#Doc Holliday x reader

[ohtobemare]

When Hell Comes, part 1 • Doc Holliday x Reader

Series warnings: attempted rape, time travel AU, swears, smut

Word count: 6k+

Part 2

Do I know what this is? Not entirely. This idea has been racing through my head like a thoroughbred, so I decided to tackle it. Stupid long, I'm planning a Part 2 because Doc didn't creep in here nearly as much as I wanted him to, so, next time 'round, for sure. moodboard by the lovely @your-local-crzy-lady

When Hell Comes, Part 1

Arizona wilderness courses by in a blur of gold and blue, the line where the horizon meets the sky nothing but a wash of shimmering heat and speed. Hell has come to this desert it’s so hot, the devil himself a stone’s throw of a few yards behind you.

Dry, sinful heat licks at your face. Stings your eyes as the animal beneath you shoots through the sand like time itself is running out, the horizon beyond the only salvation. The bones in your chest rattle every time hooves thunder against the ground, and you hit the saddle hard every heartbeat or so, th-thunk th-thunk, th-thunk. 

Feels like you’ve been flying forever, outrunning the shadow of Tombstone that lurks behind you like a vision of death and despair. It’s maybe only been a few handful of minutes, but time is an illusion. Survival has spiked your blood with adrenaline, though the chill across your skin rattles your teeth, a wash of goosebumps the only evidence that you are, in fact, more alive than you feel.

Reins in your hand are slick. Either with the sweat of your palms, or the well-oiled love of attention, you’re not sure which. And your legs burn as if they’ve been simmering in venom. Muscles could, at any given moment, detach from your legs and hit the dust beneath Viper’s ground-moving hooves. 

The first shot explodes from a pistol, filling daylight between you and the Cowboys. Zips past you to what you assume is your left, but you wouldn’t know regardless. It rips a shriek of panic from the back of your throat that could cut glass—they are shooting at you.

Moments before, in the sands beyond this wilderness they’d been coming onto you—and now they were drawing iron. Unbelievable.

Terror spikes up into the back of your neck like a tomcat, claws bared against your flesh. 

You duck forward in the saddle, hoping it’s enough to make a smaller target. It’s difficult, being low over the horn that’s cutting up into your ribs every time Viper’s hooves find the earth. Your core is on fire with the effort to stay balanced. Stay in the saddle. White-knuckling the reins like they are a lifeline, you can feel Viper’s tense mouth—it ripples through the animal like water. 

What you wouldn’t give for a cell phone right now, any sign of life in this wilderness. But reality digs between your ribs like a starving wolf—you remember where you are. How’d you arrived here, two weeks ago, like something from Dickens or Verne or a Disney epic.

It still didn’t make sense, but nothing had since being thrown back in time nearly hundred and fifty years. Tended to throw a wrench in things, even though wrenches hadn’t been invented yet. 

Unappreciative of the added pressure in your hands, Viper snorts roughly; you feel it in the depths of his chest. Out of habit your hands relax, instead mix with the flow of his thick, sweat-slick mane for stability, the leathers now rubbing searing blisters in the webbing of your thumbs. Every ounce of upper body strength funnels into gripping the stallion’s thick locks, your shoulders burn with the hot buzz of muscular effort.

You haven’t ever ridden this hard, Viper has never carried you this hard. 

Viper isn’t conditioned for this. Arizona heat coupled with your body mass is not promising for the horse. He isn’t a horse of 1881 western America—he is a horse of the modern world. Grains and air conditioned trailers, not trail broke and tack-fed is the life Viper knows.

His breed shouldn’t be anywhere near the desert, something Wyatt had so aptly noticed when you’d stumbled into town after two days of barely surviving the shrub and desolace of the Arizona wilds. 

Another cruel joke in the twisted deck fate has dealt you. 

Getting home is the goal, getting out of Arizona is the reality. But there’s nothing to bet on, no bluffs to call. No moves to make. This is a game of another kind, entirely.

Nobody in the history of the known universe has seen what you’ve seen, felt the jolt of time passing through your blood. You, and Viper, are the only known bodies in the universe that have even been wretched through the wormhole. And you hope you’ll be last—you wouldn’t wish this on any one. 

Another shot pops off behind you, this time hitting the dirt to your right. Closer, too close and Viper knows it—he locks up, skidding to a stop through the thick, searing sands of the wilderness to throw back in a hard rear. You hear the party behind you, hooves of their animals barraging the earth like a volley of gunfire, their hoops and hollers ringing hollow off your ribs. 

“Th’r she is, boys—get up there and get ‘er off that sonuvabitch!” You don’t have to see him to know who it is.

Curly will haunt your dreams for the rest of your living days, if there are any after today. Ringo alongside him. Together their cold fingers spin through your fear, like bloodthirsty dogs lapping at whatever show of terror you’ll throw their way. Wolves that lay at the door, haunting Arizona lines.

And it isn’t just you—everyone respects the presence of the Cowboys. Well, rather everyone fears them. They’re unpredictable, like snakes. Jumping any which way they please, nearly without warning. 

They’d killed Frank, the sweet sheriff who’d opened his home to you. Word had it that one of them had offed Fabian, too. The beautiful actor who’d blown in with the winds of change that sweet soul Josephine Marcus had ushered in. They’d enraptured the entire living populace of Tombstone in their short time—they’d listened to you. In ways that only people of interest and compassion would. 

The red sash has been a thorn in your side since arriving in Tombstone—more interested in Viper, having never seen anything like him before. Less interested in you, until.

Well, that was it. Until.

Until he had made a show of you in front of the entire casino. An object, a trinket of fanciful display—Holliday’s sweet little nothing that made his eyes blaze and your face light up like the fourth of damn July. 

They’d seen. Ringo had seen, Curly had seen—the entire damn Cowboy posse had seen. And, like all men of this century, they lusted over what wasn’t theirs. One weak moment beneath Doc Holliday’s enchantment and you’d shown your entire hand, cards down and heart ripped wide open for anyone and everyone to study. Then it tasted sweet, like wine. Ended up a sour poison. 

Poison currently rotting a hole through your gut. 

Front legs cutting through the air as he launches back, Viper releases a shrill, blood-chilling cry that shakes his entire frame. You feel it into the fiber of every muscle as you white knuckle the horn, legs locked around his barrel in an effort to keep yourself up. Eyes pinched closed, every one of their horse’s hooves hitting the earth race up your spine, rattle off at the base of your neck as they get closer. 

Sour bile jumps up the back of your throat as Viper starts beneath you, ripped with nervous energy and on the hair trigger of flight. God he’s never been this skittish. Unpredictable. He rears again, and when his front legs find the earth, you kick at his sides. Attempt to launch him forward again. 

“C’mon, Vipe–we gotta move!” His head pulls down sharply. Down, back—stubborn thing, he won’t move. His protest is stronger than your will, he’s got nearly two thousand pounds on you, and he plants his hooves. Stumbles back into shrubbery that makes him huff. “No, no no we can’t do this right now—Viper!” The words are bitter, panicked on your tongue. Nearly cracking. 

He’s beyond argument. And for good reason—attempting to circle him, he paws at the ground. One check down his side and he’s complete foam, like someone has lathered fine suds over his chocolate coat. Feathered hair about his shine, nearly gleaming like he’s crossed the swift waters of the Colorado. Sweat ravines down his sides, carved muscle of his physique, like rivers. Fat drops rain to the earth around him, he’s hot. Lathered. 

There’s nowhere to go, no way you can get him to move. He is trembling with exhaustion as he gnaws at the bit rolling about his mouth, and you really can’t tell where the animal’s fear ends and yours begins as you watch the dry cloud of dust roll in with the approaching horses.

Eyes burning with the granules of dust, your hand slides down and back, to your saddlebags—but there are none.

Virgil had warned you, but you’d been stupid. So, so so dumb. 

Crescenting around you in a half moon, their animals fall into order, stepping forward to press a tight circle around Viper as your attention whips between them all, trying to keep track of the sun-leathered faces, dark eyes all bearing down like hawks.

Curly is the first to break the line, spurring his animal into a crisp trot up to you. Angling, his leg brushes yours as he comes up beside your animal, smirk twisting his sweat-slick, dripping mustache. 

“Well look what we have here,” he chuckles, head bobbing with the loose effort of effervescent arrogance he’s displayed since the moment you’d been so graced with his presence, “seems that stud finally caught up with you, darlin’—figg’rd you couldn’t keep a handle on ‘im, cock an’ all. Mighty big horse for a pretty thing like yourself.”

His hands fall over one other on the horn of his saddle as he sits deep and low, brows lifted knowingly. “Will give it to ya, though—made it a ways out here. I’m more impressed than I thought to be, pretty.” 

“Surprised you managed a thought at all, Curly,” you bite back, pulling back a little roughly on Viper’s mouth. Your glower is firmly planted at the man’s smirk, as if it will viscerally rip it right off his face, “Seems it didn’t last long though. What was your fine plan there, cowboy? Thought you wanted my horse—he isn’t much good shot dead in the middle of the damn desert.” 

Low calls and cackles around the circle snap Curly’s attention back to Johnny Ringo, who’s tongue skips through the seam of his mouth to skate his bottom lip. His gaze diverts down to the dust, tempest of dark eyes lost beneath the brim of his hat.

Curly quells the murmurings of the group with a hellish glare. 

Without warning whatsoever, his rough hand reaches across the space between his animal and yours, for the reins. You snap back and away, Viper sidestepping. Unbalanced for a brief moment, Bill catches himself in the saddle, his hard glare hitting you between the eyes with the force of a locomotive.

Not rattled for long, he gathers up his own animal at rein, comes about sharply, and before you know it the back of his hand cracks across your cheek. 

The smack of skin on skin is sharp. Echoes through the blood in your ears, white hot pain zinging through your face as your hand comes to cover the sure mark he’s left across skin. It stings triumphantly, your distraction enough for him to rip Viper’s reins from your hand. 

Youwatch the animal attempt to look back at you, then Curly—he’s confused by the transfer of power.

