A Bumpy Ride - Dutch x Reader

ao3 link if you prefer.

Summary: You and Dutch ride home in a carriage following your date in town.

Word count:4,096

Content warnings: Smut, 18+

“My pretty girl, in her pretty dress… about to have her pretty pussy ruined.”

It was Dutch’s idea to go into town in the first place. Truthfully, you preferred being out in the seclusion of open air but you knew he had a fondness for dressing up and spending time in society, despite his distaste towards its ideals.  

Perhaps it was to remind him of what he wasn’t missing out on, perhaps it was the grandeur and expensive surroundings, or perhaps he just enjoyed the change of pace, but Dutch did love going to town. Dinner, a show, and fancy whiskey in an even fancier saloon were his preferred activities for date night, whereas yours would be a simple picnic by a lake or a hack out with your horses. The man didn’t seem to understand your displeasure with town, but he wasn’t the one in a tight corset (though you’d pay good money to see that) and since you’d chosen a life out of society, living with the land, you thought it would be obvious that this wasn’t your preferred way to spend your time. Still, it’d been a while and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t enjoy Dutch all suited up, giddy about the prospect of the evening ahead in the hours prior.   

So here you were, pretending like you belonged in such high society places, playing your part in the outfit (or as you preferred to think of it: costume) Dutch had chosen for you as the two of you swanned around the rich folk like they were the lake you’d lived in for all of your life.   

It was a cream-coloured garment with accents of light pink; not at all what you’d expect Dutch to want you in. Usually, he liked you in darker colours, blacks and reds that complimented his own attire so well. But tonight, he wore monochrome, a three-piece suit that hugged him in all the right places. He’d caught you glancing down to his ass when you trailed behind him into the saloon and he smirked, raising a suggestive brow at you that told you to waitandbe patient.  

It was an equal trade; he’d had more than his fair share of glances at your figure too. The dress was off the shoulder, allowing him to look at your neck, decorated with a fancy neckless he’d found from… somewhere, at your collarbones and of course at the top of your chest that was displayed only slightly to keep your modesty, but enough that it made the mind wonder what was beneath. The sleeves were short things that just covered part of your upper arms, but the white satin gloves came just above your elbow to hide the rest. Of course, the dress had a corset since Dutch loved the seductive act of undoing it and also loved the way it showed off your figure to him. The skirt was simple, the fabric being enough on its own to fall just right on your legs and complement the sway of your hips as you walked. Oh yes, Dutch had dressed you up like his own personal prize.  

It wasn’t all for his viewing pleasure, of course, you had factored into it too. He often said that for all your hesitation about going out like this your face shone once you were ready, and you couldn’t deny the fact that it did feel good to be out of your everyday clothes once in a while. Plus, your man had good taste. You looked good.   

The third party that Dutch had dressed you up for was arguably the most important; for what would be the point in going to all these lengths without someone to see it? It was true that Dutch van der Linde could be the jealous type, but he enjoyed other people looking at you. Especially when they knew you were his, and that they weren’t allowed to touch.   

He’d sent you up to the bar a few times just so he could watch all the heads turn in your direction. You put on somewhat of a show for him, knowing exactly what he was up to but with a few drinks in you, you oozed that confidence Dutch had admired in you when he first saw you, understanding precisely that feeling of being unable to take his eyes off you that anyone else you passed now felt too.  

But you were his, and he was the one undressing you at the end of the night, not any of these chumps.  

His willpower wavered with each drink he had, becoming increasingly handsy with you as the evening progressed. He adored physical touch, loved that every inch of you had been touched by him in some way – whether by his hands, his lips, or something else. He’d retained contact for the entirety of the evening, his hand lingering on some part of your body no matter where you were. It’d been a gentle hand on your thigh during the show, the hold of your hand or the brush of his leg on yours under the dinner table, but now in the saloon, it was an arm slung around either your shoulders or your waist. Possessive. Caring. Lustful.  

And when you walked out of the saloon, arm in arm like love-drunk teenagers he broke contact for only a moment after opening the carriage door for you and offering his hand to help you in, a quick wink before his hand slipped from yours and he walked round to the front.  

Of all the options for a chauffeur, Uncle wouldn’t be your first choice. But the man was doing his yearly contribution to the gang, buttering Dutch up by actually offering to drive the two of you into town and back. You could hardly say no, and it made the whole affair seem so much more formal. It’s not like this was a special occasion or anything.  

