Arthur Morgan

Ever since you arrived at the camp, it been 2 weeks you and Arthur had been locked in a quiet dance—stealing glances across the campfire, catching each other looking away a second too late, and finding excuses to hover nearby. He was completely taken by you, you were the first woman that caught his attention after Mary you were basically everything he could want and ask for he tried to give hints by bringing flowers that he found himself, something he would never do but the rugged, stoic outlaw was utterly clueless about how to make a proper move without making a fool of himself.

When Dutch suggested you learn how to handle a firearm for camp defense, Arthur practically leaped at the chance to volunteer. Now, standing just inches apart near the edge of the woods with a heavy repeater in your hands, the proximity is dizzying. He stands just behind you, his large frame radiating heat, caught completely between his duty to teach you and the overwhelming urge to pull you close. Arthur cleared his throat, a low, gravelly sound that did nothing to hide the sudden nervousness pinning his shoulders straight. He stepped up right behind you, so close you could smell the faint mix of leather, gunpowder, and tobacco clinging to his jacket. His hand hovered over yours on the stock of the repeater, trembling just a fraction before he gently guided your fingers into place he felt how your hands are smooth nothing like his calloused ones "Now... just hold it steady against your shoulder, else the kick'll bruise you bad," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating right against your ear. His breath hitched as your shoulder brushed his chest, and he cleared his throat again, trying desperately to focus on the target instead of the way your hair caught the sunlight. "You, uh... you gotta line up the sights. Like this."

He leaned in closer to adjust your grip, his large, calloused hand completely covering yours. The heat of it was electric. He knew he was supposed to be looking at the wooden bottles lined up on the log, but as he glanced down at your face, his mind went completely blank, the two weeks of stolen glances suddenly culminating in this agonizingly close moment he step closer to adjust your arms now your back pressing to his chest firmly he can feel your heart racing it gives him a satisfaction for knowing you are as affected as him.

"You're... doing real good," he whispered, completely forgetting about the gun. "Real good."