Curly’s strength and bitterness in his mouth is unfamiliar. Different. 

Pulling sharply, he brings Viper under collection. Only after a few heartbeats can you hear the group of them chuckling at you, ribbing and elbowing each other knowingly.

With a sharp pull, Viper is spurred into a brisk walk as he guides up beside Ringo, you little more than a bobbing trinket in the saddle, hands on thighs and probably looking as whipped, and raw, as you feel.

“Let’s get movin’,” Curly barks to the group, face pointed southwest, not even bothering to register his group of followers, “We’ll camp southwest’a here—move on tomorrow.” 

“Aint’ we gonna make tracks?” That’s Ike, though you can’t see him. His grating whine is enough to shatter the rest of your confidence as you all but feel his gaze slide down your form. “Earp and his boys’ll come lookin’ for her, Curly Bill, and I reckon—” 

“You reckon shit all, Ike,” Bill snaps over his shoulder, “If Holliday wants his pretty thing back, well the sonuvabitch can come get her.” Shifting in his saddle, dark eyes glint over you. Smirk twisted in a coy, wolfish way, “Or he can try. His sorry lunger ass couldn’t make it halfway out of town before needin’ a got’damn siesta.”

The mention of Holliday makes your chest fly with living color for all of lightspeed before the sensation crashes to your knees, Curly’s brows wagging lasciviously.   

Chin lifting as you rub at the mark on your face, your gaze is sharp enough to cut the pistol at his side.

“Doc is more of a man than any of you idiots put together,” you hiss at him, eyes narrowing against the sun threatening to blind you over his shoulder, “And you will rue the day you cross pistols with Holliday, Wyatt, or any of them boys. History remembers them as great men—you, well. Any of you morons—not so damn much.” 

Ringo snorts beside you, shaking his head as he adjusts whatever is rolling around his craw with the tip of his tongue, “That’s right,” he draws the consonant in that dark way of his, brow crooking up knowingly, “little miss time travel’rs got it all figured out, boys. Hear that? Nobody remembers us in the future.” He cuts his horse between Curly’s and Viper, and without any warning whatsoever, his thick hand lashes out to grab you fully by the jaw.

“Ain’t that right, desert flower? Nobody remembers us, huh. Well—books and shit may not ‘member me all that well, but let me just tell you, bitch—by the time I’m finished with ya, you won’t know a word other than John Ringo.”

His slow smile claws at your soul, cold as it rips the air out of your chest with all the force of dark, testing eyes behind it, “Sweetest name I reckon I ever heard, comin’ out the mouth of a sorceress whore like you.”

Fuming, you seethe at him and rip his hand off your jaw, pulling back sharply. Cackling catcalls and low whistles bristle down your spine as the group spurs their animals into a trot, the air shaken with the movement of horse flesh and muscle. Gaze shadowed by the brim of his hat, your jaw is nearly breaking as you set it firm, unwilling to draw his attention. 

You bob to a stop suddenly as he pulls up. His horse fidgets, his arm brushes against yours harder than you appreciate, the contact like an inferno on your skin.

Flinching, you consider your bare arm—it’s already pink, sure to be flaming tomorrow with a sunburn. In your fluster you hadn’t even bothered with any of the clothes Wyatt had passed to you—you’d just gone. Little more than a t-shirt and jeans, boots to carry you through the desert. How far you’d get without protection hadn’t even been a thought in the empty canoe of your brain.

Getting out of Dodge had been the only thought, Viper the answer to actually make it happen. 

Touching your fingers to it, the white of pressure vanishes immediately and your eyes flutter closed at the sharp zip of pain that flares across your skin. Biting the inside of your cheek, your hand rubs over the sensation. And Ringo does notice, his eyes moving to your bare arm, canting to consider your choice of modern clothing—clothing he’s likely to have never seen.

None of them have—you’d all but dropped jaws when you’d staggered into town, Viper at reign, two weeks ago. Nobody could make heads or tales. Twenty-twenties fashion is a far cry from the elaborate gowns of yesteryear. 

You notice his eyes fall to the cut of your hip, which is more than filled out in your favorite jeans. They do make you look sinful, that was the point of buying them. At least, in your world.

Now they were little more than an unwanted neon sign that called to attention the fact of your sex, your desirability. There’s one woman for every dozen men in the West, you remember hearing. And that’s never been more apparent than in the hollow, cold look of John Ringo’s face.

Shifting in the saddle, you can’t miss the rub of his fingers over his cock. 

Before you know what’s happening, Ringo is bent over in his saddle, rummaging through a saddle bag. Seconds, maybe, and he’s flung a threadbare ball of something at you—it brushes your arm, falls into the cradle of your legs. Not daring to touch it, your gaze drops to it.

“Unless you wanna die’a heatstroke,” he gestures up to the sun with a nod, “no good to anybody if you're suncooked.” Snapping Viper back into compliance, his gaze pulls ahead.

Your abs are on fire the entirety of the ride southeast, low back burning as your legs buzz with hot ache from trying to keep yourself in seat.

The afternoon has been no less than torture—between the heat, the merciless ride, and the unforgiving gazes of the posse all but eye-fucking you in the saddle, you’re more than raw by the time Curly calls for dismount out in the middle of hell-all nowhere.

As if you haven’t been riding for hours, nearly starving and on a brutal pace, Curly and Ringo dismount to the ground on strong, unphased legs. Immediately setting to drop tack.

Hands numb from white-knuckling the Circle Y’s horn, you carefully release your grip. Fingers burning as you flex life back into them, Ringo drops the rein of his animal before gathering Viper’s into a short lead. The Clydesdale still hasn’t settled, foam all but cooked onto his flesh as Ringo’s hand smooths down his neck, whispering softly up into the animal’s ear. 

With a snap of the reins, Viper’s head jerks up at alert, Ringo’s hot eyes cutting up to you all too quickly.

“Off,” he barks, jerking his head in a poignant way that indicates compliance. For a bleeding second you hesitate, uncertain if you can dismount without crumbling into the dirt on the gelatinous, goo-ish noodles your legs have become. But he doesn't give you a choice—”I said off!” His voice rips through the hollow of your gut as he grabs at your shirt, sharply tugging you out of the saddle. 

You have no time to collect or swing off before he’s ripped you out of seat—your frame sinks off all 17 hands of Viper’s form, through the air, for all of a few seconds. Ground comes up hard, fast.

Head cracking against the dry earth, the air knocks out of you with a sharp whistle as your left side takes all of the weight of gravity—cheek roughly kissing the dirt, sand all but leaps up into your scalp as you slack into the ground. Ringo is amused, shaking his head at you as he clucks coquettishly. 

Moaning, pain rings up through your arm and collarbone, slices from  your hip to your ankle like a hypodermic needle through bone. Viper startles, huffing out a strong breath as he considers you, his trusted friend, in the dirt. Lifting your head to consider him, Ringo works at the latigo of your tack. Has Viper unsaddled and your thousand-plus dollar gear hitting the dirt in record time. 

Before you manage to push yourself up on an elbow, thick fingers wrap through your hair and pull sharply, igniting your entire head with fresh, shooting ache that makes you shriek. White hot pain cocktails with the fear in the pit of your gut, which threatens to send up through your throat. 

Clawing up at the hands tangled in your hair, spittle flies from your chapped lips as you attempt to writhe away from the effort hauling your ass through the said, “Let go of me, you disgusting cocksucker—let go of me!” Like a pig he is snorting at every attempt your body makes to snap out of his holds. 

“Cocksucker? Ha! Hear that, boys? That’s’a new one—oooheee, ain’t that just sound like somethin’?” He goads you, creeping fingers cutting into the curve of your sides, attempting to brush beneath your ribcage greedily, “Head’s up—Billy! Get yer ass over her and grab her legs, fore she kicks the will out of the devil!” 

Nails gouging at the hand buried in your hair, you realize it’s Ike that’s issuing orders, his comrade’s head snapping up to consider his proposition from his own animal. He drops you roughly into the dirt, your head kicking back into the crags of desert soil as Ike stares down at you, hands slung over his belt. 

He licks at the spit across his chapped lips, heavy eyes dragging over you like frostbite slowly eating away at your flesh. Even fully clothed, he looks at you like you’re naked as the day you were born. Cold fingers of realization claw at the back of your head, attempt  to throttle you as you can’t draw enough air into your chest beneath his gaze. Rung tight with adrenaline, fear chases through your blood, bringing new life and strength to exhausted muscle that’s flaming through every inch of you. 

He drops into a crouch, nails scratching through the unshaven, slick stubble across his jaw. Crooked, infectious teeth appear through a thin, steely smile that’s meant to take you apart. It does, in all the wrong ways, and you work yourself up to crawl backwards, away from him. Any and all daylight between you and Ike will never be enough, and his eyes flick to your tits, which rise and fall with the effort of shallow, shaking breaths. 

Every one of his movements are sharp and defined, like living color as Billy comes up beside him, hands lazily slung over his own belt as he stares down at you from beneath the brim of his own hat. Both of their intentions may as well be written as bright as Vegas neon across their faces, though Billy does a better job of containing himself. You swallow a thin breath when Ike palms over his cock, the quiet squeak that pops from the back of your mouth amusing them both to the point of chuckling. 

Standing slowly, Ike swipes that hat off his head, passing it to Billy easily, brows lifted in the air as he considers you down in the dirt. “Think it’s some kind of bad luck to fuck a sorc’ress, Clanton?” His eyes drag over to the other man, who’s head cants to the side as he considers you on the ground. 

He thinks about it for a minute, your eyes moving between the two of them. The rustle of leather and the clink of a buckle snap your gaze back to Ike, who’s already got his gunbelt, and chaps, well past still on. He wets his lips as you hustle back a few inches, fingers biting into the ground. 

“You even think of touching me, and so help me God—” 

“Shut yer fucking mouth!” Ike scrambles over you, stoops low, his stained fingers savagely taking you by the chin and squeezing hotly around the bone of your jaw, “You say one damn word other’n what I tell ya and I’ll cut that damn tongue right out yer damn mouth and shove it up your ass, fuckin’ whore.” 