You settled in the plush seat of the stage that’d been stolen recently, due to be sold to a fence but Dutch had put the brakes on that for the purpose of his own indulgence. It was hardly like you could’ve said no to the date once he’d shown you the carriage, all sparkly-eyed like a kid at Christmas. Part of you felt guilty for not doing this more often, but truthfully, he was busy and understood the value of something when it’s a rarity in one’s life. The quiet in the carriage brought your attention to how drunk you were, not enough to be incoherent but enough to be excitable and feel the alcohol as it pulsed around your body.  

Then you heard Dutch outside, “take the long route home, my good man,” and Uncle’s knowing chuckle in response and the sound of footsteps before the carriage door creaked open for him to step into.

“You’re in my seat,” he commented, pausing in the doorway.  

“There’s enough room for two,” you said in an almost sing-song voice, gesturing to the ample space beside you.  

Dutch shook his head, a sparkle in his eyes as he sat in the middle of the seat and left you squished off at the side. When you frowned at him, he returned the opposite expression and slid a hand under your legs and another round your waste to smoothly pull you onto his lap. You suppressed a chuckle, moving in to kiss him when he put a finger to your mouth.  

“Ah, ah,” he scolded softly. “You’re meant to face forward,” he positioned you so your thighs were parallel with his, his chest pressing into your back. “Naughty girl,” he added as an afterthought in a lower tone, much closer to your ear.  

You suppressed the urge to giggle, his breath tickled your skin, and the carriage started moving.  

Dutch hummed contently and you heard a slight creak in the seat as he relaxed back into it, keeping his thumbs pressed into your lower back to keep you upright – presumably for him to take in the view.  

Both of his hands held onto your hips until one began stroking your lower back and trailed up your spine slowly until it reached your shoulder blades and he shifted your hair to the side, giving him access to your nape which he ran the back of his finger over. It was a touch so light you could barely feel it, dropping your head back a little to encourage him and he chuckled.  

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re already squirming,” he said with an appreciative tone.  

You huffed, if he was going to accuse you of squirming then you may as well do it. You wiggled your hips slightly, the layers of your dress preventing you from feeling him but the way he sucked air in through his teeth let you know that he was starting to get hard.  

When the carriage lurched slightly over a rougher patch of land, you bobbed on his lap and a growl came from his chest, and you definitely felt his hardness then.  

You wanted it, god you wanted it, you wanted him inside you and shifted at the wetness that greeted your bloomers. “Dutch,” you breathed, “please.”  

Frankly, you didn’t care for his teasing. Once again you saw right through Dutch’s plan, and while usually you enjoyed being reduced to a quivering mess your intoxication level rendered you impatient. Your lover found it very amusing, chuckling once more.  

“Look at you, begging for it already. Those men staring at you tonight don’t know how filthy you really are, do they?” he asked, hands moving to brush up and down your arms. “They just don’t know how you like it… nothing ladylike about you once we’re in-between the sheets.”  

You grumbled incoherently, you’re one to talk, but it only spurred him on.  

His hands roamed up your hips, gripping at the flesh before he sat up, his chest making contact with your back again and pulling you down to press on his cock. You could definitely feel it now and arched a little to shift the pressure to your core, your walls clenching as though they couldn’t wait any longer. He sighed deeply, breath skimming your exposed shoulder and you smiled to yourself – Dutch was very tipsy.  

It was rare that he’d get drunk, something about preferring to be in control of himself which you supposed made sense, but in those moments where he did let go a little… Oh. 

Drunk Dutch was so rare, so animalistic and unable to uphold that composure he held so dear. You could tell, where his touches would usually linger, they now grasped and searched for more, hoping to claim whatever they landed on. He’d run his large hands all over your frame by the time he returned to your waist, running them round to your front where they rested on your lower stomach.  

“Is this a little tight on you, darling?” he asked, lips ghosting your neck as his fingertips rubbed soothing circles on your lower stomach.   

You nodded, thinking about how your whole body seemed to be pulled into this one spot in your abdomen, not just with the tightness of the corset but now too with the arousal that was pooling there.  

“Do you think you can keep it on just a little while longer for me?” he asked again, now kneading your flesh and you tipped your head back to rest on his shoulder while you relaxed into him, Dutch humming his approval at your pliancy. You glanced up to catch his gaze, but he was staring at your chest which you’d provided an optimum view for.

At his appraisal of your figure draped over him, you took the opportunity to run your hands up the sides of his thighs beneath you, shifting slightly to brush against his cock.  

His eyes flittered to your face and must’ve noticed the mischievous look you held there. “Smart girl,” he said plainly, planting a kiss on your temple, “but not smart enough.”  

