#WAUMOST

[baby-jaguar]

Part 1: Meeting John Price

Western AU; Mail Order Spouse Trope

WC: 3,131 CW: None

AN: My beloved! John Price! Would love to hear your thoughts and comments, as well as any questions. I hope ye enjoy <3

Please see the following for the explanation and precursors to the scene!

Introduction, Biography

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Truthfully, you’re glad you didn't have many friends in town, as it meant no one to share unnecessary secrets with, nor did it spread any word of what you were up to in your free time. 

However, that isn’t to say that you trusted at least some people in the small town you lived in, such as your boss.

A scapegoat for you to write your correspondence letters was that you simply had to stay late on the farm, working extra long hours because of something that was messed up, or because you knew your parents wouldn’t argue with the fact that you were getting more money.

Feeling that you were a decent enough candidate for John to consider since you are working as a farm hand already, you decided to write your first correspondence the next day. Once sent, you received a letter back from him four days later and by god, did he sound like such a gentleman. 

You were able to soon confide in him on how you wanted to leave town, start fresh, but stick with what you know since you did work on the well-known “Loyal Laswell Farm,” and help out around their farmhouse with common jobs such as sewing, cooking, and even making a dirty barn looked organized- a man’s dream spouse.

With only two weeks passing and less than a handful of letters to be traded, you already had money and an open invitation to John’s ranch. Through your correspondence, John stated that he had already known of Kate Laswell, her having been a long ago buyer from him and even she had sought out advice on taking care of her lambs long ago. 

John connected the dots and realized that you were the trusty youngling that she hired early on; He already trusted your morale if Laswell had kept you after all this time. (And if Laswell did gloat about you once in a while, that was a secret between her and John.) After finding out about the mutual connection, you confided in her. 

Kate, already knowing of your family’s vices, was pleasantly surprised by your major turn of life events and how quickly your fate had been granted to you in the form of Price. She made sure your head was screwed on straight enough that if it didn’t work out, you could mail her and she would help you figure it out from there…

Kate’s wife chimed in and said you and Price would be a great fit.

The two women gave their aid to you in the form of gifting you your favorite horse to ride off on during your long journey. You only brought a handful of items from your parent's house, slowly, and used the remaining amounts of wardrobe you kept at the farm to pack up. With two bags packed and some food, feed, a gun being courtesy of Laswell’s wife, and a celebratory pack of cigars for John (Kate’s wedding gift), you were on your way. 

It only took you a week by horseback, luckily traveling near the Oregon Trail that had already had sorted paths cleared and lived-in, you only needed to stop when you and your horse did. You were able to send John updated letters, but were not able to receive them due to constantly being on the move. This left you daydreaming about him.

John wrote that he is originally from Deadwood, South Dakota. He comes from a long line of lawmen and followed in their footsteps in his early adult life. However, as John became sheriff and notorious for his hardened but fair demeanor, he began to see the justice system slip through the cracks right in front of him. Murderers would walk away and many left unjustly prosecuted in other cases. It angered and dwelled on him so much that he retired early on. John soon found his solace in the quiet mountain town of Pitkin, Colorado. John describes himself as a proud man who is protective and respectful, an old soul who loves his whiskey - and is looking for his strawberry wine. He is a weathered man who can fix any problems of yours, all at the cost of a shoulder to lean on and someone to spend the rest of his days with.

Coming into Pitkin, it brings forth a small town nestled within luscious green mountains and a strip of shops down the main road that highlights most of the town's activity. Riding through, you were an obvious sight to be had; a new face set out on a horse with minimal bags packed on the back. You didn’t seem like a traveler, no, you seemed like someone who was on a mission to find something- someone. 

Smiling and giving small nods towards those who stare, your cheeks have a faint blush from the attention as you ride down the strip and toward the end of the town. Soon, the signs have a label of a bull, a common connotation of a ranch, causing you to garner up a bit more hope and hold your head high as you click your horse into a canter. 

The sound of your horse's hooves thundering on the ground cannot beat the thrum of your heart; riding over the hill, you’re greeted with a breathtaking view of the Alpine mountains that dip into a valley with an absurd amount of leveled planes that make you believe the land was spread flat by an inviting entity. Your eyes come into focus on small black dots that move before you make out to be the shape of cattle grazing across the green and flowing grass.

There sits a house atop the hill that is before the dip of the valley, where a fence surrounds a large barn that is directly adjacent to the house. You bring your horse to a slow walk as you take in the view of the wooden house; it's a cabin-styled home but large in the additions that have been formed around the sides, making it one of the bigger houses in town. The barn rivals its size by double, and the open stalls along the side let you glimpse into the hay-filled homes of horses that linger near the fences. You have to do a double take when you see movement in the barn that is all too human-like, then pulling the reigns of your horse once a few feet away from the entrance to stop and watch. 

A man stands, low grunts leaving him as he stretches his back before grabbing a hay bayle and beginning to break it up. He wears a worn-out pair of jeans and a cowboy hat as his low whistling breaks the silence between the surrounding horses neighing at your new appearance. In an instant, you know immediately this is John.

To your surprise, your horse greets the others in a sharp jeer of noise, causing him to turn around in surprise his eyes dart up at you.

For a second, you’re humored at the look he gives, not expecting something so sweet as you to ride into his ranch and most likely expecting someone within the town to come to bother him. 

But in an instant, he knows exactly who you are. 

