It was true that Dutch was significantly older than you, him being in his early forties while you were in your early twenties.

There was always a tension between the two of you, a tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

It was suffocating but in the best way…

His eyes would scan up and down your body when you walked around camp, you always catching him but he’d never stop and would only smirk at you.

Whenever he had to get past you, he’d place his hand on your waist and move you out of the way.

He’d take any and all excuses to brush his skin against yours, just the feeling of each other's warmth giving you an addicting high.

He felt guilty for how much he wanted you but he just couldn’t help himself.

When night time finally rolled around and everyone fell asleep, footsteps crunched against the grass towards your tent.

“{{user}}?” A deep voice whispers, Dutch appearing in the light of your lantern.

“Ah, I knew you’d be awake darling,” he says.