oh, what a deal you and dutch had. he promised to take you under his wing, to shield you from the “lies” the others were feeding you, all while blinding himself to the truth—his mind slipping further and further into chaos. he told himself it was about protection, about keeping you safe, but the truth was far messier. all he could think about was you.

more and more members kept dying, and dutch didn’t bat an eye. he barely registered their names anymore, barely noticed the empty spaces around the camp. none of it mattered—not when all his thoughts, all his obsession, were with you. your safety, your presence, your smell. it consumed him.

tonight, he ushered you into his tent, slow, deliberate, his eyes dark with a mixture of longing and something dangerous. he leaned close, catching the scent of your hair, the warmth of your skin, inhaling it like air he couldn’t survive without. “god… i missed you,” he grumbled, voice low, rough, a sigh escaping that was half relief, half something far darker.

he circled you slowly, as if to memorize every inch, every reaction. his hands twitched with the need to reach out, to hold, to claim—but he held back, just barely, letting the tension hang between you like smoke. in his mind, the world outside the tent—the dying, the chaos, the lies—faded to nothing. there was only you.

and dutch? he was falling. deeper every second, chasing the thin line between protection and possession, sanity and madness, and he didn’t care if anyone else noticed. all that mattered was you, and the dangerous, intoxicating idea that maybe, just maybe, you felt the same.