After his shock wears off, he sets down the hay and reaches up to take his cowboy hat off and place it on his chest as he walks toward you. Letting out a low whistle, his eyes roam over you with an enamored stare. “God was just showin’ off when he made you, sweetheart.” Comes the low timbre of his voice, sending a small fire of desire shimmying through your vertebrae. 

A soft smile graces your face in return, halting your horse for the time being as he comes up to you. “Good morning sir, would I be right to assume that you are John Price, the owner of this ranch?” You ask after a moment of your eyes trailing over him, taking in his face and ice-blue eyes while he approaches to help you down from your horse.

“That I am, Sweetheart. And I suppose you’re the one that I’ve been lookin’ so forward to meetin’, that right?” He asks in return, a small smirk taking his lips while he helps you lower down from the saddle. You smile at the extended hand, taking it as you swing your opposite leg out of the stirrup while feeling the touch of his other hand coming to caress your hip in a gentle fashion.

"I hope you've been as comfortable as one can be on a week-long ride," John comments softly, keeping his hand on you once you're firmly planted on the ground as his eyes scan you from head to toe. "How you feelin’?" He asks sweetly, now finding your eyes with genuine affection in his tone.

In response to his lingering touch on your hip, and feeling it travel to your waist with a brief squeeze before he lets it fall, you give him a small squeeze of the hand you're holding to. “Not too shabby; was able to get a room a few of the nights along the way. I’m thankful for the good weather I had while getting here.” You respond as you shift your saddle-sore hips for a moment and reorient your limbs to standing. 

"You're not so shabby yourself, sweet thing'." He compliments softly as he releases you, then grabs your horse’s bridle and releases the bit before attaching his own lead to it, and a small feeling of surprise crosses your mind at how easily he handles new horses. Then, gesturing for you to follow him. "Come on. Let me show you around." John leads with comfortable confidence, letting your horse sniff him while leading him to an open stall with some water and feed. 

“Thank you for letting me bring my stallion here, Laswell gifted him to me when I was sayin’ goodbye. Said you may remember him from when he was a foal?” You prompt with a tilt of curiosity at the edge of your words while you join them in the stall to unload your bags and take the saddle off.

Looking back towards him, his eyes are looking over the horse for any identifiers, hints that would make him remember. “Not quite sure I remember this one, sweetheart. He got a name?” John asks in response once finished doing a sweepdown of his mane and a quick swipe of his hair coat.

“Laswell said he’s always been named Captain.” You answer curtly, now looking to see his reaction, if any.

It takes a moment for you to narrow in on the way the left side of his mustache twitches slightly before he breaks out into an all-out smile. “Well, I’ll be damned…” John trails out as he moves back towards Captain's head.

His blue eyes shine in the light of the barn windows, meeting yours for a moment while a boyish charm takes over his face. “This slick bastard got you all the way over to me?” John speaks with a gruffness that intertwines with amusement; the way his hands move to rub over the horse's forehead and nose showcases a glimpse of a gentle side reserved for his animals.

As you scrunch your eyebrows up in confusion, John catches your expression and gives a hearty chuckle in response. “I helped birth this one the day that Kate came up here to buy some lambs. Her wife was cryin’, thinking that him and his momma were gonna die.” He answers before moving to give Captain a pat on his chest, a huff of his breath coming out in response. 

“He had both him’s front legs back during contractions. Had to help the mare by pushing his fat head on in to get him to readjust. Kate and her wife saw the whole thing.” He finishes with a hum and a distant look in his eyes only for a second, now coming back to your side and picking up a bag of yours.

“This all you got? Woulda expected a bit more from a woman movin' out west, especially to the cold mountains.” He states with a cocked eyebrow, eyeing as you bend down to hoist the remaining bag over your shoulder. You both give Captain a farewell tap before exiting the stall and heading towards Johns's house.

You wait on replying for a moment as you take a longer look at the structure, noting the wooden panels that exude a warm and weathered patina, a testament to the house's endurance against the harsh elements of the wild. The front features a symmetrical facade, with a steeply pitched gable roof that displays a combination of wooden shingles and iron accents. Windows are evenly placed on the front-facing sides of the house, and shutters open to allow glimpses into the inside.

“Didn’t have a lot to bring if I’m being honest. Just packed up what I liked and wanted, then left.” You answer with a confident nod, leaving it at that. “I did plan on finding some new or old fabrics to start making winter coats for myself.” You add on quickly, thinking over how quickly the chill must set in within the mountain valley.

You follow John onto the front porch of the house, “Ah, you do some of that fancy work or just plain work?” He inquires while gesturing for you to step inside the entrance. You’re greeted by a spacious entryway, designed to be practical and modest. The floors, made of polished wide planks, creak softly under the added weight of yourself next to John, a new soul to provide protection to in the house.

To the front of the entryway, is his living room, its centerpiece being a grand stone fireplace, providing warmth and comfort during the chilly evenings. Leather upholstered furniture invites warmth to the house, and you can see a good amount of hides used as a rug and even a throw blanket over the couch, while ornate coffee cans and some intricately shaped vases linger around the surfaces. 

The sound of your mouth opening and closing resonates in the silence of you two standing there before John shuts the door softly behind you and ultimately snaps you out of your daze. “Um, just some plain work. Never had the time or materials to work on some fancy clothes, would rather make things I know I’m gonna use.” You answer while moving to face adjacent to where he stands in front of the door.