He releases you roughly before swinging from over you, ripping the hem of his shirt up and out from where it’s been tucked into his pants. Cutting Billy a look, the other man’s face is riddled with amused surprise, before he shrugs. Ike swings his belt off, moving to drop it beside his hat. 

“Reckon it works the same way, sorc’ress or not,” Billy saunters up beside Ike, rubbing at his jaw before he squats and reaches for your booted foot, “And you ain’t one to worry over bad luck, Ike. Never met an unluckier sonofabitch than you.” His gaze breaks back over his shoulder to Ike, who’s glaring daggers at this cohort with enough weight that it may as well drag the sun from the sky. 

You see your chance—distracted, you kick your foot up and slam the toe of your boot beneath Billy’s chin, the man howling and dropping back to his ass under its force as you writhe beyond reach, twisting in the dirt to haul yourself out of the sand. Rock and shrub and sharp sands grinds beneath your nails to the point of blood, but you can’t feel a thing except the buzzing electricity of adrenaline kicking like a mule through your veins. 

Square-toed boots grinding through dust as you bolt for Viper, you barely make it to speed before someone attacks you from behind. Tackled nearly to the dirt, the arm that snags around your waist is like iron, clamping tight around your hips as the other swings home around your neck.

Tight, you can feel the constricting cut of muscle against your throat as the chuckle comes low over your ear, smelling like tobacco and whisky. You’re fairly sure your heart will launch out of your chest and to the ground beneath you at any second as you claw at the arm around your neck. 

“Goin’ somewhere, desert flower?” It’s Ringo. His other hand dances over the low of your stomach, fingers dipping beneath the band of your jeans as you attempt to arch forward, away from his chest pressed hot and flush against your back. 

“Anywhere that isn’t with you, you sonofa—” his hand clamps down around your mouth, and you attempt to kick your head back to break free of it. No such luck—his grip is like bronze, hard and warm, and his hand burns with the scent of gunpowder, sweat, and animal as it bites into your flesh. 

His chuckle rattles around his ribs and you feel it more than you want to against your spine before his arm drops away from your throat. His arm at your hips loosens only enough for his fingers to find your belt hoops and bring you about sharply, any and all daylight that’s separated the two of you gone as he crowds you up against the side of his horse, his face merely inches from yours. 

“I’ll give credit to Holliday,” he speaks in low, cold tones that feel like hot coals down the length of your spine as every fiber of your being attempts to reel back, against his horse, away from him, “good taste in women,” his tongue skates his bottom lip as his dark eyes flick down to consider your mouth, “tell me—you whore for that lunger? He tasted you with that poison mouth of his?” Face twisting with seething, dark anger, his hand shoots up from nowhere to grip your face again, his knuckles ghosting with the effort as his nails bite into the flesh of your face.

“Tell me, you cocksucker—you let Holliday part those pretty legs of yours? Fuck that tight little cunt of yours?”

That’s enough.

Wrenching out of his grip, you reel back far enough to land a sharp blow to his jaw—it isn’t enough to send Ringo reeling, but it's enough to turn his head. And within heartbeats the mark on his cheek matches the one that’s started to ache from Curly on your skin, and you offer him a sneer that curls your lips just enough to give you a flare of superior confidence.

Ringo isn’t rattled. Actually, he looks impressed as his hand smooths over the kiss of red lighting up the line of his jaw. 

From nowhere, light eyes and fevered sweat cut through your mind like a dagger, for a moment separating reality with fantasy.

It’s impossible for your body to disengage Holliday’s hands at either of your hips, anchored like they’ve always belonged there. The way his heat rushes through you like wind. Enchanted is only a mild way to put it—you’d been enamored with him since he’d pulled you out of your saddle the first day Viper had wandered into Tombstone. You all but delirious, half dead.

You'd thought he was an angel.

“My, my—fortune does spring eternal. Wherevah did you come from, dahlin’? Pretty thing, blowing in on a shallow wind and tangerine skies an' all,” his chuckle had melted over you, feet finding ground, “Must be nothin’ short of heaven bound—and you’ll be closer still, if we don’t get you looked ovah.”

Lusty eyes and his arrogant smile had swiftly changed your opinion of him—he was the devil, you nothing short of temptation. In the best way, of course. 

You can still feel his chest brushed up against yours, the th-thunk of his heart perfect between your ribs—the way he looks at you, crowded anywhere anyone else isn’t. Those inferno lips, sucking deep marks into your skin. Lewd, sinful. Unforgiving. With any and all strength God put into his soul he had kissed you and God, was it wildly magnificent, far more perfect than it had rights to be. 

Your eyes blow wide thinking about him, knowing he isn't here. Can’t be here, won’t be here. He could be, perhaps would move heaven and earth—-if you weren’t foolish. So quick to run the hell away. 

Holliday still on your tongue cracks a bolt of lightning down the length of your spine. 

“Who I let ride this tight little cunt is my business,” you seethe at him, a hot smirk pulling at the corner of your mouth as his eyes track yours, discerningly, “there, Ringo—look at that. We match.” Proud at the mark on his face, your tongue skates over the bottom of your teeth.

Movement over his shoulder tracks your attention, and your eyes move to watch Curly’s feet weave a careful path to the two of you. Looking amused and smug, he rubs the cut of his hip. Deliberately. 

His tongue clicks off his cheek, matter-of-factly. “Alright, Ringo boy, that’s enough,” a hand on John’s shoulder snaps him back a half step, opening up the air between the two of you. Only enough for Curly to angle in. “Had quite enough of your filthy little mouth, young lady. I suggest you play nice,” his index finger and thumb hooks your chin, tipping it up and back a little, “or I’ll feed what’s left you of you to my hogs, if anythin’.” 

And before you know what happens, he clips you at the shoulder and shoves you forward, away from Ringo’s horse. You’re forced to the ground in a sitting position, Curly snapping sharp orders for you to be left alone until he gives word.

Ringo dishes out orders for camp, the men muster to duties as you attempt to will the throb of a headache out from behind your eyes. 

You sit there, cross-legged and observed, trying to calm the heart kicking at your ribs. Watch as Viper is hobbled expertly into compliance, nose wriggling against whatever shrubs the desert has to offer as he investigates the night’s accommodations. Foam has all but melted off of him to the desert floor. He’s shining with sweat but has stopped heaving for air, at least. 

Blinking the sweat from your eyes, Ringo drops the blanket by your side. Hesitation stops your breathe for a minute. Eyes scraping up his form, he smirks at you, shrugging a shoulder. 

Dragging the back of your hand over your mouth, your fingers twist into the material. Draw it around your shoulders, bonelessly and complacent. It’s thin, tawdy, reeks to high heaven and back again. But it’s protection from the taskmaster sun hanging in the sky nonetheless. 

Fortressed within the folds of the material, you can’t really say how much time slips through your fingers as red sash’s move to and fro about the makeshift camp. Bedrolls snap open, saddles are arranged for sleeping. Hard tack is passed around, booze and smokes. Horses passed handfuls of whatever trail provisions any of them have managed to pack, and much to your relief, Curly does order for Viper to receive rations.

Barely able to grip the hem of the sheet, though it may be a courtesty to call it even that, it takes herculean effort to stay awake. Aware. Alert. Because soon, every one of these Cowboys will be piss drunk and passed out, hopefully—and if you can manage consciousness, even for a while, there’s a good chance in hell  you can swipe a pistol, mount up, and leave. 

Once the heat of the desert acquiesces to the cool of night, stars make their way out among the canvas of black desert. Breathless sky hangs overhead and you sit motionless, staring into the twisting, licking flames of fire jutting up from the rocks and brush these idiots have gathered. 

Your tongue rolls thickly through your mouth, over your bottom teeth as your toes curl and uncurl in your boots. Reminded that you’re alive, your skin is all but burning. Sweat has been chased even from beneath your clothes, but you’re slick with grime and the heat of the day as you sit, sunkissed and caked with dirt, on the desert floor.

You haven’t stopped studying Viper across the camp, who’s mingling innocently with the other horses. Standing like a behemoth among the paints and quarters of the herd.

Why Curly Bill wants him is no mystery–Viper stuns. Steals the breath from your lungs. Living color to a world that’s never seen his kind before. A glittering jewel. You’d mentioned how much he was worth to Wyatt that day in the stables and the entire town had nearly combusted—twenty eight thousand dollars was no small change, not in the 19th century. 

“All the more reason to get you back where you belong, sweetheart,” Wyatt had looked at you with sympathy, rough hand clapping on your shoulder, “Helluva stud, though. Never seen someone ride nothin’ that big. Especially not a thing like you,” he’d winked at you and you’d blushed.

He didn’t let it slide. “Don’t you ever lose that color, pretty girl. You know what it does to us men? Cuts us at the knees—can’t hardly breathe when a thing like you lights up so nice.” 

The corner of your mouth ticks up in an amused smirk. Wyatt is nothing short of character. Charming, enigmatic. Handsome in all the right ways, dangerous in many of the wrong ones. Walking antithesis of Doc Holliday, but they were a fine pair—a romance of opposites, apologetically friends but at distance, not much more than enemies.

Their friendship  was the stuff of legend—history remembered them both fondly, and to know them? To have witnessed their revolutions around the same sun that is Arizona history?

It’s gripping, soul-changing. You’ll never be the same. knowing you.

Your throat closes a little as you pull in a slow breath, bottom lip rolling beneath your teeth for you to gnaw. Curling tighter into the blanket, your eyes close for a minute, the cool darkness immediately chasing tension from the base of your neck. 

Ike and Billy’s game of cards is loud, but it fades beneath the kicking heartbeat between your ribs. Focusing on the blood in your ears, the tension rolls through muscle. Attempt to breathe—but it hurts. Locks up your chest, spins tightly through your lungs so much that the effort makes you cough.

Curling forward, your arms draw your knees as far forward as your body will allow. Head lolled to the side, your cheek rests against the muscle of your arm as you stare blearily into the serpent-like flames that bite up to the sky, smoke curling around them almost rhythmically. 

