. There was no telling when he (or you) would explode. That dashing face of his created another spark inside you, one bold enough to pull his lips to yours once again. A hand grasped the back of your neck tenderly, the first soft action Dutch made upon your skin.

Don’t fall into his touch… you tell yourself. But the drink was too strong, and his venom made its way into your bloodstream. There was no turning back.

Aphotic, tantalizing eyes studied you, the only way you could sense his willingness to please after the fury that still embodied him.

“Satiate me...” he beckoned, walking you backwards to his cot where your knees met the side. Adhering to his plea, your back found the fabric and sighed amongst the sight of him above you. His hands never left your body, sliding down your back to the side of your leg, then moving to your inner thigh with the slightest touch before gripping it with his broad palm.

Suddenly the thin chemise was much too hot against your skin.

“Dutch, please…” you begged once again.

“Ah ah… that’s Mister Van Der Linde to you, my sweetness. You’ll receive the right to say my name when you’ve earned it.” His voice was like honey, eager fingers tugging at the white cloth. Dutch didn’t need permission, he gladly took what he believed to be his, no matter the cost. You swallowed thickly at the cool air prickling your skin with the tensity and vigor the man before you withheld.

“Yes, sir, Mister Van Der Linde…” you professed, breathlessly.

Dutch’s cock twitched upon the sir that fell from your lips. He chuckled, tightening his grip on your undergarment and dragging it down your skin. Your chest was exposed to him first, keen skin still layered with sweat and goosebumps while your nipples hardened against the nighttime air. You were just as he expected, breathing heavily and quivering under the first touch of his fingertips. Impatient, the garment was dragged down your legs by the older man and discarded on the floor.

Dutch’s hands parted your quivering thighs, calloused palms from years of using a gun gripping around you firmly. You could practically feel the flame of his gaze make its way up to the tuft of hair making an appearance from between your legs. He slid both palms up your legs, parting them accordingly so that your slick caught the light. Focused on his face, you notice his walnut eyes catch yours, immediately heating your cheeks.

It was meant to be; Dutch was your siren, luring you in with each word he manifested, every spill of his cherry wine words onto a white tablecloth. His mouth neared the thick curls protecting your supple skin from harm, a similar style in which Dutch protected his people.

“Such a divine sight laid out for me like this. I’m going to remind you exactly who you belong to, have you come back to me.” The baritone and rumble in his voice was like nothing you’d ever heard before. He was quite honestly a man starved, no matter how angered he was at what you’d done.

Before you knew it, Dutch’s nose was poking your clit the slightest bit, meanwhile he’d pressed his tongue through your folds and covered himself in your taste. You gasped, your breath coming in ragged bursts as everything you’ve ever felt for Dutch comes flooding back in the blink of an eye. Each stroke of his tongue was another day you’d spent by his side, loyal to no other.

Your leader, your lover, your siren.

Nothing else filled your senses, except for Dutch Van Der Linde.

Those dark brown eyes were lidded against the lack of light, his tongue skillfully drinking in your sweet nectar as if it was his last meal. You danced across his taste buds and he groaned, the vibration sending your hips rolling against his mouth out of impulse. Exhaling sharply and continuing to breathe shakily, the tip of Dutch’s tongue circled around your sensitive clit.

“Fuck– sir… oh god,” He pressed a chaste kiss to your clit, breath hitching in anticipation. The flat of his tongue ran kitten licks up your folds, each movement sending a jolt coursing through you. Before you could protest, he ended another stripe up your cunt with a tantalizing drag against your sensitive bundle of nerves. It was particularly frustrating when he hummed against you once more.

“Hope this is reminding you,” he swallowed, “of where your loyalties lie. To whatever man you can get your hands on? Or me, your leader? The sole individual responsible for keeping this entire group pieced together?”

It was a no-brainer.

“You– fuck… My loyalty lies with you, Mister Van der Linde. I promise… never to take another man in company… again.” You breathed, in disbelief at how composed he was; you were a downright panting mess, but a goddamned sight laid out like this for him.

Upon your hips stuttering against his tongue, Dutch shifted closer to your core, hooking his large biceps around each of your thighs and gripped with his overpowering strength. The cool gold of his rings was a contrast to how hot your skin ran under his touch. That tongue of his circled around your clit repeatedly, until he pulled away to admire the mess he’d made of you in such short time.

“Fuck– oh god…” your nails ran through his jet black hair to grip at the back of his head. Dutch’s mouth worshiped each part of you equally, sticking his tongue inside you every so often; it was driving you mad.

Thinking himself clever, he pulled his right arm from gripping around your thigh. His rings ran across the vast expanse of your skin, trailing the chilled metal close to where you were most sensitive.

His amber eyes glanced upward, past the natural curves of your breasts to your fully blissed out expression; your eyes were scrunched together, mouth hanging open with bated breath. The haze of intoxication still coursing through you sent ripples of pleasure surging up your spine.

