doingthingsthewriteway

[doingthingsthewriteway]

she’s just sooo dreamy. Love this!!!

𝓵𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷 & 𝓵𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 | kitten braden x reader

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 | it's been hard for you since she moved out, of course, and she didn't give you much warning before she stopped by to acquire some forgotten belongings. you know this time, if you let her leave again, she'll be out of your life forever-- could that really be what she wants?

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 | 4.3k

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 | smut (18+ only - thigh riding, fingering, a touch of dom!reader), angst (break up), internalized transphobia/body image stuff, insecurity, lesbian reader, fluff and sweetness 💕

You swung open the front door, having to stop yourself from biting your lip at the sight of her— just how you remembered, except… no, even more beautiful.

She was wearing a simple silky slip dress with a massive fur, the perfect contrast as always; pearls, of course, but not the ones you’d bought her.  Maybe she just wanted to show off that somebody new was buying her pearls now, and god, could you blame them?

You probably looked ridiculous, staring at her like that and not even saying anything.  “I just came to get my things,” she informed you in that soft, melodious voice of hers.

Your chest deflated.  “Y-yes, sure,” you nodded, stepping back to let her in.  She brushed past you quickly, a sort of tightness to her walk— a little prissy, you thought.  But you sort of liked that, too.  

You inhaled a whiff of sweet perfume just after she walked by so briskly, something new, something fresh and a little tart: lemon and lavender.  Had she put herself together like this, just to come here and flaunt how incredible she looked?  How she’d somehow become more beautiful since she left— how she was doing so well, probably better than ever without you?  It should’ve hurt but you didn’t even mind; she could walk all over you with those stilettos and you’d be grateful for it—

You shook your head as she made her way to the bedroom, deciding not to indulge in that train of thought… at least not until after she’d left.

“I thought you, erm, took everything already,” you mumbled as you followed her, watching her go through your drawers— she kept her chin up as she looked, only lowering her eyes in that way that made the length of her lashes all the more apparent.  Was she toying with you on purpose?  You really hoped she was.

“I couldn’t find my earrings,” she explained, “the little blue ones?  I think I left them here— and a few pairs of knickers.”

“The blue ones,” you remembered, “I remember them— they match your eyes.”

She shot you a little look, a frown, and kept searching amongst your socks.  “Don’t be like that,” she mumbled, eventually.  “I’m just here for the earrings.”

“I know, sorry,” you breathed, “it’s just that— you look great.”

“Hm,” she acknowledged, quickly turning her head to send those blonde curls in a swing; it reminded you of when she twirled in her dresses, laughing and blushing when you told her she looked beautiful.  You still couldn’t really believe that was all behind you now, that she was really gone…

“You look good too,” you added, doing an impression of her soft voice, and she seemed confused as she finally looked at you again.  “That’s the polite thing, you know— what you say when you run into an ex.”

“I know,” she agreed, “but, well… I said I’d never lie to you.  I’m still keeping that promise.”

You scoffed, not sure which part of that to start with.  What promise did I break to you?  You remember saying you’d never lie to me?  I don’t look good?

“And—” she started again, like she’d tried to bite her tongue but couldn’t help herself.  She spun on her heel and crossed her arms at you.  “And you look like a mess!  Stained joggers, your sock’s got a hole in it—”

You looked down at your feet, sighing when you saw your big toe exposed.

“And look at the apartment!” she continued, raising her arms to gesture around at the disorganised room.  “God, you’ve got take-away boxes everywhere, you’ve got dirty clothes and dishes on the bed—”

“I am a mess,” you explained, stepping closer.  “Of course I am.  I’m not like you, I can’t just… I can’t just forget.”

“Forget?” she repeated, offended.  “Is that what you think I’ve done?”

“How else can you come in here, looking like that,” you laughed thinly, motioning over her form as she held her coat together shyly, “asking about some bloody earrings… how can you walk through this apartment and not get your heart broken with every step?”

She glanced down, almost looking embarrassed— an emotion you were all too familiar with on her face.  You stepped a little closer, dying to meet her gaze.

“I can barely stand to be here,” you breathed, “and I lived here first— I lived here for years before I even met you!  And now— fuck, Kitten—” you stopped for a moment to bite your lip as you tried not to cry— “now I just come home and I keep thinking: that’s our apartment.”

She blinked quickly but said nothing.  You waited for a while for her to say any of the thousands of things you wanted to hear right then: for her to admit that she still wanted you, too, that she was so lonely without you, that she came up with an excuse to come by because she wanted to make you jealous— even just that she missed living here.  But she just bit her lip and avoided your gaze, and your heartbreak shifted to frustration: you quickly knelt down and yanked open the bottom drawer, forcing her to pull her leg out of the way before the wood scraped her ankle.  You flipped open a shoebox and dug through until you found the blue ceramic flowers.

“Here,” you decided as you balled them up in your fist, “the earrings you wanted so damn bad.”

But before you stood up, you tossed them carelessly back into the box and picked it up, standing and facing here.

“You know what?  Take the whole thing,” you offered roughly, pushing the box into her chest until she delicately held it.  She took the lid off and gently began to look through what was inside.  “It’s all there— the knickers, too.”

But it wasn’t just her earrings and lacy underthings in the box— it was everything.  Ticket stubs from movies you’d seen together, receipts from diners and lingerie stores, dried flowers and ribbons from picnic baskets… the pictures you’d taken of her, Polaroids mostly— some a bit more salacious than the rest.  “Darling…” she breathed, and your heart skipped.  “You kept all this?”

“Of course,” you replied, hating the way your voice cracked; you turned your head away when she looked up at your face, defiantly wiping a tear from your cheek.  “You can keep it now, I don’t… I don’t need it anymore.  I just wanna forget.”

She cooed at you sweetly as she set the box aside, grabbing your face and wiping another tear away tenderly with her thumb.  You found the strength to look at her again, though you tried not to get your hopes up that she’d really come back.  “Oh, sweet thing,” she sighed, “we can’t forget.  Neither of us can.”

“Then how am I supposed to go on?” you wondered, sniffling.  “I don’t— I really don’t know if I can live like this—”

“Ah, hush,” she dismissed, “you’ll do fine— you can have any girl you want, you won’t have any trouble.”

“But I only want you,” you insisted, grabbing her wrists and holding them tightly.  “I only ever wanted you, Kitten.”

Now she turned away, looking like her eyes might be getting misty.  “N-now, that can’t be true,” she denied softly.

You laughed a little, mostly out of amazement rather than amusement.  “Who the fuck else did you think I wanted?” you wondered.  She got her hands free from yours, chewing her lip and crossing her arms, but you stepped closer again.  “Kitten, who else would I possibly want?”

“Well, you know,” she stalled, “I just wondered if maybe… I mean, nobody could blame you if— you know, you’re… you’re a lesbian!”

“You’re just now noticing this?”

“No, I mean,” she choked, “I just mean maybe… maybe you would’ve wanted…”

She didn’t say it, she just held her hand up to her mouth— starting to bite her thumb nail nervously— and finally met your gaze.  And you heard it in the air, you saw it in her eyes.  Maybe you wanted a real girl.

You knew she was sensitive about it sometimes… for the first few months you were together she didn’t even like you to see her naked, didn’t want to be touched too much down there.  Then it was okay as long as it was in the dark— or through panties.  It took a lot of patience and promises to get her really naked for you, and god was it worth the wait.  And now here you were, fucking bewildered that she could think you didn’t like what you saw.

“Kitten,” you breathed, stepping up and frowning when she looked away again.  “Kitten, look at me.  How could you think that?”

“I just—”

“Was I not obsessed with you enough?  Did I not kiss you enough, touch you enough?  You had me on my knees— you had me around your finger—”

“I know,” she groaned, “but doesn’t the novelty wear off after a while?  You got to try something, you know, different— strange.  But a fetish is just that, you know— not meant to be forever.”

“That’s why you left?”

She nodded.

“Oh, Kitten— you stupid, stupid woman.”