His eyes track your own as your attention comes back to rest on him, a small smirk tugging on the edge of his mouth. With a quick laugh, he moves to place his left hand along your back, his cold fingers sliding to the place between your shoulders. “Welcome home, Sweetheart.” He smiles while speaking softly, leaning over to place a light kiss atop your head. 

When he moves back from your space, which you want to ultimately follow as you feel his warmth radiate next to you and already adore the way his voice dips impossibly lower when speaking so gently, his hand slides down to the small of your back and gives a small tap to lead you forward. “Come on, let's get you settled in.” He beckons you while walking to a door that is adjacent to the entrance.

Walking in, John’s bedroom exudes a haven, signifying his rest and relaxation at the end of the day. The warm, earthy tones of the wood and furniture create an internal warmth, in contrast to the view of the surrounding mountains of green and glimpse over the cattle that wander the land, the windows laden with lace curtains.

The bed was the average size for the master bedroom; The double bed sat its headboard against the wall to the right of the entrance, facing the windows. A large red quilt adorns the bed while the bed itself is a robust wooden frame with upright pieces of carved and sanded wood posted taller at each corner of the bed.

In the corner is another stone fireplace, where an armchair sits to serve as a place for John to unwind, read a book, or reflect on the day. A well-worn wooden dresser stands against one wall, its surface adorned with a few cherished mementos - a faded photograph of him on a horse, a weathered pocket watch that has seen countless sunsets, and a small collection of polished rocks, each one possibly a reminder of a special moment.

"It's not much." He pauses before speaking again, his tone becoming more personal. "And I'd love to have you share my bed when you're comfortable. However, if you need time to adjust, I can set myself up in the living room. I don't wish to pressure you if you're not comfortable yet."

The sweet and respectful offer doesn’t fly over you, and a small smile rises over your lips. “Thank you, John. That’s awfully considerate of everything you’re doing for me. I don’t want to burden you with sleeping on your own couch, I wouldn't mind.” You answer while slowly walking to the dresser, placing your bag down by the foot of it.

“It may take a few days to adjust and get to know you, but-” you take a second to turn around and look at his form with a small shy smile, “I don’t think I’ll keep you waiting long.” You finish as a soft blush rises to the apples of your cheeks. Your hands come to interlace together in the front of your lap as his heavy footsteps make their way towards you with a bright smile that borders a smirk.

He stops in front of you, holding eye contact as he places your other bag down. “Ain’t no way in hell I’d be letting you sleep on the couch, sweetheart. But, I do look forward to hearing your answer. When you’re ready for it.” He speaks in a gruff voice, eyebrows raised to make sure you're taking his answer to heart and understanding, his warm hands moving to enclose both of yours within his grasp.

Bringing your hands up to his lips, you watch with rapt attention at his mouth puckering and in turn, making his facial hair move in the action, then leaving a warm and gentle kiss on the back of each hand.

His eyes don’t stray from yours while doing so, his blue eyes bring an inviting wave of ice- the kind you actively seek when you’re feeling too hot or need to wake up. “Now, how about I show you the rest of the ranch, babydoll?” He asks with a soft grin, pulling you just a fraction closer by the grip of your hands.

[baby-jaguar]

Meeting Kyle

Western AU; Mail Order Spouse Trope

WC: 3,120 CW: None

AN: GAZZA BAYBEE! This is my first time writing for Gaz and I know it's not much, but I hope to portray him as something we can all enjoy. Would love to hear your thoughts and comments, as well as any questions, my asks are open. I hope ye enjoy <3

Please see the Introduction for the explanation and precursors to the scene.

Introduction, Biography

--------

The quiet of the night emanates with the crickets chirping, small scuffles of feet around the block, and a handful of buildings creaking in the late-night wind. You can barely see the outline of words using the dim street lights to help you read over the candidates.

No… No… Yes. 

Your eyes, and faint tug of your heart, settle on Kyle’s advert. In a hopeless romantic fashion, you could feel the daydreams begin. 

Folding the paper and stuffing it in your shirt, then glancing around before heading off to your home, you walk with a rushed sense of urgency. Everything good, bad, and ugly, flys into your mind. This could be a trap, what if he isn’t who he says he is, what if hundreds of others have already written to him? 

Well, it's better than this. It's a quick scan of the hazardous and dirty mess that rages inside your house walls. Passing quickly to your bathroom, you take out the paper again before looking in the mirror. 

Can you see yourself in the low lights of a saloon? Helping old bastards get drunk after a day of hard work, smiling sweetly, or raising a fist when needed? Can you hold appearance to being a town favorite so he would get good business? 

Your mind steals your active attention while bathing, letting the lukewarm water wash the day’s dirt away from you. No criminal record? Check, and with no debt. No early mornings but now late nights? That's a life you could get used to. Attractive? Well shit, if the politician sought you out, then yes. You’re quite the diamond in the rough.

As if you were in a spell, you blink and break the dissociation you entered to realize yes, you could see that for yourself. You can. Could. Would.

Now in your bedroom after the bath, you quietly maneuver the floorboards to cut any chance of waking up your parents or any sudden appearance that would erase this mission of yours.

Now being able to read, Kyle was one of the younger candidates in the newspaper and even from his short paragraph and singular photo, he seemed like a man who was down to earth. Maybe someone who knows how to have fun, but has enough structure and discipline for himself to become so successful at such a young age. In your writing, you tried your best to express your goals, how you could help his own, and how you could blossom together in his new beginning.

The next few days were filled with constant anxiety and metaphorically looking over your shoulder. Acting like a nervous dog as your parents began to crowd you with an overbearing sense of control. A child with a leash on, constantly trying to pull away.