Tongue skating between your lips to wet at chapped skin, you rake a hand down the length of your face in an attempt to stir life back into your veins. It does little, only ignites the hot burn on your skin. Dropping your gaze to your lap, your eyes slip closed. 

And you wait. 

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#doc holliday x reader #tombstone 1993 #tombstone imagines #doc holliday #val kilmer #writblr #tombstone fanfiction #tombstone #tombstone movie #doc Holliday imagine #doc holliday imagines

[sstrawberriel]

Soo, I lowkey wanna start making character.ai bots. Especially for Top Gun characters (Both 86 and TGM) and val kilmer/tom cruise characters. If y'all have any requests and prompts for a bot, please send 'em in to me😭 ESPECIALLY Tom Kazansky. that man is SO FINEEE and so underrated bro😮‍💨

#top gun maverick #top gun 1986 #Top Gun #val kilmer #tom cruise #Real genius #Mission impossible #Tombstone #Chris Knight #Ethan Hunt #Doc Holliday #Jake seresin #Pete Mitchell #Nick Bradshaw #Bradley bradshaw #Tom kazansky #Cole trickle #Character ai bot #plsplspls send requests😭 #bradley bradshaw x reader #pete mitchell x reader #tom kazansky x reader #jake seresin x reader #doc holliday x reader #ethan hunt x reader #chris knight x reader #cole trickle x reader #Top gun maverick

[dragon-kazansky]

Save a horse

Gender neutral reader

Doc Holliday x Reader

Holliday likes what he sees, and he will let it be known.

Dedicated to @callsignscupcake​

They of course wouldn’t actually say this back then, but how can I resist?​

♡♡♡

Tombstone was a unique place. Therefore, it brought along some unique characters. One such person was a favourite of yours.

John Holliday, or Doc to literally everyone.

Doc didn’t know you at all. You had never dared approach the man, but you have seen him around a lot. Gambling, drinking, walking and talking with the Earp brothers. He always seemed to be around somewhere.

The man in question was up ahead talking to Wyatt Earp. You were doing some chores in town when you spotted him. You couldn’t help but admire him. The pair seemed to be in deep conversation, so you could admire them without concern of them catching you.

Doc was a dying man with a strange sense of humour, but you liked that about him. He was kind to those who gave kindness and stood up to those who tried to start a fight. Doc was also quick on the draw. You had been lucky enough to even witness his gunslinging skills.

A voice called out to the pair from behind you. The two men turned to see who was there. You had a split second to move and make it look like you hadn’t been standing there staring. You kept your head down as you walk, hoping they hadn’t noticed at all.

A pair of eyes follow you as you walk across the street and then disappear out of sight.

You don’t see Doc for a couple days after that. You’ve been busy getting on with things. Keeping to yourself. Business as usual. 

It wasn’t until one evening, while making your way home, that things changed. You were lost in your own mind as you made the walk through town. A walk you knew like the back of your hand. You hadn’t even noticed him step out of the shadows until his arm was around you, and you were then facing the other way. Your snapped back to find yourself tangled up with Doc Holliday himself.

Hs hand was settled on your hip as his arm crossed over your stomach, blocking you from moving. He was flush against your side, or more so, you were flush against his. His crystal eyes shone with mischief as his lips quirked upward into a cheeky grin.

The fox had the rabbit.

“A fine evening for two fine people to meet, wouldn’t you agree?” He says, coughing a little at the end.

“Pardon?”

“Not yet. I feel your eyes on me, but our gazes never quite meet. Always fleeing the scene before we ever get a chance to speak.”

You look around you, but only find that everyone else is just passing by and getting on with their day. You’re not quite sure what’s happening and find yourself at a slight loss.

“I don’t understand,” you say.

He chuckles slightly and lowers his arm from you. You find yourself turning rather chilly without his touch upon you.

“I see you often, but you always disappear before I can even make a move. Are we destined to be in this town together but never meet? Does a dying man not get a chance with pleasant company? Perhaps my reputation chases you away.”

You frown.

“Not at all. You’re one of the best gunslingers in this town.”

He perks up at that. Plush lips quirked into a cheeky grin.

“Is that so?”

“You know so,” you say. “If you don’t mind, I was on my way home.”

Holliday does not move. Instead, he offers you his arm. You stare at it with confusion. He couldn’t possibly be offering to walk you home. Surely, he has a game to win, a drink to have, Earps to keep company.

“May I?” He asks, seeing you not make a move to accept.

Well, you do after that.

Doc feels rather smug as you take his arm and allow him the honour of your company. You both walk casually through town, with you guiding him the way. 

Not once does he take his eyes off of you. You can feel his steely gaze on you as you walk.

“What is it that captured your gaze, darling?”

You avoid meeting his eyes as you look ahead.

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you think I don’t know? That I haven’t seen you? Always looking from afar, never stepping any closer. The beauty that’s forever out of reach. Never have I wanted something more,” he says, voice dropping low, lips drawing ever closer to your ear.

You swallow softly.

How can one man hold all the cards and show them to you before the game is over? Unless he’s bluffing, but what does he benefit from that? He doesn’t know you.

“Your pursuit signals are confusing me. Is this genuine?” You ask him.

“I have never been more honest in my life.”

“How could John Holliday possibly want to waste his time with me?” You ask.

“Waste? Not at all. People like you are rare in a town like this. I am lucky to even be given a moment of your time now.”

“You came up to me,” you remind him.

“Exactly. You were never going to come to me willingly. I had to take matters into my own hands and snare you into my trap.”

“Trap?”

“These arms, dear. A cage you may never wish to be freed from.”

He was smooth. Smoother than you thought possible. It was clear why people were either fond of him or despised him. He knew how to work the opinions of others.

You come to a stop, and he stops with you.

“This is me,” you say.

Doc turns to the house. It’s small and out of the way of the main city streets. Yes, it’s quite you, he thinks.

Reluctantly, he lets go of you. Yet, you don’t move from his side. You meet his eyes at last and he smiles.

“I feared you were repulsed at the sight of me.”

You’re shocked to hear that.

“How could anyone be repulsed at the sight of you? I’m sure handsome men like you get many gazes from others,” you say.

“Quite. Not all friendly.” 

You laugh softly. That seems to please him.

Holliday reaches for your hand and holds it within his. He keeps his eyes on yours as he stares at you. You have to turn away after a moment as his gaze becomes too much to hold.

“May our paths cross again.”

“Should you be so lucky,” you say, finding your boldness.

“Oh, I do not need luck.”

You find yourself smiling at him.

“Then I look forward to our next meeting, Doc.”

He grins.

“As do I, darling. As do I.”

He releases your hand from his and lets you move to your house. He stands there and watches you go. Before you are able to disappear into the house, he calls out to you.

“Perhaps next time you would like to ride with me, as opposed to away from me. Save the horse, ride the cowboy, dearest.”

He tips his hat before taking his leave.

You’re left staring at his back as he goes.

Something tells you you’re in for quite the adventure wherever he is concerned. It’s one adventure you find yourself eager to take part in. Doc Holliday was right. His arms are a cage you would willingly fly into.

Perhaps sooner than you think.

#doc holliday x reader #doc holliday #tombestone 1993 #tombstone #doc holliday imagine #val kilmer

[rndmmarston]

Doc Holliday X F/Reader

Im Back…AGAIN

Warnings-None(I don’t think)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/Ns Pov

It was a Nice Morning In Tombstone,Hot like usual, Doc Was sitting outside leaned back with his feet Propped up on a chair at the Barber, I walked over to him “Morning” I said as I sat next to him “Morning Darlin’” he said with his eyes closed looking very Relaxed.

I leaned back into my chair and watched the people walk up and down the street, I seen in the Distance Wyatt, Virgil and Morgan, as they were walking,Ringo,One of the cowboys, Came out of the saloon looking very drunk and looking to start trouble, “Well what do we have here…” he said with a slight Slur “What do want Ringo?” Virgil said Putting his hand on his Revolver “I want your blood, and i want your souls and i want them both right now” He said slightly Stumbling over, I stood up and leaned against the railing watching them, After the O.K Corral shoot out things were not going well between the Earp’s and the Cowboys, I looked over at Doc he was still leaning back, now he had pulled his hat down over his face, i guess to keep the sun out of his eyes, “Oh Look who we have over here~” I looked over to realize Ringo was talking to me “Leave her out of this…” Wyatt said stepping forward, Ringo just smiled “Now see, with out your lover here…You ain’t nothing without him…” I just stayed quiet, I seen in the corner of my eye Doc had put his hand over his Gun…He’s listening… “You know…Why are you with him anyways?” he asked me with slurred words “Why are you with a Lunger? Ya know he is gonna die soon…” He said with a Smirk… “Ya know its sad how he isn’t here to protect you…” He said with a smirk

“Just leave her Alone Ringo…” Wyatt said Getting Ringo attentions, As Ringo was looking at Wyatt Doc Stood up and Put his Gun behind his back, He Whistled getting Ringo’s Attention, Ringo’s eyes Widened when he seen him “Ive been here the whole time…” Doc said stepping down “Go to hell…Ill put ya out of your Misery-“ “Say when” Then Curly bill and A few other cowboys came out of the Saloon, As soon as Ringo went to for Doc he got pulled back by the cowboys “Don’t mind him he’s just drunk thats all!” Curly bill said while laughing.

“gentlemen” Doc tipped his hat at the Earp’s and Walked back over to the Barber, I stood there leaning against the railing, He came up to me wrapping his arm around my waist “You Okay Darlin’?” “yeah…Im fine…” “Its okay…Im here to protect you…Don’t listen to anything he says to you…” He says with a slight smile “I wont…Thanks” I said as I leaned up and kisses his cheek.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N- This is a Short story…Its Currently 2:45 Where i am so its not the best i know, Sorry i dont ever post on here <3

•Requests~Open•

#rndmmarston #doc holliday x reader #val kilmer #tombstone #tombstone 1993 #doc holliday

[filmtv2022]

The The Bitter End: Comfort (Extra Scene)

18+ MDNI

Series Masterlist

Synopsis: John and Y/N, share a heated moment alone. The pair find comfort in one another's arms.