“Hey—!” she protested, cut off by your lips pressing onto hers.  The resistance didn’t last for more than a half-second, and then she melted into you in the most beautiful way.  The way you’d been imagining ever since she left… or, really, ever since you first laid eyes on her.

She hummed sweetly into the kiss, and let you pull her closer.  Normally this is where you would’ve dragged her to the bed, but the bed was an aforementioned hellhole, so you had to try to think quickly while your brain short-circuited from the loveliness of the kiss.

Tugging her back by the fur coat, you guided her towards the couch with you, bringing her into your lap without ever breaking your lips away; then you could tug the coat down her arms, exposing the impossibly-thin straps of her dress.  She dropped her freckled shoulders in a coquettish way, as you finally pulled back and admired the way you'd ruined her lipstick.

Running your hands down her arms, and then over her sides, you sighed at the sight of her draped in silk— the way her legs straddled your lap only made the dress ride up a little higher, and it was driving you wild already.  “Tell me you weren’t just dressed like this to run errands,” you laughed breathlessly as you pet her thigh, dragging your nails a bit to tickle her through the stockings.

“No,” she admitted, watching your hand brush over her garters and reach up under the skirt— only to come back down before it got too far.  She whimpered as you teased her, and you felt your chest fill with pride.  “No, I dressed up like this for you…”

“Fuck,” you groaned, “all for me?”

“Yes,” she sighed, partially an answer to your question, partially a response to the way you started to kiss her neck.

“Dolled up for me, huh?  Wanted me to see what I was missin’?”

She nodded, biting her lip, and you carefully ran your fingertips along the edge of her panties.

You scoffed as you lifted the dress and found those garters pinned to delicate lace.  “Earrings my fuckin’ arse,” you mumbled, tickling her inner thigh as she hummed coyly.  “Knew exactly what you wanted when you came here, didn’t you, naughty Kitten?”

Her smile fell into a shuddering gasp as you grabbed her between the legs, and she could only nod a little.

“Well, then come and take it,” you offered, grabbing her hips next and pulling her down onto your lap to rub on your thigh.  “Go on, lemme see how bad you missed me.”

She sighed, moving carefully at first, but then really started to rock against you as you groaned proudly.  “Oh, kiss me,” she pleaded after a moment, and you pulled her down to your open mouth.  Finally she was letting go, relaxing in your arms, kissing you and grinding on you shamelessly.  She moaned and hummed against your lips, and you ran your hands all over her body— the stocking-clad legs, the curve of her waist, up over her back and chest until you could hold her head.  You cradled her face in your palms as you pulled away, enough to speak to her softly while you ran your fingers through her hair.

"Can't go leavin' me again, Kitten," you warned her with a little tug on those lovely blonde curls.  "Need you too much.  Hear me?"

"Yes," she promised, panting as she thrusted herself a bit faster against your thigh.

"You're mine," you reminded her, and she moaned happily.  "Say it."

"Yours," she whined, gasping as you suddenly groped her chest through the silk.  You smirked when you felt her nipple harden against your palm: they were always so sensitive.  "Yours, all yours—"

You roughly tugged her dress down to suck on her tit, and she gasped before giggling sweetly as she held your head.

"Oh, you brute," she moaned, "you'll rip my dress—"

"You wanted me to," you challenged, letting your teeth graze the little bud until you felt her shudder in your arms.  "You put this dress on— these panties and stockings— and you thought about me ripping it all off of you, didn't you?"

Her hips jerked a little in your lap, and that was answer enough for you.  

"Needy little Kitten," you praised.  “Now let me suck these pretty tits.”

She moaned, head falling back, as you went back and forth between them, mostly shutting your eyes tight and remembering exactly how to lick and tease her, but occasionally looking up at her face: it was just perfect like this.

She whimpered as she started to grind harder against your thigh, pretty pink lips open loosely for her moans to pass through.  Just when you thought she was lost in it entirely, and you started to lean back to just look up and watch her go, she moved her own leg between yours to press against your heated centre.  You sighed a little and caught her raising an eyebrow as she looked down at you, looking a little proud of herself.  "Want you to feel good too, darling," she explained, nodding encouragingly.

You moved your hips and groaned as the friction made you shiver all over.  You'd gotten so turned on from watching and touching her that every movement made you groan softly, and you had to take a tight hold of her ass— which made her whine sweetly— just to have something to keep you steady.

"I want us to come together like this," she whispered.  "Don't you think it's romantic this way?  Just moving together, too desperate to slow down, feeling each other…?"

"This is how it was the first time," you reminded her through a sigh.  You remembered it like it was yesterday, even though it was months and months ago: the way she was so shy and delicate about it at first, the sweet noises she made for you as you touched her— Does little Kitten purr? you'd asked her teasingly.  She does when a handsome new friend makes her come, she'd replied, or gives her some money.

You'd done both, actually, desperate to make this lovely Kitten your pet.  It felt more now like she owned you, and you didn't mind it one bit.  "I remember, too," she giggled, "you said it was the most fun you ever had without taking your clothes off."

“And then I asked you to stay with me,” you remembered with a laugh of your own.  “I was yours from the start, Kitten, and you knew it, didn’t you?”

She didn’t answer, just petting your hair and lifting your head so you’d look up at her.  “I was yours, too, darling,” she promised, looking deep into your eyes.  “Now won’t you come for me?”

“I’m close,” you breathed, “fuck, Kitten— you wanna make me come, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she smiled, breathing heavily by your ear as you bucked your hips up against her faster.  “Yes, I’d like to see it.”

“I wanna see you soak those panties,” you countered, panting yourself as the pressure began to build.  “Show me, Kitten— show me that pretty face when you cream your little knickers—”

“Oh!” she yelped sweetly, and you could feel it— the pulsing between her legs, through the fabric of your pants.  You pressed even harder against her thigh and came, too, both of you moving helplessly and instinctively— and it was pretty romantic, like she said.  But it was dirty in just the right way, too.

“Good girl,” you praised, though your own voice wasn’t very commanding anymore as you were reaching your high.  “Fuck, you’re so good—”

You choked and dropped your head back, your hips slowing to a stop while she smiled and relaxed above you; “Darling,” she purred, leaning down and kissing your cheek with a conservative peck.  “That was lovely.”

You nodded in agreement, smiling up at her and tucking her hair behind her ear— it still looked pretty perfect despite all that it had been through.

“Now maybe let’s clean up and get some lunch,” she offered, but she whimpered when you grabbed her waist aggressively.

"No fucking way I'm done with you already," you growled, watching her eyes get a little wide.

You ran your hand up her body again, feeling the way her chest swelled and sank as she tried to catch her breath.

“Get them wet for me, love,” you ordered softly as you pressed two fingers to her lips, and she dipped down to wrap her mouth around them.  You hummed in praise as she sucked them gently, batting her eyes at you— because of course she would.

She looked at you expectantly as you dragged the fingers slowly from her mouth, watching her plump lip go slack and bounce back when you pulled the digits away.  “Gonna put those inside me?” she asked, trying to sound innocent.

“If you ask nicely," you teased.

“Oh,” she sighed, “please— I missed them, you know.  Missed how you feel inside me— any part of you, really— but those fingers, darling, you know what you can do to me with those…”

“Did you try with your own fingers?” you wondered with a smirk.

“With these nails?  Heavens, no,” she denied.  You reached into her panties and teased her hole with the wet fingers, circling her rim as she mewled, hoping to break her patience.  “C’mon then, did I not ask nicely enough?” she wondered after a minute or so of that.

“Lay down on your back,” you whispered your command to her, “and open your legs for me.  Then I can give you what you want, princess.”

She got up off your lap and sank down to the floor in front of you— you figured she would’ve stayed on the sofa, but this felt a little more submissive— laying back slowly and seductively.  How could she do that, look so much like an angel and vixen all at once, while just laying on the ground?

Looking up at you with sultry half-lidded eyes, she slowly spread her legs and let you get an eyeful of the stockings and garters, the lace panties stained with come, the sweetest legs and the heaven she'd been hiding between them.

You fell to your knees in front of her, snapping the garters off and yanking her stockings down to touch her bare, smooth skin.  “God, Kitten,” you breathed in awe, “you know exactly what you fucking do to me.”