You scoffed, and he convinced you to sit upright fully again with a light pressure on your back. You made sure to grip his thighs as you got settled.  

“Let’s put those hands to better use, shall we?” he slid his hands into yours and pulled them round to sit on your lap. “Hitch up your skirt, just to the knee.”  

You did as he asked, leaning forward which caused him to groan, and you slowly (very slowly) lifted the garment up to expose your legs, white stockings now on display when you sat back up. “Like that?”  

“Yes. Good girl.” His fingertips trailed to your hem, feeling the frill that ordained it before his right hand moved to cup your knee. You could only focus on the cold metal of his rings as that hand trailed up your leg, feeling the strap of your garter as it went before resting on your inner thigh.  

You sighed quietly in pleasure; he was so close to where you wanted him.  

“You’ve been so good tonight,” he began, and you cursed him internally for being so talkative. Though, that baritone of his only turned you on even further, so you could hardly complain. “On my arm like a pretty little bird,” he purred, his palm stroking up and down your thigh, “making me look so damn good. They all stared at you, you know that? Too bad none of them get to hear your pretty song.”  

His fingertip touched your slit so lightly that you weren’t sure it’d even made contact. Nonetheless, the thought alone was enough for you to whimper.  

“Ah,” he rumbled, “that’s the one.”  

“Want to make you,” you swallowed, “feel good, too.”  

“That right?” he asked, his other hand applying the slightest pressure to your inner left knee and causing your legs to spread. You nodded, pressing your ass into him as proof. “You’re the one that deserves to feel good, my darling, after that display tonight,” he chuckled, his drunkenness showing as he replayed the memory in his head. “What can I do to make you feel good?”  

Without thinking, your hand grasped his that rested comfortably on your thigh and you attempted to shift it further up, but it stayed stubbornly in place.  

“I’d like to hear it, little songbird.”  

“I want – need you to touch me,” you breathed.  

“Need? Are your desires so poorly met that you’ve resorted to something as greedy as needing?”  

“Yes,” you practically hissed, why did he have to be such a bastard?  

“Sounds like someone’s losing their temper,” he started, but the carriage lurched again and you whined, feeling as though you might cry if you didn’t get some relief soon. “Okay, hush now,” he soothed you with a kiss on your shoulder. “Let me take care of you.”  

And take care of you he did. His hand finally slid up your leg to stroke a finger over your folds, the pressure of your undergarments providing a delightful sensation and you rocked your hips to chase it further. Dutch’s aroused hum accompanied his left hand bunching your skirt up as high as it would go and you got the hint, lifting yourself up to rid some of the barriers separating you from him.  

Now you could feel him, his cock hard and pressed against you perfectly. You rocked again, now chasing the feel of his fingers and the feel of his length and your gloved hand found its way to the back of his head, giving a gentle tug on his hair. Dutch cleared his throat, as lost in the moment as you were. “Does that feel good?”  

You nodded.  

“Would you like some more?”  

You nodded more enthusiastically; he was purposefully not giving you all the pleasure he could and you weren’t sure how long your patience would last. “Yes, please,” you added, saving him the trouble of asking for verbal confirmation.  

“I hardly think such a dirty girl deserves such a thing, but since you asked so kindly…”  

He pressed down in just the right place, circling your clit the best way he knew how and you bloomed, like a flower opening up right on his lap. He licked a stripe up your neck, the sweet nectar of sweat that you’d produced transferring onto his tongue. You weren’t sure whether to arch towards or away from it, the hazy state of your mind only understanding needandDutch.  

You could smell the whisky on his breath, a taste you adored on him that reminded you of many a drunken night that ended with your bodies tangled up together, and soon after you felt its effect as he began grinding his hips upwards. You’d soaked right through your bloomers and onto his fingers, shamelessly rutting and feeling a reward from whichever direction your hips moved.  

Dutch’s left hand fondled your breast, lips attaching to your neck as he sucked the skin hard enough to bruise. His fingers hadn’t even entered you, hell he was still touching you through your undergarments, but you were ready to release and moaned softly while holding his nape to let him know. He understood, moving his fingers horizontally across your bundle of nerves to bring you right to the brink. “That’s it,” he murmured into your skin when your body tensed, a final few strokes all you needed to gush over his hand.  

After a moment that felt like time was suspended, you sighed and relaxed back, allowing him to take the weight of your body, which he did gladly. His hand remained cupped on your cunt, his other arm coming around your waist to hold you to him as he kissed your cheek.