“I’ve decided to let you redeem yourself, my love. What would you say to that?” Dutch inquired, using that philosophical tone of voice he’s picked up from reading and quoting Evelyn Miller often.

“I’d do… anything to have you. To please you, to bring you bliss, sir.” Your breath quivers at the point of offering yourself to him in a plea to finally satisfy you.

“I’m not quite sure if you’re deserving of it– just yet, that is.” Maintaining eye contact with you, Dutch stood himself up to undo the buttons down his shirt and let it lay open under his red-backed vest.

“Been… been so good for you, sir. Please,” you implored him an inch further, watching his broad chest heave with deep breaths. His hand adorned with two thick gold rings heads straight for the belt buckle around his waist.

“Have you understood, yet, my darling? How I must be torturous? For it is the only way you’ll learn never to disobey, betray, leave me?” Dutch’s prophetic stance above you was truly enticing, the vibrato of his words coaxing another whimper from you.

“I’ve… understood, sir,” you eyed the belt coming undone within his skilled fingers and exhaled in relief.

“You’re going to have to do better than that to convince me. Speak, girl.” The astounding heat, not only flowing through your veins like hot magma, but also flooding your head and hazing your mind with him. Interested in what you had to say, he waited for your response and discarded his belt.

“Sir, I’m a fool… a fool thinking anyone else could satisfy me in the ways you do.” your voice quivered, breathing heavily and watching his hickory eyes study you. His black pants found themselves in a pile along with everything else he’d discarded from your body and his. “My leader, no one else can replace you, you’re the only man made to save people in the ways you did… even me. We’re– I’m so lucky to have you. And I’m– I apologize deeply for my actions, sir.”

He’d be hard pressed to admit the praise wasn’t intoxicating him at this moment, a growl erupting from his chest among his length stood tall against his exposed torso.

“Well, isn’t that nice. An admittance of your mistakes. Such a lovely difference from the snark I’d been given earlier. Hopefully you’ll learn your lesson.” He gripped the base of his cock and crawled above your supple figure on his cot, noticing your sharp inhale once he was fully perched above you. Dutch’s free hand parts your thighs, making room for his tip to slide through your folds, stopping below the little bundle of nerves that ached for any kind of stimulation.

It was easy for him to pick up on your sharp, quickened breaths upon his close proximity, scrunching your eyes shut to avoid that beckoning gaze of his.

“If this is going to work, my love, you must look. Observe how I split you open, how you take my cock, how I fuck you.” He snarled, pecking the side of your face with open-mouthed kisses. Your eyes fluttered open as if second nature, meeting his gaze while pushing himself completely inside of you.

His length filled you to the hilt, every ridge and groove of him welcomed by your warmth. Dutch breathed a moment with you, smashing his lips against yours to swallow the whimpers you omitted. Your hands ran up his chest, dragging your fingers through the thick chest hair to Dutch’s broad shoulders. He shrugged off the shirt and vest upon your hands sneaking under the cloth, leaving him fully bare to you.

The first drag of his cock against your insides manifested another filthy moan to secrete from your lips while he pushed back in.

“Sir–” you gasped, his natural musk clouding your senses. Dutch thrusted into you deeper, kissing that special spot inside of you to send you seeing stars. Quick as light, his thrusts picked up pace, setting a steady rhythm with his hips.

“Say my name.” Dutch’s voice in your ear echoed through your head like a mantra, the only thing bombarding your senses being him.

“Oh god, Dutch–” you choked out, his name on your tongue only spurring him on more to push deeper.

“Yes, that’s it, again.” he spoke between thrusts, clenching around him while pulling groans of his pleasure into the air. His cock has molded to your walls, relentlessly beating such a punishing pace.

“Dutch… ah-!” His name in your throat like a jewel only spurred him on more, humming approvingly and latching onto your neck with the sweet sucking of his lips. There was absolutely no chance of Dutch letting you get off easy without any showable marks. He had an inkling all the men in camp would think twice before making any advancing remarks toward you– lest they forget who you belong to.

A glance downward had you turning lightheaded– did he really always look that dashing? You’d become tantalized watching his girth disappear and reappear at least a dozen times before his fingers brought your gaze back to him. Each thrust of his hips was dizzying, picking up the familiar groans in your ear once again.

In this moment, you were completely and utterly his, transcending into a place of physical surrender and letting the world fall away. A particularly rough thrust had you calling out for him again, his hand coming up to wrap around your throat.

“Got myself such a good little whore, ain’t that right? One who knows her place is with me– your only leader.” You could scarcely manage a nod upon reveling in the touches he gave you.