Warning: Spice/Smut + alcohol

A/N: Here we go again with another extra scene for To The Bitter End! I hope you all enjoy it and as always... I apologize for any mistakes.

The dense cloak of night had settled into every corner of the worn home filling in the gaps and leaving behind a muted silence. It seemed to inhabit the space as a stalwart tenant, immovable and proud yet unable to comprehend the passing of time. Ripped from the trap of restless sleep, the heavy sound of your ragged breathing was rough through the cotton sheets curled below your chin. Perspiration had collected in a heavy sheen across the expanse of your exposed skin, sticking your threadbare nightgown to your body. Returning to sleep was a lost cause. The only choices were to lay awake contemplating the very worries that plagued your dreams or to return to the nightly routine that had become your escape from it all during the previous weeks.

The decision was easy. Pulling back the covers, goosebumps ran wild over your arms and legs. The blind search for your housecoat came to a quick conclusion as the supple texture was easy to find even in the pervasive darkness that shrouded the room. You wrapped it tightly around your body, tying the belt in a sturdy knot at your hip. The only light that seeped between the curtains was that of the moon beyond the windows. A cloudless night meant the silvery haze was strong enough to guide your steps into the hall. Forgoing slippers, you focused on the rough grain of the ancient hardwood beneath your bare feet. The slow ambling journey away from the bedroom was made by memory as you tracked the path away from your nightmares and into the arms of the person who soothed your soul.

A soft glow illuminated the area around the piano, and basking in it sat John. His lithe frame moved gracefully with the music he played from memory. Lost in the melody, it appeared as though your arrival went entirely unnoticed. It was from your vantage point at the bottom of the stairs that you watched in awe of the sheer talent and passion that emanated from him. His face was slack and tender, free of the worry that often knit his brows together. The only sign of struggle that remained was the stained and tattered handkerchief which sat perched near his glass of whiskey atop the piano.

John’s shoulders tensed in a fight against the shallow cough that took control of his body. This had you moving toward him, seeking to comfort and be comforted. His focus remained fixed on the keys, but the ghost of a smile tugged at his lips as he heard you approach. The soft pad of your steps blended with the rhythm of the music before coming to rest behind him. Out of need and instinct, you reached for him. Your hands came to rest on his shoulders as he greeted you gently, “Hello, darlin’ ”

“Hello, my loving man.” Working your thumbs into the vicious knots along his back, you dipped to press a kiss to his cheek. It was warm, flush with the ever-present fever that accompanied his ailment, “How are you feeling, John?”

“I’m right as the rain.” He continued to play even as his lungs spasmed once again.

“That’s good,” letting your hands wander to his chest, you brought your lips to the broad column of his neck. The gentle caress of your whisper against the shell of his ear was distracting beyond measure causing him to fumble in the music, “It’s my turn.”

“Of course,” John lifted his hands from the keys to find you. The steady balance of his grip guided you to sit on the bench in front of him. With feather-light strokes, you ran your fingertips over the ivories. Doc took advantage of this and allowed himself to drift aimless touches over your body. He mapped every curve and valley paying close attention to tender spots that needed caring for, and the way you reciprocated his movements. Finally, you began to play, and he recognized the song immediately, Chopin’s Nocturn No. 19. It was the same one you’d heard him play the first night you met, and hearing you skillfully navigate it filled the hallow depths of his soul.

He let you play, happy to luxuriate in the firm press of your back against his chest. John’s wide palms found their homes low across your stomach and hip, letting him toy with the knot of your housecoat. Your concentration waned at the feeling of him nipping a line of fire along your neck. A soundless gasp accompanied the tug of his fingers at the knot. He made quick work of the barrier, pushing the sides of the garment back to give him more of what he wanted. With only the thin fabric of your nightgown now standing as an obstacle between the pair of you, he explored to his heart's content.

Leaning in, he found the hem of your pajamas bunching it between his fingers as he drew it higher and higher. John nestled the fabric at your hip before returning to your body. He started at your knee, drawing lazy circles on your skin, each stroke brought him closer to where you longed for him the most. Nearly there, he chuckled at the hypnotic arch of your body into this touch.

“Is there something you’d like, darlin’? Hmm?” the smooth vibrations of his questioning hum had you ready to beg, but the words to ask just weren’t there. Instead, he was met with a pleading whimper, “Use your words.”

“John,” breathless, you tried to keep playing, but your coordination failed completely at the feeling of his hand running along the inside of your thigh, “Please.”

“As you wish,” and with that he gave into his desires. Threading his free hand into your hair, he fixed your position so that he could claim your lips in a bruising kiss. A sharp tug at the base of your neck earned him an unholy groan. The embrace grew desperate, tongues clashing in a heady battle for control. This fight would be one that you lost without an ounce of regret because in doing so you surrendered yourself to his protective and loving embrace.

John’s sure touch found its mark without fail. Over and over, his calloused touch sent electricity singing down your spine. Settling into a rhythm, John listened to the hitch your breath the closer you came to the edge. Warmth pooled low in your body forming a band of pleasure that was nearly ready to snap. You clung to him, your hands searching for purchase anywhere you could find it. With one hand twisted in the silken strands of his hair, you reached back to find him while the other fell to his wrist holding him in place.

“I’ve got you,” staying steady, John watched you fall apart in his arms. Waves of desire tore through every nerve with his continued movements. His lips found yours again swallowing the frantic gasps and moans that poured from you. In time, your body relaxed into his. Your muscles were loose and pilant as he held you upright in his arms. Even with the release you’d just found, your body begged for more. Inhaling deeply, your lungs settled enough for you to speak.

“Take me to bed, John.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you could feel the smile on his lips as he pressed them to your neck. A low huff of laughter rumbled his lungs, the end of which was punctuated by a small cough, but nothing could dampen this moment of pure, unadulterated bliss. The only thing that mattered was the overwhelming trust and love that flowed between the pair of you. Together anything, and everything, felt possible.

#tombstone 1993 #doc holiday smut #doc holliday x reader

[doingthingsthewriteway]

Moss

request: yes

summary: Daisy Pt. 2. More trials (and a lot of fluff) between doc and daisy

Doc Holliday was a lot of things and stupid was not on that list. Something that often got him in a heap of trouble was his education. Quick witted remarks in a variety of languages would swirl around his brain, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice. He was well versed in novels, theater, nocturnes, and even a dash of politics. His understanding of God and the universe was also impressive. 

So no, he certainly wasn’t stupid. Why then was his Daisy hiding things from him? Did she think his male nature made him inherently oblivious to the state of things? Clearly something was wrong. 

Smoke from a pipe- not a cigar nor cigarette but herbs his Y/N read about to ease his pain thank you very much- billowed around swirling with all of his doubts. Doc puffed away as he thought back on all of the recent nonsense. 

First was subtle. One fine evening, Doc’s family gathered in the Oriental. He felt himself glow with pride as the Earp’s and Y/N surrounded him each night. Sometimes he thought he was delirious with another fever as the sound of laughter and touches of affection enveloped him. 

That evening, however, as he waited patiently for Y/N return to his lap, a frown furrowed his handsome face. She balanced on his thighs, glass in hand. “Darlin’?” He tapped the glass with a hesitant finger. “You switch to gin?” 

Her laugh was enough to erase the frown. “No, huckleberry, I thought we could benefit from some water. I still don’t want you drinking, can’t live without you.”

“Oh hell, honey, you’re stuck with my nonsense for the rest of your life.” Her pretty eyelashes and bustle free legs were enough to make him forget. 

Then, all together, Y/N stopped their evening nightcap. Now, yes he needed to quit his drinking to excess, but a glass of bourbon with his baby every night surely was not a problem. Doc wondered if going to the Oriental every night reminded his bride of his affair, which seemed reasonable. Certainly not willing to be on the receiving end of her wrath anytime soon, he let that go. 

Next was more straight forward. Wyatt had received tickets for boxsets at the Birdcage. Y/N loved Faust so naturally Doc jumped at the chance for a family outing. His darling all but squealed with delight when Doc sauntered into suite, with a dress bag slung over his arm. 

“May I have the pleasure of escorting you to the depths of hell tonight, Mrs. Holliday?” Mustached lips tickled up her arm, over her collarbone, and down to her cleavage. 

“Oh absolutely, Mr. Holliday!” Taking the dress out of the brown wrapping, she gasped. “Oh, John!” It was her turn to sprinkle his gruff face with kisses. 

The maroon silk looked downright sinful on his bride (and she thought the exact same thing about his matching waist coat). The Hollidays were a sight to behold in Tombstone. With her on his arm, Doc felt all the southern gentry he was raised in. Nothing could make him feel unworthy of power or love. 

Settled in the dim theater, Y/N fanned herself, a rush of heat hitting her. A holler from the floor seats broke her trance and drew her eyes of the one she despised most. Johnny Ringo practically howled at her, tongue wagging like a rabid dog. 

“Pay no mind to Mr. Ringo.” A gentle hand grasped her chin and forced her attention back to Doc, where it belong he reasoned. “Only I may purchase your soul.” 

Y/N’s eyes fluttered and hummed in delight. “You already have, Doc.” That settled his swirling doubts. Yes, he liked to think he held her soul inside his own. His soul clutching to hers in order to survive. He owned her, not in an oppressive sense. Not like how his father view his mother, but in the way that she was his and his alone and he could proudly say the same. 

Yet, just shy of intermission his darling uttered a “oh fuck” under her breath. Doc chuckled, eyebrow quirked in amusement. Yet before he could comment on the lewd nature of his otherwise polite wife, she was grasping her skirts and rushing out of the box. 

Before he could even move, Allie Earp ran after his wife. Looking at the remaining Earps- excluding Wyatt who looked all too close to committing something dangerous- Doc glared. “Something I don’t know?” 

“Lady stuff?” Morgan suggested earning a grunt of support from Virgil. 

At intermission, Doc found his wife with Allie. Allie had the audacity to grin at Doc, blue eyes twinkling. “Doctor is in.” She giggled. 