“Missed this sweet little cunt, didn’t you?” she noticed with a proud smile.

“Course I did,” you panted, kissing up her thighs.  “You know I fucking did.”

You reached down and pulled her panties aside, pressing your fingers to her hole again, but this time you actually slipped one in.  She jolted a little when you pushed past the resistance, and you smiled.

“Always so fucking tight,” you praised softly, still kissing her bent knee gently but meeting her gaze now.  She had this look in her eyes when she had something inside her, a wonderful look you never wanted to go too long without seeing.

Tight, yes, but it was a needy hole, too— and you both knew she already wanted more than just one.  She moaned through a smile as you added the second, carefully stretching her open as her hands clenched fistfuls of the shag beneath her.

A shag on the shag. You would've snorted to yourself as you realised the humour in the situation if you weren't too wrapped up in how gorgeous she looked spread out on your floor like this.

You still only had the two fingers about halfway in, focusing on stretching her carefully and just barely teasing that little spot that you knew all too well— you wanted her begging, if you had anything to do with it.  You had to get some sense of control back after she'd walked in here and made a complete fool out of you.

She hadn't said anything yet, though, just moaned and rocked her hips against you.  Your free hand kept petting her thighs encouragingly, and you kept looking back and forth between her hole swallowing up your fingers and that gorgeous face lost in pleasure.

You pushed your fingers deeper, all the way to the knuckle, and she arched her back up from the carpet.  “O-oh, more, please,” she begged.

“More fingers?” you smirked.  “Two’s not enough for you?”

“No, I just mean—” she pouted, “I just want more of you…”

You leaned down and laid over her, bringing your face close to hers, as she looked at you with the slightest hint of nervousness in her eyes.  “Like this?” you offered under your breath, and she nodded before hiding her face in the crook of your neck.  She was rarely shy about sexual things, even when she pretended to be, but sentiment sometimes made her act like this— she didn’t like to ask you for affection, as if she still feared you’d reject her.  Generally, your solution to this was to shower her in it, so she’d never have to ask… but you had to admit, you loved the way she begged for you.

She moaned into your shoulder as you held her closer with your free hand, still curling your fingers inside her and finally properly rubbing the most sensitive place inside her.

She whimpered and bucked her hips a bit when you pressed against it, and you smiled; “There, baby?  Is that where you need it?”

“Yes, yes,” she mewled, clutching tighter onto you.  

You brushed through her curls with your fingers, trying to coax her out.  “Let me see that pretty face,” you cooed, laughing a little when she shook her head against you.  “No?  I don’t get to see my angel?”

She sniffled and pulled back enough to let you see her: big, wet eyes with her mascara beginning to smudge, her lip caught between her teeth.

“You’re so beautiful,” you promised softly.  “But I love you for who you are, Kitten.  You’re not a fetish, or a compromise.  You’re just the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She whimpered and held your face, kissing you sweetly— but the kiss got faster and more desperate at the same time that your movements inside her did, and soon she was making those sweet noises that you knew meant she would come again.

“Let me see one more time, love,” you requested, “lemme see that pretty face you make when I make you come.”

“O-oh, fuck, I’m close,” she promised.  “I’m close, darling— I’ll come, I’ll come for you—”

“Yeah,” you agreed encouragingly, “yeah, you’ll give my fingers a nice squeeze, won’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” she whined, arching her back deeper.  “L-lick them again, please…”

“Your tits, honey?”

“Yes, please, please—” she chanted, moaning louder when you dipped your head down and wrapped your lips around one of those cute little nipples.  You suckled at it while she came, thrusting your fingers into her while she writhed and whimpered out your name; you didn’t stop moving your fingers until she seemed like she was trying to move her hips away, and you didn’t stop kissing her breast until she pulled you away from it by your hair, dragging you up to kiss her— it was sweet and lazy and slow, yet with a sense of desperation felt not in the speed of it all but in the way she tried to hold you tighter with weak and shaking hands.

You must have kissed for ages before you broke apart, and you rolled onto your back at her side; the two of you laid on the floor, sweaty and sticky, panting as you looked up at the ceiling.

After a moment, she turned her head and looked over at you, and you looked back at her as she offered you the softest smile— a real heart-melter, that one.  Her smile made your knees weak from the very start.  Reaching forward, she wiped some of her lipstick off of your lip, and you kissed the tip of her thumb.

"You really do look awful," she said suddenly, and you chuckled nervously.

"Your pillowtalk skills have seriously diminished since the last time we were together," you noticed.

"No, I just mean— I could tell you'd been crying," she whispered.  

"Yeah," you sighed in return, moving a curl out of her face carefully.  "Well, like I said, I was pretty miserable once you left."

"Then why'd you let me leave?"

"I figured you'd met someone else," you breathed.  "You wanted to get out so fast— I thought maybe you found a man."

"A man?" she repeated, lifting her head slightly in shock.

"You don't have too much trouble with men," you reminded her, and she laughed.

"I only have trouble with men," she assured, and you felt her hand reach for yours, clammy fingers tangling together.  "Besides— who else would I possibly want but you, darling?"

[doingthingsthewriteway]

🥹

hii i loved your kitten fanfic 🤍 i was wondering if you would be open to write some fluff for her ? maybe comforting her after everything she’s been through and giving her the love she deserves bcs she’s so underrated tbh 😫

of course! thank you for your patience, this definitely sparked a lot more ideas 4 me, so here's a short but sweet thang :-) don't worry, this isn't the last fluff you're gonna get of us taking care of kitten <3

plea for tenderness

patricia 'kitten' braden x f!reader tags: pure domestic fluff, established relationship

ao3

The candles lit all around your shared living room bring an almost stifling atmosphere of comfort and romance, but it was truly just the way Kitten liked to light your home. The scent of roses and vanilla permeated the air, and the cool breeze from the window made you sigh happily.

She stretches as the two of you lay on a chaise lounge, tucked away in the corner. Her pink slip rides up on her legs, and you can’t help but think how lucky you are to be with her. Besides her obviously beautiful looks, her passion inspires you. The strength this woman had to have and continues to hold is divine at best.

Kitten catches you staring at her perfect form, and cocks her head, “See something you like, pretty?”

“Always, my love,” you smile widely and kiss her hand, “I’m just thinking, that’s all.”

“Hmm, about what we should make for dinner? I was thinkin’ chips, but that’s as far as I got.”

You laugh softly, “Your idea is as golden as ever, but I’m thinking about you, Kitten.”

She smiles and leans down to be next to you proper, “You flatter me, love. What’s on your mind exactly?”

Kitten begins to trace shapes on your bare arms, leaving goosebumps in her wake. You breathe in her signature Chanel scent, feeling it wash over your senses. You admire her like no other.

“Your beauty, your passion… your strength. You absolutely astound me, darling.”

Her head falls back in a loud laugh, reverberating throughout her body, “You’re such a sap! All I’ve done is sit here, and you say such sweet things.”

Eyes crinkling as you smile, you whisper to her, “I mean it, truly, Kitten. All these stories you’ve told me, I know you embellish every now and then, but you…”

You brush a blonde curl away from her face, “You’ve been through hell and back, and I just can’t believe you’re still so you.”

She begins to wrap her arms around you in a loose embrace and sighs softly, “I do tend to embellish, don’t I?”

“And I love it, you’re the best storyteller in this country,” she kisses your forehead as you speak, “You’ve been through it all, but you remain so optimistic. I wish I could have that superpower.”

As you whisper that last part, Kitten looks at you sadly, “Lover, it isn’t a superpower. Life is just too short to waste on silly little things like the past.”

You sit up, looking into her blue eyes, “I know that, but you make it seem so easy! I know that behind the scenes, it isn’t… but I cannot say enough just how proud I am of you, Kitten.”

She smiles, looking anywhere but your eyes, “You’re too good to me, (Y/N).”

“God, you really are a saint, aren’t you?” Shaking your head, you cup her cheek in your hand, “I’m not too good to you, darling. This is what love is supposed to be.”