The 5th day after sending your correspondence leaves you will a dejected heart. Now on the farm working, you heard the bell attached to the mailer wagon approach the gate. Common for you to take the mail for the Laswells, you head to take the mail but give a confused glance as the mailman hands you a letter while reading out your name. “This one here ‘s for ya.” Is all he supplies before heading back down the road to continue his route.

A neat and small scrawl is seen across the front and is enough to make your heart race. 

Kyle expressed himself very well; his boyish charm and a hint of his flirty attitude already coming across. Describing himself as friendly, outgoing, and respectful. He confided in how he feels most alone when the customers leave, when he gets into bed in the cold chill of the night, alone. 

Even in his writing, his charming and playful lines were able to make you smile, having to bite your lip to keep your bubbling excitement inside. The words he uses, and the sweet-toothed candor in his writing show a difference from your upbringing; daddy and mommy issues on your end, if you will, while the feeling of his young soul shines through with assuredness. You and Kyle wrote of both wanting someone to make life feel easy. Kyle wants to find his muse; the inspiration to his business and light up his world on the cloudiest of days.

In the dark of the late evening after leaving work late, you head to the post office to collect an expected letter. A common habit now so you could dream of him and any fantasies your mind could create. Now just entering the 6th week of exchanging letters, you stand shocked as you re-read the page.

“... I hope to see you soon, enclosed is the means to make it my way. Cheers to you honey, I’ll be waiting for you…” 

In your hands lays your one-way ticket to get out of your contained life. In his letter and now in your hands are directions, a map, and a one-way train ticket for you to leave home. 

The thrum of your blood is loud in your ears, louder than your footsteps running across the ground. Making your way back home, you begin packing what you’ll need for the barren desert climate. 

Fully awake and adrenaline pumping, you slink into your house with practiced ease and silence to determine what you’ve walked into tonight. From the hallway, you can see your parents strewn across their bed with measured breathing; It's safe to move around and get yourself together.

It's an hour later when you make your way to leave, yet when passing through the living room for one last look, you decide to get a small keepsake to celebrate your new beginning while simultaneously giving a big fuck you to your parents. 

Plucking a set of fine glassware of your father's, the ones that he valued more than keepsakes from your parent's wedding, the soft clink of the glass buried in your bag brings a sweet grin to your lips. 

You’d scold yourself later for not taking a bottle of whatever liquor was there but wouldn’t want to test your luck by getting drunk when it was your first time on a train. 

The trip was only four days long, not leaving you with much time to prepare to meet Kyle. Instead, you begged your mind to create a true representation of him, re-reading his letters often as you imagined him. The times that you were able to sleep with the soft lull of the train were filled with possibilities of what your life in a budding environment, alongside a man who had built his life up from scratch and stayed so charming through it all. 

On the train into Northern Arizona, the red rock was enchanting, to say the least. Arriving late into the morning on Saturday, you take a mildly comfortable pace after stepping off the train station to make your way to the center of town with wide eyes as the glimmer of the early morning sky creates a calm blue haze.

It takes a bit of time before you walk far enough to come across the sign painted atop a brick building in the the upper edge of Main Street. You could laugh about how lost you knew you looked, but before stopping to ask someone, the creme-colored letters Free Falling Saloon appear before you.

Taking a moment to commend yourself for making it this far, a steady breath draws in and out of your lungs. With a small flutter in your stomach, you push open the saloon doors and are greeted with the sight of the bar; stained oak and birch woods, various colored glass bottles lining the back wall, dried animal skulls hung up, cowboy hats, sombreros, and a large mirror that has a ledge full of lit candles. 

The loud sound of a crate being put on the bar makes you startle, hand jumping up to your chest before your eyes find the source of the noise.

“Sorry, pardner, we ain't open till-” The smooth voice rings out with a dreary tone- making him seem tired of probably having to repeat this line over and over again. After a moment, his warm deep eyes move up to find yours but his jolt of surprise doesn't escape you.

His eyes, body, and soul, seemingly freeze as he sets his eyes on you and stares. Granted, you're staring right back while the pull of a growing smile begins to pull at the edge of your lips.

His facial hair isn’t much, but it's enough to shape his face and make him seem like he’s a bit older than the photo he sent. His hair somewhat short and in tight curls on his head, making him have a unique style he could probably attest to developing from home. 

Your stomach does flips at how stunning he is, but when he smiles- All gods be damned. He’s the finest man you’ve seen and you wonder if you’re going to chase off harlots from stealing him every night.

“Hi, Kyle.” Is all that leaves you, and it's monumentally soft in how it leaves your lips, making you swear you could see him melt a bit.

The movement of his mouth catches your eyes but the lack of sound coming out draws a soft peal of laughter from you. Taking a step forward, he matches you while bumping into a few glass bottles along the way. 

Your bags make soft thuds against the floor, both sets of footsteps soft with trepidation yet building excitement. Each set of eyes scans the other, with sincere and almost unapologetic disbelief as you come face to face.

He whispers your name out in amazement, raising his hands to cup your face. “You’re real… You’re really real.” He breathes, voice soft. His inviting eyes drink in your appearance while his smile grows, and then feel yourself pulled into a tight hug in his strong arms.

A soft noise of surprise leaves you, arms trapped within his hold making you laugh in response. Settling to wrap your arms around his waist, you squeeze right back. He smells like citrus and hints of cinnamon amongst it. 