And yes, normally Doc would have ate that up. Reveling in the limelight and delightful female attention. However, normally Doc was the unstable one and not his wife.  Still, he couldn’t help himself from saying a charming, “It seems my favorite patient is ill.” 

“I’m fine, Doc.” Y/N offered a grimace of a smile. Slowly standing, she took the fan from Allie. “Just got too hot all of a sudden.” 

Nodding, if only to avoid adding another public confrontation to the history of their relationship, Doc ordered a tonic water from the bar and escorted his wife back to their seats. Allie just chittering all the way. 

The final straw was down right offensive. Doc enjoyed few things more than waking up in the early hours of the morning when the sun was just beginning to think of rising and loving his wife. She was always so eager from a nights rest that she just folded into him. His lungs weren’t heavy from a full day allowing him to thrust and grunt for a glorious eternity. 

Yet, every morning that past week when he rolled over she was gone. He’d call out her name practically mewling with need only to be met with silence. Ignoring the hurt that struck his heart, he’d go back to bed. 

Finally, this morning was the last straw. He figured he’d stay awake, greet her entering their room. The longer he sat awake, pipe in hand, the wilder this thoughts went. Doc prided himself in a remarkably even temper but fear was ensnaring his rationality. 

A dose of opium sounded wonderful right about now. It would just calm his nerves, make it so he wouldn’t lash out. Last thing he wanted to do to his daisy was be mean. Lord knows he’s hurt her enough. He was sure he had a vial tucked away somewhere. 

By the time she entered their room, Doc was in tears. Red eyes narrowed into a glare at her. She gasped. “Doc, are you alright?” 

A rumbling cough worked its way out his lungs. “Daisy, I am rolling.” He hissed. Standing from his spot by the window, he grabbed his cane for balance. “Awful late night for you though.” 

“Are you high?” 

“I hardly see the need in answering that.” He snipped. “It’s quite obvious we both are up to things we shouldn’t be.” 

“Now, John, listen to me.”

“Is it to get back at me? Do you think my heart doesn’t hurt when you leave me?” 

“John, please just trust me.” her voice wobbled with tears. 

“I know I’ve not been the best husband to you-“

“You’ve been wonderful.” 

“Stop lying.” The opium only made his accent stronger. “Please just be honest with me, my soul can’t bare it any longer.” 

With a sad smile, Y/N crossed the floor to her husband. One hand tenderly held his cheek, wiping away at trailing tears. The other reached for his own, pressing a key into his palm. “Get dressed and follow me.” 

Confused, dazed, spellbound by his bride he dressed quickly. She held her arm out to him knowing his pride would much prefer her to stabilize him than his cane. “I’ve not been truthful and I am so very sorry for that Doc, but I hope you’ll forgive me.” 

They walked the dusty streets of Tombstone together. The early morning air left their lungs clear. Cactus clung to the early morning dew as the couple clung to each other. Near the edge of town, Y/N paused in front of a stately Greek Revival home. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” She asked nuzzling into his neck. 

“Yes, though it is difficult to find anything that compares to you darlin’.” 

With warm cheeks, Y/N giggled. “Try the key Doc.” 

“I beg your pardon?” Doc sputtered pulling away in shock. 

“Try the key.” 

A burst of speed had him rushing to the door. Rocking chairs lined the porch, tucked safely behind columns. The key slide in perfectly. Her name was all he could sigh, tears welling in his eyes again. 

Joining him, she nudged him forward. “I’ll give you the tour.” 

While still barren of furniture, the grand home had billowing curtains with long windows that ached of home. As Y/N rattled on about something to do with paint colors Doc waved a hand of dismissal not really caring how she wanted to paint. 

“How?” He managed to grunt,masking his emotion with a forced cough. 

“I was left an impressive about of money in a will.” A small smile tugged on her lips. “A great aunt everyone else hated. The only stipulation was to use it for my family.” 

A tug on his hand led up him the stately staircase. “I was thinking our bedroom could be here if-“ 

“I can handle them darlin’. Don’t you worry about me.” 

The next door was shut, Y/N’s eyes glittering with mischief. “This is your second surprise.” 

“Oh if this is one of those sinful European things-“Doc paused as the door opened revealing the only painted room in the house. 

gentle moss green walls greeted him. A canopy hung from the ceiling, the netting protecting a crib. “Daisy? Are you in a delicate way?” His green eyes flickered from her face to the perky bodice of her dress  to her tummy. 

A nod of her head confirmed. his heart nearly burst out his chest. A joyful laugh tickled out his throat. He didn’t give a damn what would be said about him now, his wife was carrying his baby. His. 

Nudging her nose against his, she leaned in to capture his lips pulling softly on the plump skin. Words weren’t needed as they removed each layer of clothing from each other. Fingers interlocked as they lay together on the soft mossy green rug below them. 

#doc holliday imagine #doc holliday x reader #doc holliday imagines #val kilmer x reader #val kilmer imagine #val kilmer imagines #tombstone imagines

[hottombstone]

This is a fanfiction between Doc Holiday x(Fem) reader! I might make it into a series lol!

DISCLAIMER!! The series will have smut😏

I’ve been riding my horse jack for what seems like years. The heat was stinging my lungs and having me in desperate need for water. Tombstone was just up ahead as you were relived to arrive after all the train ride before riding jack was nothin fun. As I ride into town there were men already drunk and women trying to keep their innocence from them. I hitched jack at a post closest to a trauf, he definitely needed the water more than me.

I go into the Oriental to grab myself a drink before heading to the hotel. I walk in and the immediate smell of cigars and whiskey is intoxicating. It was very crowded as I make my way to the bar. “What can I get for you miss?” The polite bar keeper said. “Just a whiskey on the rocks” I smile at him and he seems surprised that I dainty girl as myself would order something like that.

He hands me the glass and I pay him the money. I sit looking around my hat low so no one would really take notice of me. I was in a very simple black dress nothing fancy to make an impression. I hear a familiar laugh come from the poker table and I’ll be. It was your good friend Wyatt Erp! I get off the chair trying not to bump into all the drunks. I approach the table where he’s dealing. “Hello there ma’am what can I get started for ya?” I smile as I lift my head to show my face.

“Well a hug would be a good start and I’ll buy in with what I can.” He stands up and smiles big. “Y/n girl! I haven’t seen you in ages. Look at you!” He spins me around. “I can’t believe you’re in tombstone!” I grin. “Well Daddy always said I had a heart for adventure!” Wyatt laughs “He sure did!” “So you gonna deal me in or what?” He smiles and sits down. “Of course where are my manners.” He deals me in and shows me to the table.

All the men at the table don’t even look at me till I take my hat off and my beautiful long hair tumbles down showing soft waves. The two men are looking at me in a way that’s not attractive to you in any way. I hear a voice to my left “This isn’t usually a game for pretty daisys like yourself darlin.” I smirk to myself. “You’ve obviously been playin with the wrong women.” The other men laugh and I roll my eyes. “Who are you woman?” The dirty toothless man says.

I give a confident answer “I’m the Daisy who’s gonna bet you at cards.” They both laugh. I look to my left and the man raises his head to reveal his dashingly handsome face. He smirks “Let’s play then..”

“I raise..” I push my chips in. The other two men through down their cards in a fold. “That’s an awful lot a money you bettin on darlin.. I think you want to rethink your decision.” My face still straight showing no emotion. “I think I’ll take my chances..” he puts down his cards showing a flush and everybody’s in awe laughing he goes to take the pile. “Not so fast there handsome… I think my cards have a say in the matter..”

I put down my cards to show a full house. The room gets quiet. “Well..” I say to break the silence. “Thank you for the wonderful game but I best be on my way to rest.” I put my hand on the handsome man’s shoulder. “For your troubles..” I put a few chips in his hand and a kiss on the cheek. I stand up to leave.. “What’s your name darlin.?” “Y/n” “Well miss Y/n I’m Doc Holiday.” He says kissing my hand. I roll my eyes and smile “Well Mr. Holiday I’ll see you tomorrow.. but a game like that has a girl like me wore out.”

I take my hand away and give him a flirtatious look and walk out of the Oriental. I put Jack in a stable and get into my hotel room. I lock the doors and open the window for some cool air. I strip to a simple yet elegant sleep wear and close my eyes as butterflies flutter in my belly thinking of Mr. Doc Holiday…

#doc holliday x reader

[toohottohoot]

I have just watched Tombstone (1993), and it’s my favorite western and maybe my favorite Val Kilmer movie.

If anyone knows any good Doc Holiday (x Reader) fics on tumblr or otherwise, WE NEED MORE OF HIM! (Kurt Russell is amazing too)

Best Val Kilmer Roles (that I have watched, not in order):

Willow

Doc Holiday

Top Gun

3/14/24 Update: Kiss Kiss Bang Bang!

#Val Kilmer is one of my favorite actors ever! Go watch his movies! #Writing prompt #Doc holiday #Doc Holliday #John Henry Holiday #John Henry Holliday #Tombstone (1993) #Val Kilmer #Willow #Doc Holiday x Reader #Doc Holliday x reader #Top Gun #Top Gun: Maverick #Iceman #I forgot his character’s name in Willow but he’s great in it! #Rdj is cool too #Kiss kiss bang bang

[gatefleet]

Family Legacy

Wynonna Earp: Wynonna Earp, Waverly Earp, Doc Holliday, SSA Xavier Dolls Word Count: 1,131 (T)W: Supernatural events, Guns, Violence, HIstorical Violence Request: No A/N: Sutoritaimu archive transfer.

There was a legend about the well in the garden.  No one truly believed it.  The legend was almost like a family secret that only came about in the last hundred years or so, through my great, great grandmother and, to be honest, she probably wasn’t the most reliable source of info.  According to my grandmother anyway.  She always claimed that her grandmother was just a crazy old lady.  My great, great grandmother had always believed, or claimed, to have been the Common-law wife of THE John Henry ‘Doc’ Holliday, before his demise anyway.  That we were direct descendants of Doc friggin’ Holliday.  I really wanted to believe that we were related to Doc, I guess I felt that it would help explain why we were always pulled back to Purgatory whenever we tried to leave.  Why we had this unexplained pull towards the Earp family.  The reason your family couldn’t seem to sell the Holliday Ranch.  Surely your great, great grandmother wasn’t that crazy.