She meets your gaze, eyes glistening in the dim light, “You’re an angel, aren’t you?”

Before you can even think of responding, she closes the gap and kisses you with the most gentle kiss imaginable. You smile into the kiss, still holding her face in your hand. The two of you become an entanglement of limbs, never once separating your respective lips. The idea of leaving to catch a breath seemed terrible, preposterous at best.

Despite that, Kitten inhales deeply as you two find yourself lacking oxygen.

“I love you, my (Y/N).”

You both share a look that can only be described as pure dedication, “I love you, my Kitten.”

[doingthingsthewriteway]

I cannot express my love for this trope with this man

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐂𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 | dad's best friend!cillian murphy x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | based on the following request: what would dilf/dad's best friend cillian do if he found your dildo?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5k (this was literally supposed to be a drabble...)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut (18+ only), significant age gap (reader is college-aged, cillian is in his late forties), voyeurism/exhibitionism, semi-public sex, use of toys, praise kink, unprotected sex, very brief/semi sarcastic 'sir' kink, shockingly fluffy??

Not that your parents' anniversary cocktail party wasn't horribly riveting (cue dramatic eyeroll) but you were upstairs, on your bed, on your phone; you'd had enough of 'so how's college going?' and 'what's your major again?' and 'got any boyfriends yet? you must be a heartbreaker' for one evening— or a lifetime, preferably.

It wasn’t even that comfortable to be on the bed in your party dress—a cute, short sparkly one that you’d picked out for tonight—but it was better than standing around and trying to balance in those sky-high heels; those you had kicked off into the corner of the room the second you were alone.

When you heard a small rap on the door, you hummed a quick "Come in!" and didn't even look up from your phone, figuring it was your mom or dad come to find you after you disappeared.

Instead, you heard Mr. Murphy's voice as he leaned in the doorframe; "Sorry to bug you," he said, startling you slightly as you closed Instagram and set your phone down. "Just needed a Tide pen— your mom said you might have one in here?"

"O-oh, yeah," you said, sitting up, "sure— what happened?"

"Salsa fiasco," he joked softly as he shut the door behind him, showing you the dark red stain on his shirt— though the shirt itself was red, so it wasn't too egregious, but still noticeable.

"That's too bad," you chuckled, "I warned them about that salsa— if you serve salsa, there's gonna be a fiasco, that's what I said."

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "They should listen to you more," he agreed.

"I've got a couple stain remover pens in that top drawer," you suggested as you pointed to your dresser.

"Great," he smiled, starting to unbutton the shirt; you got nervous for a second until you realized he had on a black undershirt beneath. It's hard to say why you were nervous about that, since you'd seen him shirtless plenty of times in the years you'd known him...

"Nobody's worried about me going missing, right?" you wondered as he continued working on the buttons, and he shook his head while shrugging slightly.

"Not yet," he replied, "but they're going to want to find you soon, you're sort of the star of the night."

You rolled your eyes, frowning. "It's my parents' anniversary party, I think they should be the focus."

"Maybe they should, but you're the much more interesting one," he informed you.

You pulled your legs up a bit, leaning to the side as you sat on your bed; as much as all this attention from your parents' friends was usually annoying to you, something about being interesting to Mr. Murphy didn't bother you so much. "Is it weird for you?" you asked, lowering your voice a bit; he tilted his head quickly as if to ask what you meant. "Going to an anniversary party after, you know—"

"Oh, no," he scoffed, taking off his cufflinks. "It's fine; but I'm sick of the questions about it."

You winced. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Don't worry," he laughed finally shirking off the shirt; he looked a little too good in just the short-sleeved undershirt. "You can make it even by letting me ask you how college is going."

"Oh god," you groaned, rolling your eyes, and he laughed.

"If I didn't know from your parents that you were acing it, I'd worry that your aversion to talking about it meant you were struggling somehow."

"It's not that," you assured, "it's the people."

"The people?" he pressed. "Or the guys?"

You laughed nervously, looking down at your lap. "Geez, you learn to mindread while I was gone or something?"

He stepped around your bed to get to the dresser, laying his shirt down over it. "No, I just remember that time— somehow. And I remember how much of a headache I and every other young guy was."

"I guess not much has changed then," you smiled.

"What, I'm still a headache?" he grinned as he looked over his shoulder at you.

"No, I meant—"

"I know what you meant, I'm just teasing," he chuckled. "Top drawer you said?"

"Yeah," you nodded, and he opened the top drawer of the dresser; of course, only right then did you remember that you should have specifically said top left. Because the top right was—

Oh shit.

You swallowed thickly as Cillian stared down into the open drawer, and your heart pounded as you somehow hoped and prayed that what was in there had turned invisible or something; but if the look on his face was anything to go by, it was just as visible as ever.

“I—fuck, sorry, I forgot that’s—” you choked out, face burning impossibly hot.  “I never meant for you to see—I’m—could you shut the fucking drawer, please, you pervert?!”

“I’m the pervert?” he laughed thinly, looking at you again finally.  “You’re the one with a massive fucking dildo in here.”

“Well—you weren’t supposed to see that—”

“Yeah, but—fuck,” he choked, “I was just looking for your stain remover and I see your— you have a— are you sure that isn’t technically considered a weapon or something?  How’s a guy supposed to compete with that?”

“That’s the great thing about it: he doesn’t have to compete,” you explained, “that’s sort of the whole idea.”

He looked back at it for a second and you yelped, reaching your leg off the bed to kick him in the hip.  “Would you please shut the drawer?!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughed a bit, “but I mean, how am I supposed to react to that?

“Well, you’re not supposed to just stare at it!” you insisted.

He shut the drawer, giving you a look you couldn’t possibly decipher.

“What were you thinking?!” you said, somewhat rhetorically.

“I—well,” he hummed, looking away from you for a second, “I was thinking that I can’t imagine how you can possibly fit something like that.”

You blinked quickly, not sure what to say in response to that.  “Well—I mean, it’s a little big, but… it gets the job done.  Keeps me from calling the guys I shouldn’t be calling.”

He nodded.  “Well, that’s good… none of those college boys could possibly deserve you…”

His eyes were running all over you, and even though you’d picked out this dress just for this party because you loved how you looked in it, you felt a little exposed by his stare.

“I just can’t believe a girl like you—”

“Come on, I’ve never been a saint,” you scoffed, glancing away.

“No, I just mean… the size of that thing…” he trailed off.

“You really can’t get over that part,” you noticed, “is this some kind of… intimidation, Freudian situation?”

You glanced quickly at his pants, and he started to deny it instantly.  “No—come on, it’s not—I just can’t believe you take all that.  For fun.  It looks like it would break you.”

You hadn’t even had any drinks at this anniversary party, and yet you found yourself with this foggy head like you were tipsy; you blurted something out as if you were tipsy.  “What, you want me to prove it?”

His chest sunk a bit, and you were about to take it back when he spoke before you.  “I’d like to see you try.”

Biting your lip, you sat up on the bed, reaching around him and into the drawer.  He didn’t step back or out of the way, just let you grab the toy and lean back on the bed in front of him.

You reached up under your dress, sliding your panties out of the way, finding yourself suddenly plenty wet to fit this toy.

His eyes never left you, though they certainly travelled all over your body as you pressed the toy up to your entrance; it was thick, he wasn’t wrong, and you had to slowly warm yourself up to it whenever you used it on yourself. 

After pushing with enough pressure, the tip finally slipped inside and you let out a small sigh.  He watched carefully, and your lips fell open into a moan as you pushed the toy deeper into yourself.  When the stretch became a bit too sharp, you winced and slowed down, trying to take your time even with your heart racing and hands shaking.

You heard his own breathing picking up, watching you take the toy deeper; you found your gaze wandering over him, even lingering on his groin to see if you could catch a bulge growing there, but nothing was obvious yet.  You stared for a moment at his hands, too, suddenly wishing to have them all over you—well, maybe not that suddenly, you’d sort of thought about this before.  It wasn’t until somewhat recently that you noticed how sexy he was.  Maybe when you were younger, you understood that he was better looking than all the other adults you knew, but only once you left for college did you start thinking about him out of nowhere, imagining what he was really like when he wasn’t just being friendly with you—you even asked your mom once on a phone call if he was dating anyone.  Thankfully, she didn’t seem to get suspicious when you asked that; but she’d be more than fucking suspicious if she walked in now, saw you doing this to yourself under his watchful eye.