When thinking of the Arizona Territory, you thought it would be the rumored dry barren desert that holds tales of ghost stories; Unbearable heat that beats down and leaves many delusional for an oasis. But him. Kyle. He’s the damned warmest thing you've wrapped your arms around.

But hey, you’ll probably become delusional for this man too.

“You’re real.” You copy back with a muffled voice. Basking against his muscled chest, which you will return to later, you peak up. “Thought this was some dream like I was going crazy coming here.” The addition is a soft and unconfident reply, possibly gaslighting yourself into still believing so.

The rumble of his soft laugh brings a sweet vibration to your chest, "I know, Honey. You're safe now, you're home." He assures while moving his head back slightly so his face is now a few inches from yours, smiling softly. “I wrote you way too much to let you get stuck in some sort of dream world without me. Hardest parts’ over.” 

Affirming his response, a grin plants itself on your lips as you hum lowly. “Hardest parts over.” You parrot back with relaxed accomplishment. 

The arms around you give a tight squeeze, and the warmth of his lips presses against your forehead. “You’re gonna make me crazy. Can already tell.” He murmurs, the easy smile held against your skin, and you already want to curse yourself for letting him make it seem so easy. Why not let him?

Before you can respond, he takes a step back to look at you, his brown eyes sparkling in the flickering light of the room."You wanna see our place?" He asks curiously, stepping forward to take your hand and guide you to a door behind the bar, a tucked-away staircase hiding beside a wall of crates. "You're not gonna wanna leave once you see where you'll be stayin'. Let's set your bags down first, though." He laughs, confidently leading you while intertwining your hands.

You’re greeted with an apartment-style home; An eclectic mix of furnishings, all the way down to the pictures and artwork on the walls. It's a mix of Western and Southern charm, with just a hint of New Orleans to signify where he’s from.

A couch sits against one wall near a bay window, the curtains drawn back to let in the sunlight. A kitchenette rests in the corner of the room, and you see a separate room that appears to be a bedroom. There is a large bay window at the end of the room, facing the view of the Jerome hills. Kyle motions for you to follow him to the bedroom.

“It ain't much, just a cozy place for two,” he says softly, moving close to you again as he steals your bags and gently rests them atop a dresser.

In truth, he’s right. It’s not much, but it's a beginning for both of you that he has just a bit of a head start on. Yet, it's so much more than you’ve hoped, dreamed, prayed, screamed, and cried for. Just a little piece of heaven to have and to hold.

“It’s us. That's all that matters.” You say, now walking slowly towards him to scan over the view that the bedroom window offers.

You can feel him staring, see him doing it too from the corner of your eye. “What?” The question tumbles from your mouth, turning to him with an eyebrow raised.

He smiles for a moment, chuckling before shaking his head. Slow steps, 1… 2… 3… bring him close enough to pull your hips and bring you towards him. “You’re right,” He whispers, pausing to smile and look at your lips. “Just us.” He answers in a hoarse murmur, leaning in closer and you can feel his breath across your lips.

“Is this where I say thank you for letting me be here?” You ask, eyes falling to his lips in response. There's a sweetness to this moment, that makes your head feel so light and clear while you can barely feel your heartbeat. It's something you’ve never felt before- because you haven't. Not this, not anyone like him. His hands reach forward to find their place on your jaw, the warmth of his palm grounding. 

A huff of air leaves him, making your eyes flutter. “No, this is where I thank, you, Honeybee.” 

His kiss is gentle and sweet, the gentle drag of his thumb across your hip bones adds to the warmth that floods your chest while his light stubble rubs against your face. Your arms travel up to wrap around his neck, adding to the invitation to make him stay, keeping him so close.

A groan leaves him, his hands squeezing the flesh on your hips before moving to wrap around your back. “You’re gonna be trouble, baby. Here you already makin' me wanna do nothin’ n’ lay in bed.” He grumbles lowly, nestling into your neck with a warm laugh.

You can feel the chemistry building, the close contact, and hold on each other making the scene grow more intimate. He draws a breath in, stealing another kiss from your lips before moving back and directing you to the dresser. “Here's where to put your things, le’s get you unpacked and comfortable. How's that sound?” 

Nodding in response, you work on organizing your belongings while he makes room in a few drawers and half of the closet to accommodate you. “Woulda thought you’d have more than this sweetheart. Not keen on carrying much?” He asks, tone curious but a bit playful with the lazy grin on his face.

A small scoff leaves you, not in disdain of him. “Nah, wanted to get to you quick. But didn’t have much that was worth bringin.” You shrug in reply. “Honestly didn’t know what kinda weather was out here, thought I would be melting already.” 

Kyle leans against the wall where the window is, watching you cross back and forth between the dresser and closet while deciding where to hang or fold your clothes. “I could get behind that.” He hums for a moment before looking into the distance. “I’ll have to tell you how I traveled all ‘e way out here. Had a few trunks to my name and got a whole wagon to get me out here.” He laughs, a sigh of a breath releasing from him as he recounts whatever memory plays in his head.

“What, you didn’t wanna make it in halfa one?” You respond quickly, almost like it's your second nature to be a little shit, now having the freedom to have some fun and relaxation of your personality.

He thinks, stares, and tilts his head. “You think you’s funny, yeah?” He asks, arms crossing over his chest with a Cheshire grin growing over his lips. 