Oh, wait… I just realised that I got side-tracked and never actually told you what the legend about the well in the garden was… My bad.  The legend says that Doc Holliday.  Yes, that Doc, the legendary gun slinger, was trapped at the bottom of that well, trapped by a spell from a witch that didn’t quite like Doc.  Growing up with those legends and stories as kids, my cousins and I naturally let ropes down into the well in the hopes that we could release good old (gramps) Doc from his welly prison.  Obviously, it didn’t work.  The older we got, the less we tended to do this.

Purgatory has always been a strange town, full of supernatural phenomenon and events, full of strange people and even stranger traditions.  When my cousins and I were younger, we’d re-enact the scenes from O K Corral and I’d always be Doc, while my best friend Wynonna Earp would pretend to be her great, great grandfather, Wyatt Earp, and my cousins would be the bad guys that we’d ‘hunt down’ and deal with, like in the old history books we read in school.  Rumours surround Purgatory, those who have never lived in the town believe that it resides in the centre of something called the ‘Devils Triangle’, whatever that means or refers to.

People used to say that the town was filled with the ‘revenants’ of those that Wyatt Earp killed with the gun given to him by Doc around a hundred years ago, but that’s impossible… right…?  Wrong.  How do I know this?  I know this because, one night, when I was younger, my big sister, Josey and I were staying with Wynonna, her big sister, Willa, younger sister, Waverly and their father at the Earp family ranch when we were attacked.  To cut a long story short the end result of this attack was that Wynonna had shot her father in the head to save him, both of our older sisters were missing, presumed dead, and Wynonna and I were left emotionally, physically and mentally scarred, we were just kids and we were left to look after poor, sweet, innocent Waverly and each other until the sheriff could come out the next day.

When the sheriff did arrive the following day, he didn’t believe Wynonna and I about the events of the previous night.  No one did.  Thinking back, I don’t think I would have believed it either.  But these events got me thinking and questioning everything I was taught about Purgatory, everything my great, great grandmother said.  After that I often found myself walking out to the well in the garden and talking to great, great gramps, Doc, about anything and everything, what I saw, how I felt, everything.  When Wynonna and I were fourteen we were institutionalised because we refused to stop believing and telling people what we saw that night, for not letting it go.  We missed prom, we missed a lot, became social outcasts.  We soon became the two most hated people in Purgatory, so, naturally, we decided to live up to our reputations.

Shortly after this we both left Purgatory, went our separate ways, yet we were both drawn back to Purgatory at roughly the same time.  We hadn’t realised it until we bumped into each other in ‘Shorty’s’ bar, it was the local bar which pretty much everyone in Purgatory went to.  I had just begun to forget what had happened to me in Purgatory, but it all came back.  Fast.  I still had the supposed Holliday gun.  It was a gun which was passed through the family, generally to the oldest male heir, but with there being no male heir in my generation it fell to me, since Josey disappeared that made me the oldest, the heir. 

After sitting in Shorty’s for a couple of hours with Wynonna catching up, we both suddenly bolted up and raised our guns (she had Wyatt Earp’s Colt) and aimed at the guy who, very quickly, approached us.  He stopped dead and raised his hands, he was dressed like he was from the Old West.  And this guy had the audacity to claim that I had his gun!  No way!  The gun was mine, it felt so natural and like it belonged.  I was not going to give it up to anyone!  The stranger had an almost impressed look on his face at how fast I had drawn the gun, how well I could handle it, how natural it looked.  When he introduced himself as John Henry Holliday, I swear I laughed, Wynonna just looked between the stranger and me.  Although there was something about him, it was like he was but wasn’t familiar, all at the same time.  I know, it doesn’t make sense, believe me, I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.

When this guy from some secret government agency (Black Badge or something) turned up, he enlisted Wynonna’s help, along with mine, to help fight the supernatural beings and people in town.  This ‘Special Agent Dolls’ claimed that this guy was the real Doc Holliday and that DNA confirmed that he was a genetic match to me.  That meant that I truly was a Holliday, that my great, great grandmother wasn’t crazy, it helped to make sense of some things and also helped to explain the pull between the Earp family and ours.  It also meant that Wynonna and I couldn’t keep each other out of this ‘supernatural war’, we were both in this together, no matter what, left to live up to our legacies, to help clear the ‘Devil’s Triangle’ of revenants, to clean up our grandfather’s messes from a century ago.  The only difference is that we technically have one of our grandfathers to help us.

GIF Credit: @domprovosts

#wynonna earp #wynonna earp x reader #doc holliday #doc holliday x granddaughter!reader #doc holliday x reader

[stinkygirl009]

It’s one of those days where you wanna make a time machine and go back to the 1890s and be a cowboy😔

#fypage #cowboy #cowgirl #tombstone #rdr2 #doc holliday #fypppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp #wyatt earp #red dead redemption 2 #x reader #x y/n

[ohtobemare]

Not a question, I just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed reading parts I and II of When Hell Comes. I love your writing, I love your Doc. Thank you so much for creating art for people to consume for free. You’re a gem <3

This is literally the sweetest thing anyone has told me in the history of weeks. 😭😭 Thank you so much.

I love creating content for y’all. 🫶✨Doc is a favorite and When Hell Comes was such a fun romp.

😚

#val kilmer #answered asks #ask a meerkat #thank you #love you guys 🫶🏻 #tombstone 1993 #tombstone #doc holliday x reader #doc holliday

[fanficdumbchic]

can i request a tombstone fanfic with doc holliday x reader, and the reader is a doctor and had a clinic in tombstone? and she's figured out a way to treat tb?

Curing Doc Holliday

Headcanon - Doc Holliday x Fem Reader - SFW

AN: Thanks for the great request Anon! Hope you enjoy! :)

Doc comes to your clinic reluctantly. Wyatt nagged him about it until he walked in the door just to shut him up.

He was dismissive at first, believing there was no helping him and everything you did would be a waste of time. He often mocked the whole thing with his sarcastic quips.

His wit only charms you. Additionally, even if he is cantankerous, he is one of the few men in Tombstone who did not criticize or belittle the female doctor.

During treatments, you'd sit with him and he'd tell all these stories of his wild days. They were enthralling and you loved listening to them, Doc being a beautiful story teller.

You often lectured him about how much he smoked and drank, he dismissed such criticism, "It's a bit late to improve my health, don't you think Doctor?"

While he resented his time 'wasted' in treatment, he still came, never missing an appointment. This seemed odd until Morgan joked about Doc going to his appointments for "the pretty doctor and not the cure". Doc went white when he said it and hushed him, "Quite rude Morgan."

You liked Doc, you liked him a lot. He was educated, modern, and great company. Regardless of his dismissal of your methods, he still defended your good name if anyone around town cast doubts on the "woman doctor".

You wanted to save him, and you experimented with crafting breathing treatments out of different herbs with antiseptic, anti-inflammatory properties.

He would often leave his friends behind if he saw you walking out to the plains to gather your herbs. He insisted on accompanying you as there were many "un-gentemanly types" in the town.

Often you read to pass the time of his breathing treatments and would occasionally look up to catch his glance on you. He wouldn't bother to pretend he wasn't looking but would change the subject to the book you were reading.

He started to bring you books he found and thought you would enjoy (many from his own personal collection).

To your surprise, his breathing began to actually improve. Your stethoscope heard significantly less blockage in the lungs. Even he was taken aback by it and remained carefully pessimistic.

A few months had passed, the color has returned to his face. He even reported that he had gone a week without coughing up blood. He remained steadfast that it was only some temporary luck but thanked you regardless.

As you continued to run into him around town, it became clear that when you were present, his attention was completely fixed on you. He was often fixed on each word you said, Wyatt sometimes have to wave a hand in front of his face to get his attention.

As you read them more and more, you started to realize that in the last page of each book Doc gave you was placed a single dried and pressed daisy.

You wanted to remain professional, but there was no denying you loved the man. You could have made a handsome pair.

However, you noticed Doc getting more nervous during your appointments. You overheard from Wyatt that he had even cut down his smoking and drinking.

One day, his lungs were finally clear. To his amazement, he was cured. His symptoms were long gone and he could breathe better than ever. He thanked you and paid you handsomely for his final appointment.

It was hard for you to see him go. You wanted nothing more than to tell him. But you were unsure. The little things you had noticed could have just been his usual charismatic demeanor or mere platonic niceties. You closed the door slowly behind him and sighed as your heart ached.

You were surprised, when the next day, he showed up to your door with a bundle of white roses and asked, "Miss, I completely understand if such a proposition is felt to be inappropriate or unrequited, but would you give me the honor of taking you to the theater tonight?" Your heart about leapt out of your chest as your smile stretched from ear to ear. You nodded happily as you accepted the beautiful bouquet and planted a soft peck on his cheek. A giddy grin immediately spread across his face as you invited him in for tea.

#Tombstone 1993 #Doc Holliday #x fem reader #fan fiction #fanfic #Wyatt Earp #Morgan Earp

[dragon-kazansky]

Imagine

You have been writing Doc letters every day since he left, but you never sent them. You have them all. Doc finds them all in a box. He reads them, as they are addressed to him, and finds himself at a loss for words. You catch him sitting on your bed with a letter in hand. He looks up at you with a smile. He doesn't have time to waste if all your feelings are true.

#doc holliday x reader #doc holiday #tombstone 1993

[rndmmarston]

Doc Holliday X Reader

A/N-This is my First ever post on here and my first ever time writing stuff like this, so sorry if its not that great. <3

Warnings- None

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a Regular night at the oriental, cowboys drinking, working girls doing there thing, and lots a gambling. I was at the faro table filling up drinks for the Earp’s and for Doc. I don’t know what it is between me and Doc,we’ve known each other for years but we aren’t together but we have some sort of weird relationship. My thoughts were interrupted by the Earp’s and Doc coming back to the table, “Thanks Y/N” Wyatt said sitting down at the table. I stood beside Doc as we watch the Card games take place.