Oddly enough, the knowledge that someone could walk in and see this just made you even more desperate, and you gasped as you pushed the toy in deeper.

It still wasn’t all the way in, and you already felt so full… truth be told, he had a point about it maybe being too big for you—when you usually used it on yourself, you only put it in a little over halfway, since that was all you really needed.  You hadn’t put the whole thing inside since you first got it—and yes, you’d ordered it online, because if you’d seen it in person you probably would’ve been as intimidated by its girth as he was.

Your decision not to wear a bra with this dress became very apparent when his gaze settled on your chest; your nipples were hard, and clearly visible under the fabric now.  It was just because it was strapless that you went without, but you were thankful for it when you saw him quickly lick his lips at the sight.  You dared to moan just a little louder as you pulled the toy in and out, picking up your pace carefully.

“How’s it feel?” he asked lowly, his eyes drifting back to where the toy slid into you. 

“Good,” you mumbled, “really fucking good.”

“Can you really take it all?” he pressed, making your walls clench on the silicone.

Instead of answering aloud, you simply pushed it all the way in until your eyes rolled back—it was so deep, pressing heavy and fat against your deepest points until it felt like you might burst.

“Fuck,” he praised—it was just a swear, but the way he whispered it made it sound like a praise.

You sped up slightly, trying to do this the way you normally would without someone staring at you.  But you were even more sensitive with him watching, your walls clenching more and more around the toy until it was almost hard to keep thrusting it in and out.  Sighing, you shut your eyes and laid back on the bed to try to help yourself relax.  The change in angle just seemed to make the toy go deeper, rubbing harder against the spot inside you that made your back arch.

“You’re so wet,” he breathed; you whimpered, nodding in agreement, and kept moving the dildo as deep as you could get it with every thrust. 

Your free arm went back over your head to hold onto the comforter under you, your hand gripping tight for some relief for the pressure inside you.  “Fuck yes,” you whispered, knitting your brows together and fucking yourself faster.  “Feels so fucking good…”

He hummed a little, but you kept your eyes shut, afraid you’d lose your nerve if you looked at him again.  It had been months since you used anything but this, and you had no regrets—the toy performed way better than any of the guys you’d met at college.  But, truthfully, you didn’t like having to do this to yourself.  It felt like you could never move it fast or hard enough, and you needed to constantly have perfect control over the toy to get yourself to come—and when you come, the last thing you want is to take control, you want to lay back and lose control.  Still, it was better than the college fuckboys who smelled like beer and didn’t last more than two minutes.

Thinking about them wasn’t going to help you now, though; it was much better to think about Cillian, about those icy blue eyes running all over your body, about how his hands would hold you down while he claimed you, about how his lips would feel on your neck before he whispered in your ear that you were his…

You let out a sharp and sudden moan as the toy hit harder on that spot; your legs started to shake.  “Good girl,” he mumbled, making you moan even louder because god, those words just sounded right in his accent, with that rough voice—and they sounded right being said to you.

“Fuck,” you choked, “Mr. Murphy, I—”

He laughed a little.  “So polite,” he cooed.  “Open your eyes and look at me.”

Though it made your heart beat even faster, you did as you were told.  His stare was all-encompassing, making you feel completely trapped in a way you enjoyed more than you could’ve imagined. 

“Call me Cillian,” he insisted.

You weren’t sure if he meant to literally call him that right in that moment, but it sort of came out anyway: “Cillian,” you moaned, and the grip he’d taken on the dresser behind him tightened.

“Can you come for me?” he asked lowly.  “Right now?  Can you come on that fake cock?”

You bit your lip and nodded, moving the toy faster and faster— more desperate to come than ever.  “I—fuck, yeah, I’m close…”

“Good,” he praised again.  “Let me see you come, honey.”

Your back arched harder, deeper—your hands were shaking but you kept going, holding on tight to the dildo and forcing it back and forth as your legs began to quiver.

Moans poured from your mouth faster than you could try to quiet them—everyone was downstairs, you just had to hope the music and conversation was enough to drown out your desperate, pleading noises.  “Fuckin’ beautiful,” he mumbled, right as you hit the peak and melted into the mattress, a wave of ecstasy pouring over you.

You felt hot everywhere, but especially between your legs—you could swear you felt yourself leaking out around the toy, soaking it, giving away how needy you’d become and not even having the mental energy to feel any shame for it.

Cillian certainly didn’t look like he was trying to shame you for it; when you opened your eyes again, he had a stunned expression—in the best way.  “You normally come that fast for a toy?”

You laughed a little, but you still couldn’t quite catch your breath.  “No,” you admitted, “it normally takes… a bit longer than that…”

“What was different about tonight?” he mused, and you scoffed and rolled your eyes again.

“Shut up,” you sighed.  “Now I have to figure out how to take this thing out—I’m always sore after…”

“If you can handle putting it in, taking it out shouldn’t be much trouble,” he noticed.

Which, yes, that would make sense, but after coming you always got all tight and sensitive and it could be a little intense.

“How about I help you?” he offered, and your chest tightened.  He waited for you to nod before carefully wrapping his hand around your own, watching your face as he gently guided you to pull the toy out.

Your lips were slack and your eyes were probably glassy and dazed as he looked at you like that, completely enveloping you in his stare as he studied every detail of your expression.  Aside from some heavy breathing you didn’t react much to him sliding the toy out of you, until the ridge of the head reached your entrance and you winced.

“Shh,” he soothed gently, “it’s okay…”

A long sigh of relief emptied your chest when the toy tapered off and you felt the last of it slip out of you; you really noticed then how soaked you were, as a draft in the room seemed to cling to the patch of wetness that had coated all between your legs somehow.

“Lemme see, baby,” he cooed under his breath as he set the toy aside, kneeling down and resting a hand on the inside of your thigh to keep your legs open.

You could barely catch your breath with him doing that; you’d never had someone… look at it like that.  You felt incredibly vulnerable but impossibly sexy as you heard him sigh at the sight.  “Is it all stretched out now?” you wondered.

“No,” he said, “you look… just as tight as before.  Fuck.  That’s incredible.”

You bit your lip, sitting up enough to try to get a look at his face past the puffiness of your dress’ skirt, and he smirked up at you with the loveliest sparkle in his eye.  “Really?” you breathed, and he nodded.

Even though your hands were still shaking you suddenly felt brave; maybe it was just the afterglow, but you grabbed him by the shirt and sat up to kiss him, colliding your lips with his.  He reciprocated instantly, putting his hands on your upper back that the strapless dress left bare.

The kiss was perfect—needy but not too fast, sweet but not too chaste, teasing but not too slow.  The guys in college couldn’t even kiss like this… you were wondering why you ever even tried with them—or, you would’ve been if that kiss left you capable of thinking about anything but him.  “Need you,” you whispered as you pulled him closer, wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips, a hand holding your waist while he started to kiss your neck and jaw.  “Not here—your parents—”

“Don’t care,” you whimpered, “I’m so—fuck, Cillian, please—”

“You already came,” he noticed with a small laugh, “didn’t that take the edge off?”

“Not enough,” you whined, getting impatient and running a hand down over his shirt and down to his pants—and you smiled proudly as you felt the hardening bulge beneath.  He choked a little when you touched him there, holding you tighter.  “You want me too,” you noticed.

“Of course I do, but—” he breathed, then stopped himself as he tossed you back on the bed; you giggled as he crawled up over you, pinning you down.  “But we can’t… your parents would have my head on a platter—once they’re done serving crawfish etouffee off of it downstairs.”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on telling my parents,” you smirked.  “Were you?”

“No,” he agreed, kissing your neck again as you hummed happily.  “But if they found out—”

“So?  They wouldn’t like if they found out about what just happened, either—and they won’t.”

“But this is different,” he insisted.

“How?”