At this point, you think that maybe you should be giving this man more respect, maybe you should already be kissing his feet and thanking him for allowing you here. Eyes widening, your hands fly up in surrender. “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t- I don’t mean any-” 

He cuts you off with a shake of his head, bringing his hands out to catch yours when he steps to you. “Hey, hey. No, you’re okay. I know you were havin’ fun.” He comforts soothingly as his eyes scan yours. 

Your eyebrows de-furrow, your mouth closing, but there's still a bit of alarmed widness in your eyes as you make sure he isn’t mad. “Thought I overstepped. ‘M sorry.” You whisper as your eyes dart over his face for any hint of emotion.

Something in Kyle shifts, a small and almost remorseful smile rests on his face. Are you that obvious? No, per se, since your situation is pretty damn unique.

“Hey.” He starts, “I want you to be comfortable here. You’re not gonna overstep. And if there ever was a situation where you did, I’ll let you know.” His hands bring yours up to his lips, laying soft kisses on your knuckles. “But please, please, tell me if I’m outta line with you. I know we ain't got much space but if you’d like me to sleep on the couch for a bit while we get to know each other, I will, Honeybee.”  

In all honesty, you could cry. You didn’t believe in men like this being real, not after the shit you’ve seen. Could this be your lottery ticket after the amount of pain life has put you through?

Fuck, maybe. As long as you get to keep him, you’re in.

[baby-jaguar]

Part 1: Meeting Simon Riley

Western AU; Mail Order Spouse Trope!

WC: 3,224 CW: None

AN: Sorry this took so long! I wanted to have a good amount of writing as I cycle through everyone's beginnings, plus, 3k seems like a good starting point to get us settled in. Would love to hear your thoughts and comments. I hope ye enjoy <3

Please see the following for the explanation and precursors to the scene!

Introduction, Biography

————

Going home a bit late in the night and dodging your now passed-out parents, you quietly and quickly got set to writing your correspondence letter to him. After deliberation of not wanting to scare him away, you leave out the main reason why you had even looked at the ad in the first place. You described yourself, and your work ethic, trying to resonate with the little amount of words placed in his ad. You included your hopes, wants, and wishes for the future, before sealing the letter up and placing it in the mail the next morning.

When you received a letter back from him, it felt ethereal that he had taken the time to scrawl out a response in the interest of yourself.

The letters were sparse but you poured your heart out to Simon and sent a picture of yourself. During the weeks of waiting and reading the correspondence, you set an image of the man in your head. Granted, Simon declined to send you a picture of himself and stated that the image of him in the ad was sufficient and promised his word that he speaks in truth about himself… Even though he wore a bandana that covered half of his face- nor did he give any reason as to why.

Through the letters, he described himself as a respectful man, one who is more stoic and reserved to the locals, but feels that he has plenty of love to give. He wants to provide for and protect you, with a desire to start a family, of some sort at least, soon. It was a rough to attempt to hide the letters, write them, and send them out with full secrecy. But after a wait of a full month, cutting it far too close to when the politician would be arriving back, Simon finally invited you to the new frontier as he proposed to you in correspondence.

From the moment you read his words of invitation, you packed two small bags of your most favorite, and fondest items. Acting as if nothing was wrong during this time under your parent's eyes, you head to bed, feigning innocence while figuring out just how to get out.

Simon, ever the gentleman, had given you $25 for the long train ride and sleeping car that you would need to make it to him. With the money and the amount you had slowly held back from giving to your parents from your job, you were determined to leave and start a new life. 

In the dead of the eve before the politician's carriage would be arriving at his manor, you left through your bedroom window, managing to even steal a bottle of your father's finest whiskey as a present for Simon.

The journey took a week by train, lucky enough that you lived on the outskirts of a city that had a transcontinental train station- a hub for many people who were excited and looking to head West, wherever the train tracks ended. Your stops were along Topeka and Santa Fe before you had to find a different line that diverged from Albuquerque towards El Paso, before heading into the Arizona Territory.

When departing the train, you hopped into a stagecoach and using the last of Simons's money, ready for the final and short journey to find his estate. Watching the land and people pass by through the small window, you take in the surroundings of your new life that is finally within a breath's reach. Towards the end of the town, you spot a house that is on the expanse of desert plains; a secluded but well-sized house made of wood and stone masonry sits atop a hill, the Arizona sunset shining down as a gold beacon of heaven.

Once there and stepping out of the stagecoach with your belongings, you find yourself in front of the property when your eyes are drawn to him. 

On the porch stands a tall and rugged man with a sturdy frame of muscles, evident in his build. The clothes he adorns are tight fitting and dirty, conclusive that he had just been working within his forge; dirtied denim jeans, an off-white long-sleeve shirt, clean where a smock would hang on his front. 

A black bandana covers the bottom of his face while a black cowboy hat adorns his head, leaving the sliver of skin from the ridge of his nose to his mid-forehead to be shown.

As the stagecoach pulls away back into town, eyes are locked between you two for a long moment before he finally pushes off the pillar of his porch. A low and appreciative whistle escapes from underneath his bandana, accompanying the thuds of his footsteps walking down his porch stairs to you. 

“Well, I’ll be damned... Please tell me you're who I think you are…” He simpers out, eyes trailing over your form. The sound of his voice strikes a flame to your heart, a match sufficiently lit as you hear the low and resonating tone- it’s enough to send a tremor through your lungs. 

Swallowing, and a nod of your head, “If you’re Simon then yes, I’m who you’d be expecting.” You smile shyly as you watch him take a few strides to stand in front of you. 