“Is my pretty girl tired?” he asked and you went to nod but instead shook your head, knowing the promise of his cock filling you was just on the horizon. “Still not satisfied?” he asked in disbelief, a grateful lilt on his tone.  

Your hand was still resting on his nape, and you moved it round to his jaw as you tilted your head to look up at him. You kissed the other side of his jaw, tasting the saltiness of his skin before nipping him slightly. “I want to make you feel good, too,” you repeated your earlier sentiments.  

He smirked at you, letting his eyes fall shut at your small affections. “Aren’t I just the luckiest man,” he said, and you weren’t entirely sure if he was saying it to you or himself. Either way, you began to shift off his lap. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.  

You glanced down towards his lap, indicating that you were about to go on your hands and knees to pleasure him.  

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I want to fuck that pretty pussy of yours while it’s still dripping.”  

Somehow you choked on air, clearing your throat and wetting your lips by darting your tongue out across them.  

Dutch didn’t hide his amusement, running his hands down your thighs and back again to rest on your hips. “That sound good to you?”  

You nodded, wide-eyed and more than happy to accommodate his request.  

“My pretty girl, in her pretty dress… about to have her pretty pussy ruined,” he hummed in your ear before kissing the shell, shifting slightly to allow himself access to undo his pants. He opened them just enough to release his cock, and gave it a few gentle pumps against the curve of your lower back. You glanced behind, irritated that you couldn’t see it thanks to the pretty dress.  

Dutch was amused, once again, but swiftly pulled you back onto his lap so you could coat his cock with your juices as you slid your hips back and forth.  

You didn’t have a clue where you were, but wherever it was the ground was rough, each turn of the wheel jolting the carriage as it travelled over the uneven terrain. It was almost like a vibration and you moaned, higher in pitch than usual at the unexpected sensation.  

“I ought to get that sound on a record,” he sighed, sounding almost pained. His hands reached under your skirt, holding the sides of your ass to manoeuvre you as he pleased. You could tell what his next plan was, and assisted him by angling your hips so the head of his cock brushed against your entrance. He lifted you, then slowly guided you down onto his cock until you were seated entirely on him.  

You relaxed back into him, your hand slipping from his jaw but you had to grasp something so you ran it round to rest on his nape again, feeling how much heat he was radiating from his skin. “Oh, Dutch,” you breathed dreamily at the stretch, being so filled but unable to convey just how good it felt.  

His thick cock slid out an inch in response, then back in as he slowly began to fuck into you. You weren’t sure how he was managing in such an awkward position, but you weren’t about to question it and decided to help him along by following his movements to fuck him back. It pulled a low moan from his chest and his eyes shut once more, savouring the feel of your warm walls enclosing him.  

“Darlin’,” he sighed, “you feel so tight. So goddamn perfect. I must’ve been a saint in my previous life to be given a gift so divine as you.”  

“Feelings m-mutual,” you stuttered as the carriage rocked again and forced his next thrust upwards to hit your cervix so good your eyes nearly crossed. You clenched around him, feeling every inch of his cock slide perfectly against your walls.  

One hand remained under your skirt, and the other travelled up your form until it gripped your neck, holding you in place. He applied the slightest of pressure and stopped thrusting his hips, he hardly needed to with the rock of the carriage, but you made up the distance and fucked down onto him with more need than before, using a hand on his leg to steady yourself.  

Dutch began to moan, low and guttural as his hold on your neck indicated how close he was to reaching his peak. It became difficult to breathe and you angled your head to increase the airflow somewhat, but simultaneously angled your body in a way that had his cock drag along a particularly sensitive spot inside you.  

You whined once more, gasps of Dutchandplease on repeat as the man himself had your neck in an iron grip, enough to leave a mark, your vision going hazy and a hard expression on his face as he tried to make the experience last as long as he could. His nails dug into your hip and you felt his thighs tense under you before his balls drew up and he emptied himself into you, and you let yourself go at the feel of his warmth filling you, your second orgasm crashing down.  

His body relaxed and yours did in turn, Dutch bringing his hand to your outer thigh to coax you sideways on his lap, allowing you to rest your head in the crook of his neck. Light filtered back into the world around you and you felt your breathing regulate as you watched Dutch’s chest slow as his did too.  

He was starting to soften inside you as he wrapped his arms around your torso to hold you in place, sensing the weakness overcoming your post-orgasm body and kissing the top of your head. His hand ran up and down your back, soothing you almost to the point of falling asleep.

