Work Text:
You turned 16 today.
Today, it was officially one year you'd been in the Van der Linde gang. One year since your daddy– an utterly no good man– had been shot. Regarding your mother, she'd been out of the picture for years. Your father told you she died from some disease, but he wasn't the type of man to really talk about things like that, even less to his young child.
You knew he was bottom of the barrel, though, from the faint memories of how he treated your mother. It didn't matter. He was dead now, and that's all that did.
Dutch made sure of that.
Dutch van der Linde. Your little heart swooned over him: the stink of cigars, his fancy gold chains, his slicked back hair. He killed the last of any family you knew from his failed attempt at robbing the post office. Your dad happened to be one of the many lawmen wasted at the scene. You revered Dutch for it... in a way.
Your daddy was a man of few words, unlike Dutch. You loved hearing his speeches, even if everyone else in the gang was tired of them, doubting him. His plans went wrong sometimes, but you of all people knew life didn't plan out perfectly. You had faith in him. You had to.
He had taken a real shine to you after you'd joined the gang with nowhere else to go except a wanted poster put out by the police force. He liked to talk with you, alone, sometimes; nothing bad, just conversation. He did so with Hosea and Arthur, too, of course he did, you picked up on their dynamic of having a long past; but you really did feel special, being new to camp, with the leader already having a soft spot for you. Despite being in your teens, and perfectly capable to do things yourself and go out on your own, he coddled you.
Your first birthday where you felt so completely special.
Arthur had brought prime beef from the shop after Dutch sent him to go get it to have a nice, hearty stew for the occasion. You got along well with Jack, that Marston's kid; after all, you babysat him frequently– the little guy had made you a flower crown. Hosea even gave you some medicinal herbs. It was dusk, and your sweet 16 was such a great day.
Being a par ty as it was– because that what was needed after Sean and Kieran's death, needed to raise morale, and your birthday was the perfect reason for it– most were drinking. Uncle, Bill, and Karen were no surprise, but Javier and John and some others were even having beer.
Among them, Dutch.
He sat further away from the fire, smelling of whiskey instead of beer. You had recieved your birthday wishes and gifts from everyone and senses it was about time to retire and let the more grown folk have their loud fun of drunken singing and dancing. But you couldn't help but sit down next to him, always so earnestly seeking anything he had to give you.
"Well, look who it is," he rumbled, putting an arm around your shoulder firmly, pressing you into his warm side. "Was wondering when you'd finally come over and see me. You have a good time?"
Of course you did. You nodded eagerly, knowing he could feel the movement of your head against him, but confirmed it vocally anyway. You could hear his smile in his next words.
"So then, why haven't you gone and went to bed yet? You're a real greedy one, y'know, begging me for more when I organized such a great party..."
He wasn't mad, you gauged, but you stammered and fell over yourself anyway to explain, no, that's not at all what you wanted– that you were just saying goodnight to him first before retiring. He interrupted you with a chuckle that rumbled in his chest.
"I'm only teasing you," Dutch said lowly. You slowly pulled away, watching his amused expression. "You didn't think I'd get you a present? You must have lost all faith in me like all the others. You're really grown now, you hear? So take this."
To your shock, he handed you his fine brandy, the strong, unpleasant scent stinging your nostrils when you sniffed it. At Dutch's expectant look (and the fact you would never, ever deny a gift from Dutch), you took a big swig. You coughed and hacked at the scalding sensation, but he looked pleased. So pleased, and you preened under his gaze.
"That's nice, now, ain't it? Go on, you can have some more," he urged further, tilting it up for you a bit. You got the feeling he was slightly drunk, too, but you felt your cheeks becoming hot at just the second drink you've had. You hated the taste, and were unsure of the warm feeling under your skin, in your gut, but in your eyes, the liquor wasn't the present here– getting to drink with Dutch van der Linde, share the same opening of a bottle with him, was. Yes, the exact same neck of the bottle, where you watched his lips touch, where yours followed.
It made you feel... giddy.
"You paint quite the pretty picture, sweetheart, sitting next to me, drinking my booze," Dutch mused beside you, lighting a cigar. You watched him cup his hand around the match's flame, watched the blunt brown-wrapped light, the smoke spilling out as he puffed around it. You breathed both the smoke and the swampy night air in, felt it nip your lungs, felt your head feel... weird, odd, different than usual. Was this how it felt like to drink alcohol?
