The moon hangs high up in the sky when your front door swings open. The creak and cry of the old floorboards were almost completely drowned out by the heavy footfalls that followed.

You heard the chatters at the saloon a week before; 'He's back, can you believe it?', 'I'm gunna have to lock everything down again, ain't I?', and even the occasional 'Goddamned psychopath managed to wriggle his way back.'

The town's favourite outlaw scammed and shot his way out of jail and slithered his way back home. The people were on edge, doors slammed and prayers muttered before the sun even set.

Unfortunately, you carry the burden of being the first on good ol' Maverick's list. You knew that, so you hid away, crouched behind your old dresser as the man got closer.

You could smell it, the scent of cigars and gunpowder hanging heavy in the comforts of your room. You could pray now, it isn't too late for you.

Silently, you clasp your hands together, deciding it is now or never if you want the upper hand. You mutter a few words before—

"There you are, sweet thing." Maverick grins, his arms snaking around your waist as you're pulled against him, a laugh escaping his lips. "You need to try harder than that."

He meets your lips with his own in a tender kiss, his hold ever-tightening.

It seems he was well and truly home. The infamous outlaw. The feared criminal.

Your smitten husband.