“Because this…”

He trailed off, kissing down your neck and over your shoulder, until a hand reached up to pull your dress down and expose your chest.

“Shit,” he sighed at the sight of it, and you smiled up at him.

“You were saying?” you teased.

“Right, erm,” he swallowed, “this is different because—because if we do this, you’re gonna be my girl.  Not just a misguided one-time fuck because you were turned on after screwing yourself with your dildo while I watched.”

You felt a little out of breath but nodded up at him.  “Okay,” you agreed.

“Okay?” he repeated, looking a little shocked.  “I tell you that you have to be mine and you just say okay?”

“What was I supposed to say, yes sir?” you joked.

“I just mean—shit, if I knew it would be this easy, I would’ve said something sooner,” he chuckled.  “But I’m, er, not complaining about the yes sir thing either…”

He sat up and started to unbutton his pants, making you wiggle a bit on the bed impatiently.  Even though you’d just gotten filled by your big toy, you felt needier than ever for something inside you—something real. 

Your throat caught when he took it out— it was pale and veiny just like the rest of him; long, uncut, a bead of precum starting to leak from the slit… it was beautiful, honestly.  The artificial fleshy hue of the silicone could never compete.

“Big enough for you?” he asked with a smirk, but you had to swallow before you answered because your mouth was watering.

“Yeah,” you panted, “plenty.”

He kissed you again, laying more of his weight on top of you; your legs wrapped around his hips, keeping him close as he pressed you down into your bed.

One hand found your wrist and held it back above your head, while the other kept a tight wrap around his cock so he could guide it to your waiting entrance.  When he pushed inside, you both sighed with relief like you’d been longing for this for ages—perhaps because both of you had, in your own ways.  “Fuck,” you breathed, “Cillian…”

He whispered your name back to you, heavy and desperate and right by your ear, and you absolutely knew you were his, just like he said.  He only stilled for a moment when he was all the way inside, already starting to rock back and forth—but he was sort of tender about it, watching you move under him as he fucked you.  “So pretty,” he praised quietly, kissing you again, even harder than before.  You both moaned into the kiss, and a warm, rough hand settled on your thigh under your dress.

Soon, the pleasure was too much to even focus on kissing, and your mouth just fell wide open in front of his as needy moans passed through it.  He stayed close, though, watching your face go slack with ecstasy.  The previous orgasm had left you sticky and sensitive inside, still totally dripping for him, everything in you begging for more.  “Oh my god,” you sighed, eyes rolling back, your composure completely slipping already.  He made you feel so good so easily—and fuck, the way he was looking at you, it was just too much to bear.

“Mm,” he hummed proudly, latching his lips onto your neck again until your fingers tangled in his hair.  He moved down and caught a nipple in his mouth, making you whimper as he suckled at it gently. 

“Fuck,” you whined, nearly pulling him along by the hair when he moved to the other one; you couldn’t stop clenching inside, squeezing him until he groaned against your skin. 

“Won’t last if you keep doing that,” he warned you softly. 

“What if I don’t want you to?” you teased, and he growled a little between his teeth, sitting up to look down at you.  He fucked you harder, but put a hand on top of your head and pet your hair for a moment, looking at you like you hung the moon; how could he be so dirty then so adorable within the same split-second?!

“I’ll do whatever you want me to,” he decided, speaking softly, “how about that?  What do you want me to do?”

That was a little too much power to give you, at least in your opinion, but you grinned as you considered it.  “Then I want you to come way too quick,” you decided, “like all those annoying college boys—because you just can’t help yourself.”

He laughed a little, though he stopped to bite his lip as he fucked you even harder—and faster, too.  “Okay,” he breathed, “don’t know why you want that, but—fuck— it won’t be very difficult after that little show you gave me.  You look so pretty when you come…”

“Just keep going and you can see it again,” you promised, holding onto him tighter as he pressed into you and really let you have it—not really rough or anything, you couldn’t risk making any more noise than you were, but still aggressive and passionate and desperate.

He kissed your neck again, burying his face in your shoulder and finding the spot that made you gasp out his name suddenly; your fingers clutched at fistfuls of his undershirt, and your legs began to shake where they were hooked around his hips and half-pushed-down pants.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, the pleasure hitting you again—but it was better than with the toy, it was stronger, and it just kept going because he kept going.  When your head fell back onto the mattress with a sigh, he realized that he’d made you come.

“Wait, fuck, I wasn’t looking,” he rushed as he popped his head up from the crook of your neck, “do it again.”

You laughed breathlessly and pushed against his shoulder a bit; “Shut up, I can’t do it on command.”

“You did it the last two times I told you to,” he reminded you, and that just made you feel even more deliciously dizzy. 

Yes, you were definitely his girl now—totally addicted to him.  You’d never felt like this with somebody—not just physically, but the trust and the laughter and the comfort of it all.  This wasn’t a too-empty dorm room that still smelled like fresh paint, it wasn’t a mattress with no sheets in an apartment with 5 roommates nearby, it wasn’t a guy you vaguely knew from a two-hundred-student class or someone you saw on a dating app and talked with for an afternoon before meeting for ‘coffee’ (it was never just coffee).  This was Mr. Murphy—and that should’ve made it weirder, but somehow, it just made it make more sense.

“So, if I tell you to come again,” he spoke lowly by your ear, a new authority to his tone, “you should come.”

You couldn’t think of anything else to say: “Yes, sir,” you breathed, hugging him close to you and pressing your face against his shoulder.

Of course, it wasn’t quite instantaneous, but just another minute of him giving you those deep, controlled thrusts right into your favorite spot sent you over the edge easily—and this time, he gently guided your face out of its hiding spot and looked at you, watched your pleasure overtake you, tenderly rubbing your cheek with his thumb.  “Good girl,” he praised softly, kissing you again just as the last of it drained from you; you were so numb that you barely heard him whisper something to you—it took you a few seconds to process it.

“I’m gonna come,” he’d whispered to you, “fuck, you’re so fucking warm…”

“Come inside,” you instructed, and for all the concern he tried to perform for you after you said that, his moan was undeniable, as was the way he started to move faster.

“Fuck, really?” he nearly whined.  “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, panting.

“You’re on—”

“Yes, please, just come inside me,” you begged, and he finally stopped protesting and pressed himself as deep into you as he could—you could feel the way his cock flexed, and it made your exhausted walls dig up just enough energy to flex back.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned, holding onto you tightly.

You hummed a little at the feeling, turning your face towards his, hoping to see what he looked like in this moment—but he pulled you into another kiss before you could get a good look.  Even this kiss was different from the others—a little slower, a little more tired in a wonderful, dreamy way.  He was breathing heavy against you, and eventually he found the energy to push himself up with his arms on either side of your head, and you smiled up at him.  He looked really fucking good like this: his face a bit flushed, which seemed to show his freckles and fine lines even more (which you adored); his hair falling down, a little wavier from the slight sweat he’d worked up; his lips swollen and slick from the kisses; and those eyes, they looked as beautiful as always, but they made you feel beautiful, too.

“Is taking this one out gonna hurt, too?” he asked you with a smirk.

“Probably a little,” you shrugged.

“For both of us,” he agreed, “I’m so fucking sensitive now… you really do have me acting like a desperate college boy—but you know, it’s been a while, so…”

“Right, sure—good excuse,” you joked, but you didn’t mind any of it either way.

He did it a little quicker, pulling back as he took a sharp breath in, and you giggled softly.

“Fuck, I can feel it, like… leaking out,” you admitted, biting your lip at the sick satisfaction of the warm gush.

“I think I need to see that,” he said, sitting up and picking your legs up from under the knee to look at you.  This was apparently a habit of his—and you were starting to get used to it already.

“How’s it look?” you asked, wondering if he’d finally stretched you out after that.

He just stared at it for a moment longer, running his tongue over his teeth, before finally looking back at you and saying with a smile: “Looks like you need the Tide pen more than I do.”