Three Guys with Red sash’s walk into the Oriental looking to cause trouble, they walked up to table, one of them wearing a bright red shirt snatch’s the dollar bill out of Wyatt’s hand “Wyatt Earp huh, Heard about you” I then took a few step’s to get behind Doc just in case something happen, “Listen here now Mr Kansas Law dog Law dont go round here” said the third one. “Im retired” Wyatt said trying not to cause any Trouble “Good, Thats Real good” The one in the Bright red said while placing down chips, the Third then got real close to Wyatt “ Yeah, thats good, Mr. Law Dog, ‘cause law don’t go around here” “Yeah i heard you heard the first time, Winner to the King Five Hundred Dollars” I started to feel a little tense, I never like the Cowboys they always kinda scared me “ Shut up Ike” “You Must be Doc Holliday” I felt yourself get even more tense, “ Thats the Rumor” Doc said coughing a little bit “You retired too?” “Not me im in my Prime” Doc said strongly “Yeah, you look it” “ and You Must Ringo, Look darling Johnny Ringo” He said pointing at Ringo while looking at me, My heart starts to beat out of my chest “ The deadliest pistoleer since Wild Bill they say, what do you think darling should I hate him?” He said asking me “You don’t even know him” I said trying to act Calm that he called me ‘Darling’ “Yes, but theres just something about him, something around the eye’s I don’t know Reminds me of…Me, No im sure of it I hate him” he said before drinking “He’s drunk” Wyatt said to Ringo trying to keep it Calm and not break out a fight, “In vino Veritas” Doc said in some different Language “Age quod agis” I started to get more Scared of what was gonna happen next I took a few more steps behind Doc to get closer to the Earp’s, Doc and Ringo said more stuff in Latin I think, then Marshall Fred white stepped in “ Come on boys we Don’t want no trouble in here. Not in any Language” I look down to see Wyatt cocking a Gun under the Table, “Thats Latin Darlin’, Evidently Mr. Ringo an educated man, Now I really hate him” Ringo then pulls his gun at Doc making me Jump a little but Doc stood there like a statue, Ringo then Started teasing him by putting his gun down then pointing it back at him, Ringo them started to spin his gun around in the air, the bar started to yell and clap, he then holstered his gun and the bar got quiet waiting to see what Doc would do back at Ringo, Doc drank the rest of his Drink out of his cup before he started to spin it Around like a Gun Mocking Ringo, he then was done, the Bar clapped and laughed, All Ringo did was smile and walk away with the other 2 Cowboys over to the bar. “Hey Doc” I asked while Walking out of The Oriental back to the Hotel “Yes darlin’?” There was a little pause, “What are we?” I asked “well” theres was another pause, our faces got a little closer, he then pressed his soft lips against mine, I was shocked but then started to kiss him back, It almost felt like I had sparkss in my Body, I put my hands around his Neck as he put his around my waist, I wish that kiss would have lasted for ever but we pulled apart breathless, “Does that answer your Question darlin’?” He asked with a smirk on his face “ I think it does” I said smiling at him. __________________________________________ A/N- Sorry if that wasn’t the best, like a said it is my first time, if you have any Requests i would happily (Attempt) to Do them! <GIF is Not mine>

#val kilmer #rndmmarston #doc holliday x reader #doc holliday #tombstone #tombstone 1993

[filmtv2022]

To The Bitter End:

The Meeting of a Lifetime (Extra Scene)

Series Masterlist (It is 18+ as a whole... even though this part isn't)

Synopsis: This scene occurs right before Doc and Y/N share a quiet moment on the porch after meeting for the first time. Doc, Wyatt, and Y/N share drink and laughter together, and for the first time in a long time, John and Y/N feel alive.

Warnings: Language + drinking + smoking + spoilers? (It connects right into the rest of the story, but I think anyone could probably read this and be okay)

A/N: Well, it's been nearly two years since I posted To The Bitter End, and I haven't stopped thinking about it. I went back and read it again, and I have to say, I'm so unbelievably proud of that story. With that being said, recently a few ideas for extra scenes popped into my head for this story, and I thought... why not write them for others to enjoy (hopefully). As always, I apologize for any errors! Also, I'll put the stupid page break in once Tumblr gets it shit together! :)

---------------------------------------------------------

Passing the bottle of whiskey across the table to Wyatt you could feel the impending lull in conversation. Maybe it was the alcohol loosening your tongue or perhaps it was the mesmerizing smirk that played across your guest’s face, but you just couldn’t help yourself, “So, John, you said you’re a doctor. Of what exactly?” 

Wyatt tucked in his drink, falling silent as his focus darted between you and John. Not yet worried, but also unwilling to relax. He’d seen you take a conversation a step to far one too many times to be comfortable. 

“Dentistry,” John sipped at his drink, hearing your murmured hum of incredulity he continued on, “I sense skepticism. Care to enlighten me as to why?” 

“How perceptive,” Clearing your throat, you tossed back the rest of your whiskey, “It's just that you don’t strike me as a man who’s willing to settle down. Which I assume would be necessary to have a thriving practice. I truly have a hard time picturing you like that… a white coat covering your fine suit and tie, no gun in your holster, and only patient after patient to occupy your mind. It doesn’t add up. You’re an intellectual, I’ll give ya that. A businessman, sure. But one to call any place home longer than absolutely necessary… never. You, John Holliday, are a wanderer. I can see it in your eyes."

Doc remained quiet as you reached for the bottle, and poured yourself another. There was something in his gaze as it remained fixed to yours. A dark haze belied his base nature, but for John, it was the distinct feeling of you peeling back the layers of his cultured facade as easily as breathing that terrified and intrigued him the most. Trapped in your aura, he finished his own drink, letting the glass thud on the thick wooden table before inhaling deeply from his cigar, “And you darlin’… are as dangerous as they come.” 

“Perhaps,” you chewed the inside of your lip, tugging your features into a sly smile, “And yet, what does man, such as yourself, have to fear of little ol’ me?” 

“Everything,” John’s tone was serious and steady, and yet nothing in his response could hide the way you drew him in. 

You clung to his every move, tracking the minute changes in his countenance. The pull of his lips, the bob of his throat… the hitch of his lungs. It felt as though there were no secrets between you at this moment, and it thrilled you.

“Smart answer, Mr. Holliday,” the uncomfortable grit of Wyatt’s cough broke the trance, “Now where were we? Ah, that's right we were discussing my brother's propensity to find himself embroiled in less than lawful activities from which he cannot extricate himself without help despite being a legendary lawman. That's precisely what we were talking about, care to elaborate Wyatt?”

“You're a downright menace, you know that?” Wyatt's huffed chuckle assured you that no offense had actually been taken.

“Yes, I’m well aware. And who do we have to blame for that?” you brought your glass up and took a deep swig of the amber liquid, “Because truthfully, I’m not sure what you expect of me after bein’ cooped up in this hell hole of a tinder box all day while you go off galavanting as some goddamn hero of the wild west. But again, I am glad you aren’t dead. I don’t know what the hell I’d do without ya. Quite honestly, I’m afraid I’d be joining you six feet under when Virg and Morgan got a hold of me ‘cause somehow I’d be blamed for your death.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N you can't say shit like that.”

“I can… and I will,” smirking at Wyatt you couldn’t help, but swell with pride at the sound of John’s laughter. Joining in the levity, your tone was light and airy as you spoke, “Now if you don’t mind. I’m going to get some air.” 

Despite opening the open windows, the room had grown stuffy with heat from the fire & smoke from the men’s cigars.

Needing a small break for fresh air you excused yourself to the front porch. Wyatt took advantage of the moment to go seek out yet another bottle of whiskey as you all had worked your way through the first. 

The air had cooled substantially from this afternoon and sent goosebumps running over your skin. But you didn’t care, the clean, crisp scent of the air was exactly what you needed to clear your head. There on the porch, staring out into the vast nothingness ahead of you, the palpable tension you felt in your body began to dim. Losing a loved one was something that scared you through and through, and realizing how close you’d come to that today put your nerves on high. The creak of the door opening had you turning your head back to see who had joined you. You were pleasantly surprised to see John making his way towards you. Laying your palms on the wooden railing in front of you, you closed your eyes & and let your head fall back a little as you inhaled deeply. The scent of the night air mixed with another, one that over time you’d realize was distinctly John. It was a perfect mix of whiskey, smoke & sweat. It filled your lungs sweetly bringing with it a feeling of peace. 

You could feel him stop behind you, only a few inches separated the two of you. The pair of you stood there for a moment in silence. Your eyes were still closed allowing your body to relax. John on the other hand was fixated on you. His eyes mapped your face, trying to commit every beautiful feature to memory. His gaze landed finally on your lips, and the longer John stared the more difficult it became for him to refrain from leaning down to kiss you. A small gust of wind blew over the porch causing you to shiver slightly. Without thinking John removed his jacket & placed it over your shoulders before rubbing his hands along your upper arms in an attempt to warm you. Sighing with contentment, you leaned your body back until you met his frame. The skirt of your light yellow dress blew in the wind wrapping itself around John.

Opening your eyes you turned your head to look up at John.

“Thank you. Thank you for keeping him safe.”

“Anything for you darlin’ ” 

It was here on this night that the invisible string that would tie you two together had started to form.

#tombstone 1993 #tombstone #doc holliday #doc holliday x reader #Doc Holliday #Doc Holliday x reader

[doingthingsthewriteway]

upcoming works

I’ve got a part 2 for daisy x doc (very fluffy relationship stuff, might make you barf) 

and I’m working on a Madmartigan fic. 

I would love some ideas for Iceman so feel free to send in asks. 

Also, if you also share in my affinity for val, feel free to reach out. 

#val kilmer imagines #val kilmer imagine #val kilmer x reader #madmartigan #madmartigan imagines #madmartigan imagine #madmartigan x reader #doc holliday imagine #doc holliday x reader #doc holliday imagines