“I think we’ve ruined this carriage,” you mumbled into the fabric of his waistcoat and he huffed a laugh.  

“We haven’t,” he brought a hand under your skirt to pull his cock out slowly before plugging your hole with his fingertips. “You’ll keep this in you, won’t you, my dear?”  

You nodded weakly, vaguely aware of your walls tensing in response to his ask; no need to waste a perfectly good carriage after all.  

Speaking of the carriage, you realised it was no longer moving. Dutch appeared to as well, brow narrowing slightly as he took in a breath prior to questioning Uncle when the man spoke first.  

“Can -” began Uncle’s call from outside, “can we go back to camp now?”  

Dutch’s mouth closed with a pleasure-hazed smirk and he cleared his throat. “Yes, that would be ideal, if you please.”

thecaptaintulip:

Contribution: Dutch van der Linde x Reader FIC

So I came across a fic that was tagged with Dutch van der Linde/Reader and the summary was: “You were warned that to be part of the Van der Linde gang, you needed to contribute in some way. You’ve been doing chores but when the weekly ledger check is due, Dutch makes it clear that you’ll have to make your contribution to him… personally.”

I thought FUCK YES. SIGN ME UP.

But turns out the lovely and wonderful Charles Smith saves the day and reader never has to fulfil her contribution to Dutch.

So I had to write the damn thing myself.

Fandom:Red Dead Redemption
Pairing:Dutch van der Linde/Reader
Rating:Explicit
Summary: Everyone has to do what they can for the wellbeing of the Van der Linde gang. And if you’re not willing to to rob or kill, you’re going to have to find another way to contribute.
Warnings:I feel like it’s obvious, but sexual coercion, dubious consent, etc. Reader is into it and agrees but the situation ain’t good.
Notes: Inspired by The Ledger by Madam de Plume


*****

“Every time you walk that glorious figure across the camp for all the hungry boys to see. We sure are grateful every time, miss.” He pauses, his lip quirking. “But then I think you knew that.”

You stayed silent. This was about him, after all. 

“The thought of fucking your—“ Dutch broke off, adjusting his hips with a slight thrust. “The thought of finally having you is quite delectable.”

You bit your lip and nodded.

“And here you are, delivered like a slice of cake at a party.” His eyes flashed with a sudden dark intensity. “Ready to be devoured.“

You swallowed. A hot shiver ran through your body. 

”Undo your blouse.”

Full fic on ao3

bagelboys-withcreamcheese:

Modern!Reader x Dutch Van Der Linde

~~

Dutch: I’m on my last straw with you!

Reader, throwing straws at his face: Suck it up, dumbass.

—

Reader: Remember when we didn’t try solving all of our problems with attempted murder?

Dutch: Stop romanticizing the past.

—

Reader: Dutch and I have this chemistry where we finish each other’s-

Dutch: Sentences.

Reader: Don’t interrupt me.

—

Reader: What the fuck is wrong with you?!

Dutch: Wow, you know, you could start with ‘good morning.’

Reader: Good morning. What the fuck is wrong with you?!

—

Reader: Okay, truth or dare?
Dutch: Truth
Reader: How many hours have you slept this week?
Dutch:
Dutch: …Dare
Reader: Go to bed.
Dutch: I don’t like this game.

—

Dutch: Don’t worry, I know exactly what I’m doing. Everything is going to be fine!
Reader: How can you still say that?
Dutch: Because sometimes, when things get tough, denial is all we have.

—

Dutch: Bad things keep happening to me, like I have bad luck or something.

Reader: You don’t have bad luck. The reason bad things happen to you is because you’re a dumbass.

—

Reader: English is a difficult language. It can be understood through tough thorough thought, though.
Dutch: You need to stop.

—

Dutch: You love me, right, Y/N?
Reader: Normally, I’d say yes without hesitation, but I feel like this is going somewhere and I don’t like it.

—

Reader: Ok, maybe playing ‘whose family is most dysfunctional’ wasn’t the best idea I’ve had.

Hosea: You think? Dutch has been crying in that tent for an hour!

Arthur: I can’t get him out…

—

Reader: What is your biggest weakness?
Dutch: I can be uncooperative.
Reader: Okay, can you give me an example?
Dutch: No.

—

Reader: Today is a day of running through hurdles.
Dutch: Aren’t you supposed to jump overhurdles?
Reader: Whatever. Fear is only something to be afraid of if you let it scare you.

This is stupid and I’m sorry

Ooo („ಡωಡ„)