[doingthingsthewriteway]

He’s just so fucking dreamy! 😍

def write more best friends dad!cillian orrrr maybe you can dip ur toes into dads best friend!cillian??? i feel like that would be awesome!

here you go, lovelies, the long awaited dad's best friend!cillian! enjoy! warnings for smut (oral f!receiving, fingering), age gap (cillian is 46, reader is in her 20s)

The moment you surfaced from the water, you felt his gaze on you. You had known Mr. Murphy for years, for long enough for him to insist that you call him Uncle Cillian (although you didn’t,  but you were never sure why), and his bright blue eyes were hard to miss, especially when they were fixated on you.You swiped the droplets of chlorinated water from your eyes as you looked around for him, dodging the various people that were in your backyard. It was a hot Saturday evening, and your parents were putting on a little summer party to celebrate you being home from college; of course, Mr. Murphy was invited, and you had briefly greeted him when he arrived a few hours before, before you got in the pool. But now, you felt him watching you, and you found him standing by the back door that led into your kitchen.

You watched as he averted his eyes, obviously having been caught looking, and he slipped inside your house quickly. You scrunched up your eyebrows in confusion at his hasty exit, and you swam to the edge of the pool, tugging yourself up and out. Your towel laid nearby, and you quickly dried off and wrapped it around your waist as you padded barefoot by your dad. “Don’t track water into the house,” he told you as you passed, and you absently nodded, still intent on following Mr. Murphy inside. 

You found him all alone in the kitchen, standing with his back to the door, leaning against the island, sipping at his beer. He had his phone in his hand, scrolling too quickly to really be looking at anything on his screen, and you purposefully opened the fridge louder than usual to get him to look at you. “What’re you doing in here?” you asked playfully when he looked at you, his paralyzing blue eyes scanning your body, from your soaked hair to the almost-too-small white bikini top you wore. “Don’t you know the party’s out there?”

Mr. Murphy shrugged. “Got hot outside,” he said. “And I know where your dad keeps the good beer.” 

You nodded, not really believing him, and you pulled out a can of soda and shut the fridge door with your hip. “Well, wearing sweaters and shit probably doesn’t help with the heat,” you said, reaching out for the corner of his navy cardigan. “You should’ve brought your swim trunks, you could’ve gotten in the pool with me.” 

“Ah,” Mr. Murphy scoffed. “Nobody wants to see me parading around in my bathing suit. I’m too old and out of shape for that.” 

“As if,” you said. “You look fine, don’t stress too much.” 

“Thanks, love,” Mr. Murphy said softly. “Sorry, I’ve just… Ever since the divorce, I haven’t really felt like myself.” 

Ah, right. The divorce. Your parents and The Murphys had been friends since they were your age— you had seen the scrapbook pictures of college-aged versions of your dad and Cillian getting up to no good— and you had to admit that you were always a little closer to Aunt Yvonne (not to say you didn’t like Mr. Murphy, because you did, but you always liked Aunt Yvonne more). When you were at college and your dad offhandedly mentioned on the phone one night that Yvonne and Cillian were separating, you had frowned. “Is Yvonne okay?” you asked. “What happened?” 

“I’ve only talked to Cillian about it,” your dad had told you. “And he hasn’t said much. People just grow apart, I guess.” 

You screwed up your mouth at the mention of the mysterious divorce, and you popped the tab of your soda. “That’s okay,” you told him. “You just need to find someone new.” 

“Really?” Mr. Murphy asked. “A rebound? Is that how you deal with breakups?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged. “Whenever I get sad about my ex or whatever, I just go find someone else to focus on for a little while.”

“First of all, that’s not healthy,” Mr. Murphy chuckled. “Second… I don’t know, I was married for 20 years. I have two kids. I can’t just go find a girl at a bar and hook up with her and expect to get over it.” 

“I don’t know, man,” you mumbled. “Just trying to help, I guess.” 

“I appreciate that,” Mr. Murphy said. “You’ve always been a sweet girl.” 

Oh. Oh no. You felt a stirring in your lower belly when he said that, one that made heat flood your bikini bottoms, and you shifted your weight on your feet as you nervously sipped your soda. You had to admit that Mr. Murphy, with his high cheekbones and greying hair and brilliant eyes, was quite attractive, exactly your type, and you had considered fucking him before, but, because of Aunt Yvonne, you had pushed down that desire and pretended it didn’t exist. It was just a fantasy about your dad’s best friend; that wasn’t that uncommon, was it?

“So,” he started before you could think anymore. “How’s college?” 

You shrugged. “Fine, I guess,” you said. “Classes are okay, but exams are hard as hell.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mr. Murphy said softly. “Any boys catch your eye?”

“Honestly, not really,” you said. “They’re all kind of… Eh, I guess. I don’t like any of them the way I—” You cut yourself off before you could finish your sentence, the way I like you, and you stammered, “I-I should.” 

“What’s wrong with them?” Mr. Murphy asked. “I mean, I know college boys can be dumb, but what’s wrong?”

“They’re just not mature enough,” you said softly. You set down your drink and wrapped your arms around your middle, and you added, “I don’t want to worry that my boyfriend will do some stupid shit on a night out. And they just, umm, don’t do things the way I want them to.” 

Mr. Murphy wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion, also setting down his drink, and he leaned his hip against the kitchen island. “What do you mean?” he asked. 

“Well…” you started. “Boys my age don’t, like… Whenever I’ve hooked up with a guy, I’ve always asked him to do certain stuff, and he never does. At least not well.”

“Wait,” Mr. Murphy said. “Are you telling me that the boys you go out with don’t go down on you?”

Your skin prickled at the sound of those words coming out of his mouth, and you eyed him suspiciously before you cleared your throat. “Um, not really,” you said. “Like, they do it, but never well.”

“Oh, darling,” Mr. Murphy sighed. “You need to find a really good guy that’ll do that. And he’ll treat you like the princess that you are; don’t ever let a man do anything less.” 

You huffed out a laugh. “Thanks, Mr. Murphy,” you said softly. 

He smiled softly, tilting his chin down to look at you, and he said, “Now, how many times have I told you to call me Cillian?” 

Your heart skipped in your chest, and you mumbled, “A-A few.” 

“And yet, you don’t,” Cillian said. “Why not? You called my wife Yvonne, why not me by my name?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I never felt like I was close enough to you to really… Deserve to call you that.”

Cillian took a step towards you, then hesitated, then reached out for you. You expected him to grab your hands or touch your shoulders, but his fingers tucked in the towel around your waist. He waited for a moment before he slowly unraveled it from your body, and his eyes hungrily took in the sight of your legs. “Wow,” he whispered. “I knew that you would be so beautiful…” 

“Cillian?” you said gently, nervously looking over your shoulder to the outside door, where everybody else was still outside. “Wh-What if someone sees?” 

“Sees what?” Cillian asked. He set your towel on the counter, taking a step closer to you. “We’re not doing anything.” 

“Yeah, but…” you started. “But—”

“If you want me to do something, all you have to do is ask,” Cillian told you. “But ask nicely.” 

You swallowed thickly. “I-I don’t even know what I want,” you told him. “I’ve thought about this, sure, but…” 

“Do you want me to go down on you?” Cillian asked. “Just say the magic word, love.” 

You blinked, fluttering your eyelashes at him, and you softly said, “Please?” 

Cillian’s face softened, and he took your hips in his grasp, pulling you close to him. He gently moved you to the counter and helped you jump up on it, and he buried his face in your neck and took a deep breath as his fingers danced at the ties on your bikini bottom. “Sweet girl,” he whispered. “How long have you wanted this?” 

“Umm…” you started, and your breath caught in your throat when he deftly undid your ties, pulling your wet bottoms from your skin. “A long time.”

“Yeah?” Cillian breathed, and he carefully moved down to kneel on the ground in front of you, his face level with your pussy. You felt almost shy as he looked at you, and you wiggled on the countertop as his dull fingernails pressed into the flesh of your thigh. “And how long has it been since you’ve had sex?” 

“A few weeks,” you told him. “I haven’t since I moved back home.”

“Oh, you’re dying for it, aren’t you?” Cillian cooed softly. “Your little vibrator isn’t enough, right?” 