Dutch was maddening, luring a groan from him once he saw how far gone you were. It was immensely overstimulating the minute Dutch’s right ringed hand dragged up your torso to the pebbled nipples standing upright from stimulation. Goosebumps expelled across your skin as the knot in your stomach began to tighten, walls fluttering around his length aimlessly. He leaned down again to the side of your face, breathing heavily above you. Slowing to deliver deep and agonizing thrusts, Dutch only drew out your orgasm further, as if he read your state of overstimulation like an open book. His fingers twisting your nipples, those smacks of his hips against yours– your sheer bliss in the center of it all.

Your hand fisted his dark waves at the nape of his neck, another grumble aligned with his thrusts. His pace wasn’t as merciful as you hoped it would be, the sting of his precise and rough thrusts pricking tears in your eyes the same as before. You were at such a heightened state that you weren’t able to control what left your mouth anymore.

“Daddy… I-I’m gettin’ close..” you whimper, running your other hand up his bicep to grip desperately. He felt the pride well in his chest upon his skill to pleasure you like this while also making you cry. To see you in such desperate of situations fueled his ego like a bonfire.

“Oh, are you, my love?” he began, snaking his hand down to your navel and pressing his hand against it. The tip of his cock poked just the slightest bit against his palm. “Feel how deep I am inside you, darling, and know that nobody could fill you the way I do.”

Dutch’s deft fingers moved downward to rub at your clit, throbbing incessantly upon his first touch. The whimper you let out was like music to his ears, filthy and drenched in content of being pleasured by him.

By the expression on his face– he’s impressed at how well you held back from letting yourself go. It’s Dutch’s realization then that you’d always known you were his to touch and please like this, more than any other before. Dutch Van Der Linde is the object of all your desires; continuing to orchestrate bliss under any means possible.

Every ridge and vein of him massages you in such a euphoric way, and it’s not too hard for you to be sent over the edge. It’s as if every inch of you explodes in that moment, allowing each morsel of stimulation; his fingers twisting your nipples and on your clit, the sensation of him throbbing inside you, and the sound of his voice in your ears; come together to send you gasping and moaning over his cock once again.

You can’t hear much else other than the wet slide of him inside you, walls slick as his once steady rhythm grows erratic, forcing his thrusts to become harder and harder. An ache like this would always have a way of satisfying you in more ways than most. Dutch’s groans became visceral as he thrust one more time into you until he too was sent keening over the edge. His hips stuttered, white ropes of seed coating your walls while riding out your high to the sounds of Dutch’s melody of sweet groans and praises.

Both of you breathed heavily as the moment passed, your grip on one another grounding you back to Earth.

“Now, say ‘thank you, daddy’.” he snarled in your ear, keeping himself sheathed inside you while moving his hips the slightest bit.

“Thank you, daddy..” You swallowed, breathless upon his capability to have just come down from his high and keep that cocky attitude.

“Well, what are you thanking me for, doll? Be specific.” Dutch cupped your cheek, his thumb running along your skin lightly.

“For… reminding me who I belong to. You.” Your lips crashed against his once again, the passion and heat of the moment still rung in the air.

“That’s right, my darling.” He pulled out of you, lying beside you with a smug grin on his face. The two of you laid in the warmth your body heat offered, catching your breath. Cool air continued to seep into the tent, a drastic difference than the heat you two shared. Dutch was the first one to break the silence, your alcohol dazed mind still fluttering from such intense contact.

“Oh, my darling, are you alright? You were ravishing tonight.” You glanced over, his forehead glowing with sweat in the warm lantern light.

“Yeah, I’m good, baby. After all that, ’m glowin’. You sure know how to make a woman stay loyal.” you smirked at him, struck by his handsome face in the light.

“I’m sure,” he chuckled, “Hope I wasn’t too hard on your precious body, my love. The last thing I would want is to injure you or push a boundary I should not have. Tell me.. dearest.” Dutch sat up, grabbing your hand with one of his, caressing your wrist with his thumb. His hair was disheveled in the most perfect way, afterglow still apparent on his cheeks.

Warmly, you beamed at him, “Of course you weren’t, not if I made you mad in the first place. Not at all…”

Your words brought a smile out in him, and you caught it just before he pulled you in closer to an embrace. That skin on skin contact fueled every desire for him you had since meeting him. When he noticed and made you his– that was the real luck of the draw. So many women chased after Dutch Van Der Linde as a dream, something to grasp onto as an escape from their lives. But for you, it was all so very real.

“You are mine, my love. Don’t ever forget it again.” Dutch’s voice tickled your ears once more, placing a soft kiss on your forehead before grabbing a nearby blanket to cover your body from the chill of night.

“How could I, my leader? No one could possibly compare to the man before me. I love you.” You sweetly spoke to him, one of your palms lying against his chest lovingly.

“I love you too, my sweetness. I’m so overjoyed to hear you’re loyal to the right man.” He chuckled, pressing another kiss to your cheek and letting his forearm wrap around your waist.

“That I am.” you replied, laying your head on his chest with content, sleep overcoming you from the exhaustion and haze your body had been through with the night’s events. Warm and safe in his arms, your heart was Dutch Van Der Linde’s.