You didn't know what to think, but Dutch just laughed loudly beside you. "You're tipsy already, so easily, ain't you? Blame's all on me for letting you though, right, hm?"
He made eye contact with you, smirking, and you felt like he was awaiting some sort of response. But you didn't know what he wanted you to say. Either way, when you just mumbled out embarrassed, slurred confirmation, it seemed to please him well enough.
He beckoned you, now, to stand next to him, clutching you at his side once more by your shoulder, holding you to walk beside him. "If you wanna be seen as grown, you better be able to handle your liquor in the future, got it? Trust me, I would know... in my expidentures, being able to hold my drink has sure helped... squandering already drunk businessmen, I mean..."
He went on and on, and before you knew it, you were in his room inside the Shady Bell house. It was actually your first time being in here; your tent was outside, so there was no real reason to come in to the house in the first place, much less Dutch's room. Besides, you would never dare enter without his permission.
But now... you had it, by the fact he led you in, closed the door behind him, let you sit down on his bed while you looked up at him, guileless and confused.
He stood before where you sat on the mattress, looking down at you. Not condescendingly, or at least not as you sensed; an unreadable expression on his face, one you hadn't seen before, couldn't quite gauge. No smile, but not a frown, brows hardly furrowed, his dark eyes containing words you couldn't comprehend.
"You..." he started, and you felt the ghost of his hand on your cheek, before it was firmer, cupping the side of your face with his rougher hands. "...are really grown now, aren't you?"
Your breath hitched ever so slightly as his hand drifted, went to the nape of your neck, his thumb, pointer and middle over it like one would pick up a scruff of a dog. But he only gently guided to tilt your head up, to look at him.
And so you did. Looked at him as he slowly bent down, as your body did the same until your back hit the mattress, until he was looming overtop you, smelling like booze and cigars. And what a nice smell it was.
"Dutch..." you breathed his name, though, still, a little worriedly, as his fingers found fhe front of your blouse, the buttons there. You didn't want to protest, but his behavior was odd.
"What are you doing...?" you insisted now, as you felt your chest be exposed, and you gasped, covering yourself. But he shushed you, so softly, gently. Mouthed at your neck, and you felt the tickle of his facial hair that coaxed the slightest shiver from you as he pried your hands away from your breasts.
"You didn't think a little bit of booze was all I was going to give you, did you? You're grown now... a full 16... it's about time I give you the best gift I can give. I'll make you... make you feel good."
His words were almost breathy, like he was holding back from panting. Something you'd never heard from Dutch, not ever. You... liked it.
You had some inkling of what was going on. You knew prostitutes existed and that they performed... services. But the details of that... you didn't know anything about...
...you guessed Dutch was going to gift that knowledge to you. You were grown now, just like he said. It was about time you learned.
And you had to admit, you liked Dutch. The odd feeling in your chest, the complete and utter respect you had for him, almost reverence... if this is what he wanted, you would give it. You had never doubted Dutch, and why would you now?
You couldn't help the weird feeling amongst your drunkness when he felt your breasts in his hands, chuckling ever so slightly, lighting your face ablaze in a way you hoped he couldn't see in the dim light of the room.
You practically squealed when his hands when to your skirt next, pulling it down to your knees, leaving just your panties.
"Oh-ho..." he chuckled, making you want to melt into the bed. "No bloomers? You are naughty."
And then he was sliding those off, too, about to bare you to his gaze. But you squealed again, covering your crotch with both hands even as your panties went down, down. This time, you weren't so easily convinced by his cooing and consoling and coaxing. It was... embarassing. No one had ever seen you... down there.
"There's nothin' to hide from me, sweet," Dutch rumbled. "Pretty, so pretty. Just want to see, wanna give your last birthday gift. Don't you want that?"
...
You were silent, for a dragging moment. You were mortified as you just barely raised your hands to uncover your slit.
And Dutch whistled, chuckling. Pleased. You felt a weird sensation in your chest cavity.