As he draws closer, his deep brown iris' make themselves apparent, a crinkle around the edge of his eyes makes you believe he’s smirking. "You got it right, darlin'. I'm Simon, but most folks around here call me Ghost. Pleased to finally meet you, sweetheart." His voice is deep and resonant, carrying a hint of gravel, as he extends his calloused hand towards you in greeting.

His touch is firm, your smaller and slightly softer hands a comparison of the lives you’ve lived. As you take his hand and give it a firm shake, Simon's grip tightens for a moment, his gaze locked with yours.

There's a spark of recognition in his eyes as if he appreciates your strength. 

"Reckon I lucked out with you, that picture you sent didn’t do a damn justice." He chuckles softly, eyes lingering on your form before meeting your gaze once more. "Come on, let's get you settled in. There's plenty to see 'round here." He gestures towards the house, hand outstretched for you to take after grabbing one of your bags.

“Thank you, and I could say the same ‘bout you, sir. Was nervous when you didn’t send me any photos but now I can put my worries away.” You smile, intrigued and slightly apprehensive as you now place your hand in his, granting him the reigns to hold the fate of your new life.

While he leads you up the stairs of your new home, you take a curious glance up to his figure before trailing up to his eyes that are uncovered.

He hums at your comment, "I reckon I wanted to leave a little mystery for ya, darlin'." He gives you a playful wink before leading you up the porch steps and into the house.

“Would you prefer I call you Ghost, sir?” You ask after a moment of thought, moving to follow him into the house as he opens the door while your eyes flick back to take in his profile. He gives a light chuckle as he closes the door behind you, the interior of the home having a bit of style and small added luxuries in its design. 

Once inside, you're greeted by a cozy and rustic interior; The living room is adorned with wood furnishings and a stone fireplace that crackles with warmth. The dining room is off to the left side, and straight in front of the door is a hallway that leads to doors at the end. He walked towards the living room, the scent of freshly cut wood fills the air, mingling with the lingering aroma of metal from the forge out back that carries through the house.

He leads you out of the entryway and into the main living area of the house. The rustic charm of the place is evident, with wooden beams on the ceiling and a large stone fireplace dominating one wall. The room is warm and cozy, with a worn leather sofa and a few mismatched chairs arranged around a rough-hewn coffee table.

Simon turns to face you, his eyes softening as he considers your question. "You can call me Ghost if you like. It's what most folks 'round here call me. It’s grown to be natural, y’know?" He pauses, a considerate expression crossing his face. "But if you prefer Simon, that's fine too. Whatever makes you comfortable, darlin'." 

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of your hair back. "You've traveled a long way to be here. I appreciate that, and I want you to feel at home. This here is your home now too."

Upturning your chin as he moves his fingers to lightly trace your face, your eyes close for a long moment before opening back up to him.

“Thank you for inviting me out here- taking the chance on me. I do owe you my life.” You add, feeling a bit bold in the way you elude to something but brush it off as a docile sense of gratitude while his hand falls to his side.

“I’m excited to be in our home, please let me know if I’m ever a bother for you, sir.” You include, shifting the conversation back to the present and a prospective thought.

You don’t notice the way his eyes stop to stare into your own for a moment, as he flags the previous sentence to come back to later.

"You ain't ever gonna be a bother to me, honey. Quite the opposite, actually." A hint of desire mixed with light amusement, his gaze flickering to your lips before returning to your eyes. "I've been alone for too long, and I'm eager to have you by my side. To share this home, this life, and everything else that comes with it."

He takes a step back, gaze still locked with yours. "Now, how about I show you to your room, first? There's more to see, and want you settled in.” The movement of his arm to gesture to the house accompanies his deep rumble, and as your eyes gaze toward the bedroom hallway, you can't help but feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

With a nod of your head, feeling almost absent-minded while your thoughts race with scenarios, you move to pick up your bags. “Lead the way, please.” You answer with a warm smile, trying to convey your warm innocence in the moment.

From the crinkle around his eyes, Simon's lips curl into a small, satisfied smile as he watches you gather your bags. "Alright then, follow me." He says before moving to swoop a handle of your bag out from yours, then placing your free hand into his. 

Turning to look back, his eyes wander over you again, before stopping in front of a door to the right side of the hallway; Opening the door, he ushers you in with a hand to the small of your back. 

Stepping in, you face a window that overlooks the grassy planes of the desert. To the right of the room, a small cot is pushed against the wall, a wooden nightstand on its left side. To the left of the room, was a closet and desk. The room was a little decorated, giving off an inviting feel, and you can sense that in a rugged and manly way, he tried his best for you.

"Here we are... Your room." He drawls out from the doorway before settling his right shoulder against it. His eyes, which you don't see as you survey the room, take in your body language and facial expressions, looking for any sign of displeasure.

To his surprise, you're ecstatic.

The reality of even the minimal amount of effort and having a room that was not falling apart, or dirty, and had a bed off of the ground via a wrought iron bed frame was an extreme luxury compared to your previous home.

Walking over to the window with a smile and bright eyes that reflect in the orange sunset, your jaw drops at how peaceful and comforting it is to be in something that is now considered yours.

“This is… this is much more than I could have ever asked for, Simon.” You say while taking a step to turn around, dropping your bag down by the closet before turning back towards him. “Thank you, this is incredibly sweet of you to do this.” The pull of your cheeks is evidence enough that you must look like a fool at how hard you smile, but the look in Simon’s eyes in response is worth it.

