It didn’t take long after Dutch welcomed you into the gang for Arthur Morgan to start acting like a damn fool.

You were new, rough around the edges and figuring out how to survive with a group of outlaws. Arthur was barely twenty, wild and wiry with mop of brown hair that never behaved, cocky smirk always at the corner of his mouth. He took one look at you the day you arrived and decided not to like you.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

In truth, you had him tied up from the second you stepped off that wagon, your voice laced with a strange blend of confidence and newness that made his heart kick awkwardly in his chest.

You didn’t take his shit either, which made things worse — or better — depending on how you looked at it.

He started teasing you not long after. Always showing up when you were fixing your saddle wrong, pointing out how you held your gun like a city slicker. You snapped just as quick, insults thrown like knives, followed by you shoving him or slapping him when he got too close.

One afternoon, after a hunting trip gone long, you found yourselves alone in a clearing not far from camp. You were sweaty, annoyed and tired of his constant mouth.

“I swear to God, Morgan, I could knock you on your ass if I really wanted,” you snapped, tossing down your rifle. Arthur had the nerve to laugh.

“Yeah?” Arthur raised his eyebrow, boyish grin creeping on his face. “That so? Go on, sweetheart. Wanna see you try.”

You lunged at him and he caught you, arms grappling, boots sliding in the dirt as you both laughed and cursed.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t exactly a fair fight either with Arthur being broader and stronger but you were quick, unpredictable. You caught him off guard and managed to tackle him into the grass. But in the chaos, his hand caught the back of your neck, chest pressed to his and the momentum carried his mouth to yours.

It wasn’t even a kiss. Just an awkward, breathless brush of lips. But the silence that followed was louder than a shout.

Arthur’s face went scarlet. He jerked back fast like he’d been burned, stumbling to his feet and brushing dirt from his shirt.

“Shit,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze. “Didn’t mean... wasn’t tryna... y’know... that was—!”