"Beautiful, see? Nothing to be so embarassed about... relax, shh... relax..."
And you tried, you really tried. But you jumped, eyes widening as you felt rough fingerpads spread the lips of your– crotch. You couldn't find another word for it in your mind.
But he shushed you again, rubbing somewhere that felt good, like he said, he was right, he was always right, even if it felt weird. You whimpered as you felt the muscles in your lower abdomen clench.
"Goood, good," he seemed almost breathless now, too, clearly enjoying what he was seeing down there.
And then he stood.
You had to blink rapidly as you saw the tent in his pants, understood what was causing it, thought that you definitely could not handle it. You looked up to Dutch so much– seeing his ... it was almost too much. Too good to be true. This was some dream you'd wake up from with lots of unanswered questions.
But it wasn't, you knew it wasn't when he pulled it out of his pants, and it was thick and throbbing, dark hair at the base above it near his abdomen, when he tapped it on your stomach, when it left something wet feeling on the skin. His cock. It felt wrong just to think the word.
"Don't worry your pretty little head," he said softly. The incomprehensible expression he'd worn changed into something recognizable: hunger.
He groaned as he stroked himself slowly, his other hand drifting down to the junction between your own legs, and you felt him spread around a wetness down there. From you? You didn't know.
But then you felt his finger inside. Felt it explore, go deeper, curl as your back helplessly arched, letting out a noise that made Dutch chuff above you. You couldn't help it; you never felt nothing like this before, and the brandy he'd given you made your head feel weird, your body feel weird...
He added another, moved them both around and in and out for a bit, contenting himself with that until he pulled the digits out with a wet sound. You whined, confused why he did so, why he didn't want to make you feel good anymore.
But then he lined his cock up, rubbing the very end of it against something that felt real good, but not in where his fingers were. You shuddered, and this time you felt your own wetness come out, felt embarassed by it.
"So good for me, aren't you?" Dutched breathed harshly above you. The least composed you had maybe ever even seen him. His usually slicked hair loose with a few strands, smelling of drink as his own chest heaved with breaths.
"Listen, honey..." he trailed off, rocking his hips as he grabbed your jaw, making you look at him with half lidded eyes. "Trust me... I need you to trust me. Relax, and it'll be good."
And so you did.
You forced yourself to take a big, deep, shuddering breath, felt your muscles bleed out tension.
"AHH!" you yelped like an animal caught in a snare when he pushed in, he pushed it in, about halfway it seemed when your head flew up to look where you two were... joined.
It stung, hurt more than a just a bit. But you felt... full, in a not bad way.
Even better, Dutch braced himself with his hands on your hips, breathing heavily, hunched over. It was a look that made your lower half clench, which in turn made his eyes widen in surprise a bit. He felt it.
"I told you..." he panted, "I'd make you feel good. It's okay, okay... just... take it."
And he pushed in deeper, deeper until you thought you might break in two before he stopped, until you felt his balls against your ass. Rested there for a second.
Then started to move. Slowly at first, going in and out of you just like his fingers did. Then faster, faster, until your head spun, until your belly felt tight and warm.
"Dutch!" you yelped because you felt weird, overwhelmed but felt good, somehow in some way. You writhed as he went faster, skin slapping against skin, hard and loud.
"Fuck," he practically snarled at you. And then it was too much, too much, when he suddenly ripped it out of you, stroking himself furiously above your stomach, his other hand's two fingers furiously rubbing your slit, and the tight coil in your abdomen snapped. Felt yourself shudder and soak the bed under you as Dutch himself did so too, but instead shooting hot liquid all over your soft belly, stuff you've never seen before but didn't dare ask. Felt him press a kiss to your sweat slicked forehead, felt him mumble soft praise, telling you to sleep. You trusted Dutch.
And so you slept.
When you awoke, he wasn't next to you, though you expected that. You were glad you were still in his bed at all– his very comfortable bed that smelled just like him. You had a blanket over you that you don't remember going to sleep with, and even more than that...
One of Dutch's rings he usually wore sat on your ring finger. A nice, pretty gold one with a jewel. A true very last birthday present.
You felt the more special than you did any other time in your life. Felt wanted, you thought, messing with the warm gold. You felt like Dutch's.