His face- eyes, light up as he sees the reaction, a warm feeling coming over him as your excitement melts his heart, and he lets a light huff escape. "’s no problem... But, I did have a question to ask you first before anything else..." He spoke softly, arms crossed in front of him as he waited for your acknowledgment, his deep brown eyes holding a depth to them.

Clearing his throat, he looks as if deciding between something. A moment later, he pushes off the door frame and walks towards you, still leaving some distance.

 "Now, I will always respect your independence and autonomy, but as a man and your husband, I expect some things of you, and I'll make it known..." He let out a sigh before continuing.

“Since we're living together and going to be newlyweds, there are a few expectations I have for us, and I want to ask you how you feel about those expectations." He asked quietly, his tone remaining calm, and you begin to figure that in his way, this is Simon acting soft in nature.

You nod once, giving him the signal to continue while remaining quiet, hands laced together in front of your lap as you watch him with rapt attention.

"I am not forcing you to agree to them. But I do expect that you will spend time with me, that you will not lie to me, and that you will be monogamous to me. I want our communication to be open and straightforward, none of that tip-toeing around each other." He paused, his tone serious for a moment as he wanted it to get across. He smiled after his words as he turned. "Any questions?"

Oh.

That’s it? 

You expected something a tad more… unjust and harsh from a man who comes off as intimidating as Simon, the man known as Ghost amongst the town. But, there was one question you had in response to what he expected of you; monogamy.

“Just one, If you don’t mind me askin’” Your voice comes out smooth and sweet, more soft and timid than you’d like to present yourself in a situation worth garnering the level of respect entrusted to each other. “Will you remain monogamous to me, or do you spend time with others?”

With a huff and shake of his head, he pushes the fabric of his bandana away by a small amount of air from his mouth.

"No... I will only be monogamous to you. You're the one I decided to marry, and I intend to make this marriage work." He spoke firmly. "And I do not spend time with others... I can promise you that you're the only one I need.” 

There is a pause in his answer as he takes a step closer, head now looking down at you while his hand glides up to land underneath your jaw, taking you by slight surprise as he holds it with his large and rough fingers.

“Does that address your concerns?" He ends the question with a deep and more serious tone- his voice makes your mind bring up what his mouth looks like while saying it.

The sound that escapes you is classically embarrassing, showing how much you are not the experienced one in this scenario. You swallow before answering. “It does… and I agree to these expectations.” You reply before taking a deeper inhale- the scent of fire, ash, and an unfamiliar smell of what could be his musk mixed with metal, one that vaguely reminds you of blood.

“May I ask something, sir? It may be rude to ask if right now but since we are setting boundaries I’d like to know.” The moment of closeness is something you hope will shield you from any backlash from asking what you’re curious about.

"You may, there is nothing you could say that would be taken offensively." He spoke softly, looking at you as his eyes traveled over your face; he looks over the ridges, pores, and even seeing a few small scars here and there along your soft skin. 

Your eyes are drawn to his face similarly: the pores that seem dirty from the day of work he had, scars that are random in placement but more than a small amount litter his forehead, and the top of his cheekbones that flow underneath the bandana. “May I ask why you wear the mask, or at least, will you be wearing it around me if I am to be your spouse soon?”

Your eyes find the telling features that his jaw is ticked, and a rush of anxiety flushes through as your stomach drops in fear that this was not supposed to be asked.

He drops the hold of your jaw, looking down with a nod of his head as if he was expecting the question. Taking his own deep breath and looking back up, his tone is surprisingly gentle, not allowing any shame to come out of him.

"I am afraid my appearance is a bit.. unsettling... I will remove it in our bedroom while we sleep and make love, but... I am not one to show it off as I do find people make too many assumptions." He spoke truthfully.

You can’t control the movement of your eyebrows furrowing up in confusion. Unsettling…? Is that his own belief or was he told that? You want to diffuse the situation before you make it more uncomfortable, yet your mouth works faster than your mind.

“You can deny me the answer, but, may I ask what happened?” You surprise yourself while talking with a level voice, social context be damned.

He stays silent as he thinks on whether or not to answer, his face shifting slightly to show some emotions. You curse yourself the longer the silence ticks by.

"I had a... scar left by an incident a while back... And it's one thing I like to keep private until I am able to completely trust someone." He spoke, a shrug of his shoulders makes his clothes rustle as he dismisses his answer and wanting to leave it behind.

Clearing his throat, he tips his head towards you and the cowboy hat obscures the visibility of his eyes for a moment. “Well then, I’ll let you get settled in darlin’. Call for me when you’re finished.” He states resoundingly, and with that, he turns to exit from your room and back down the hallway. 

[baby-jaguar]

Before I post the first portion of Ghost' Western MOS Trope, I wanted to consult anyone following and willing to provide input.

Have you seen other writers when making AUs with multiple Y/Ns will add a nickname and/or qualities and traits for the specific reader?

I eat that shit up.

I need summa those... possibly.

Would this be feasible and help define Y/Ns since we literally have 6 different scenarios and stories we are going through?

Looking for thoughts and opinions, all are welcome. Pls drop in my ask box

(75% done with Ghost' beginning!)

[baby-jaguar]

My fingers are nimble, my fingers are NOT quick

yo,

So so so sorry I only exist half the time. I am working on Gaz's western chapter and already have soaps scripted in a rough draft.

Got a kidney infection and beginning to find a balance between work, my other hobby, and writing. Going to do my best to get every first post done within the next three weeks before I start to pack up for moving.