“No,” you breathed. Cillian leaned forward and littered soft kisses on the inside of your thighs, coming close to where you wanted him but never landing exactly there. He was teasing you, the bastard. Your hand left the counter and curled in his salt and pepper hair, urging him closer to your pussy, and he smiled, looking up at you with those brilliant eyes. You felt shocked, like his gaze was electric, and Cillian sighed heavily, focusing back down between your legs. 

“You’re so pretty, baby,” he whispered, his warm breath fanning across your core. “My sweet girl…” Then, before he could say more, he pressed forward, touching his lips to your pussy. You jolted in surprise, letting out a quick laugh to try to ease your nerves, and he chuckled lightly. “You alright?” 

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Just… Nervous.”

“Why’re you nervous?” Cillian asked, smoothing his hands up your legs to rest on your back. 

“If someone catches us—” you started, and Cillian furrowed his eyebrows, shaking his head. 

“They won’t,” he told you. 

“But if they do?” you countered.

“But they won’t,” Cillian said firmly. “Ease up, love, just enjoy this. Let me take care of you.” 

“O-Okay,” you said softly. Your fingers rested against the back of his head as he continued to kiss all over you, and he finally put his mouth right where you wanted him to, almost like you had led him there. His tongue darted out to taste you, playing gently with your soft clit, and you closed your eyes blissfully, letting the wet warmth of his mouth overtake you. “Fuck, Cill…”

“That’s it,” Cillian whispered, and his lips captured your clit, sucking on it for a brief moment, just long enough for you to moan softly, and he broke away. His tongue ran a thick line up your wet cunt, tasting you from throbbing hole to quivering clit, and he went back to your hole, teasing you with the tip of his tongue. 

You clenched your teeth to keep from being too loud, and you watched Cillian eat your pussy like he was starving for it, lapping up your wetness and sucking eagerly at every inch of flesh that he could get his mouth on. He held you tightly, yet tenderly, wanting all of you that you would give him, and the warmth of an orgasm began to build in your belly. God, that was quick, but you suppose that Cillian had years of experience. He knew what he was doing, far better than any kid from your sociology class could do. “Cill,” you whispered, and he looked at you through his eyelashes, shocking your system again. “Fuck!” 

“What is it, baby?” he asked softly. His fingers itched to your pussy, lighting trailing up and down your slit, and you whined as you felt an intense and sudden need. 

“Want you,” you mumbled. 

“What do you want?” Cillian asked. 

“Anything,” you panted, jolting your hips again at his light teasing. “Everything.” 

“Unless you have a condom,” Cillian started with a laugh. “I’m not having proper sex with you. I’ll do this and finger you and everything else, but…”

“Why not?” you asked. “Are you worried that I…?”

“No, I’m not worried about that,” Cillian said. “I know you don’t have anything, it’s not that. I just… I don’t want there to even be a chance that you could… That we could…”

“I don’t understand,” you said, looking down at him through half-open lids. 

“I don’t wanna knock you up,” Cillian said quickly, as if saying it quickly would lessen its impact. “And I’m not going to fuck you if I don’t have a condom, because, once I get inside you, I know I won’t be able to control myself from cumming inside you.” 

“Oh,” you said softly. “It’s not a… An Irish Catholic thing?”

That made Cillian laugh. “You know, just because ‘Irish Catholic’ is a thing doesn’t mean that all Irish people are Catholics—”

“No, no, I know,” you said quickly. “Sorry, just checking.”

Cillian smiled softly, laughing gently at you, and his fingers gently touched your hole, waiting for you to do something in response. You sighed, flexing your hips down to urge his fingers inside you, and he did as you requested, pressing his middle finger past your flesh and inside you. You gasped at the feeling, loving him so deep, and you mumbled, “Cill…” 

“I know, love,” Cillian said, placing a soft kiss to your clit. “Does it feel good?”

“So good,” you whimpered. Cillian began to slowly thrust his finger inside you, moving gently as he sucked lightly on your clit, and you gasped quickly. “Cill! Oh my God!”

“That’s it, lovely,” Cillian said. He pushed his second finger in, pausing to let you adjust to the feeling of it, and then he started up a relentless pace, fucking you quickly on his fingers as his mouth and tongue explored your pussy. “God, you’re so tight, s’good…”

The heat inside you was becoming too much, tingling even down in your toes as it grew in your belly, and you whimpered and let out a cracked moan as his fingers hooked up inside you, brushing that sensitive nerve. “Cill!” you yelped, your hand flying down to grab at his wrist, as if that would stop his quick fucking. “Oh my God, I’m gonna cum!”

“Mhm,” Cillian hummed, burying his face fully into you. “Let it out, baby.”

You whined high in your throat, everything becoming all too overwhelming, and your legs shook as the heat burst in your belly. Your head fell back as you moaned, maybe a little too loud, and Cillian fucked you through it, whispering out “Yes, love, you’re so good, you’re such a good girl for me.” You tugged on his hair as your orgasm crashed through you, trying to keep him right where he was but also pull him away all at the same time, and Cillian smiled into your pussy, letting his tongue linger a bit at your throbbing hole. “Now,” he started softly. “Was that better than what you’re used to?” 

“Yeah,” you sighed. You looked down at him, still kneeling on the floor, and you brushed back his hair out of his eyes gently before he started to stand up. “Thanks.” 

“Of course, love,” Cillian said. He grimaced a bit as he stood, mumbling out something about that damn knee, and he added, “When’re you going back to university?” 

“Not for a few months,” you said. “It’s summer break.” 

“That’s nice,” Cillian said. “Well, erm… I’d like to see you again.” 

“Oh, yeah?” you chuckled. You slid off of the counter and retrieved your bottoms, and you did the ties back up as you tried to stand on your shaking and weak legs. Jesus, he really did a number on you. “When?” 

Cillian took his drink back into his hand and sipped at it for a moment, thinking hard. “Well,” he began. “Whenever you’re free. I’m at your mercy, love.” 

“Right,” you said, laughing softly. “I’ll let you know.” 

At that moment, the door to the backyard creaked open, and your heart stopped as your dad came into the kitchen. “There you two are,” he said. “I thought you were still outside.”

“No, I cornered her to ask about school,” Cillian chuckled, and he looked at you. “Remember what I said: school first, parties later. Right?” He winked at you, and you huffed out a laugh. 

“Yeah, sure,” you smiled. “Whatever you say, Cillian.” 

#cillian murphy x reader #stunning

[doingthingsthewriteway]

reblog if prev is kenough

[doingthingsthewriteway]

this is just going to become a dilf! blog because I am fully in my Cillian Murphy era. Requests and thoughts and feelings are welcomed!

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #dilf #val kilmer imagine #val kilmer x reader #henry cavil 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 #doc holliday imagines #tombstone imagines #val kilmer imagine #val kilmer imagines #val kilmer 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

[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

[doingthingsthewriteway]

@redmenacehorned​ there will be more! I have lots of thoughts for Daisy and Doc

Daisy

summary: doc and his the trials of his love with his daisy

Tombstone burnt under the fire of the afternoon sun. Sweat beaded out of every pore, clothes clung tightly to aching chests, and buzzards circled in anticipation. Death was inevitably close in this heat.

Y/N had experienced the wet heat of the south her whole life but this heat was new. It passed through her chest without so much as a cough, hardly any plant could survive for her to be allergic to. If she escape the allergies of home, then she reckoned the heat of Tombstone was worth it.

Town appeared to be busy despite the heat. No one paused here to sit on porches, fanning themselves and sipping sweet tea. People ran about, some literally in a scurry to get away from the echoing gunshots that caused her to jump.

Traveling by herself, Y/N felt relatively safe. Her benefactor sent her along in the nicest car on the most modern line. The train wasn’t robbed and all her things arrived safely. Bandits seemed to be nothing more than a myth to frighten little boys and girls into staying home back east. People simply weren’t like that, or at least they weren’t until Tombstone.

Dashing young men with matching red sashes lingered like the hyenas she read about in the library. Cackling smiles and shrill whistles greeted her was she stepped off the train. Some dirty, some disgusting, and some downright devilishly handsome all circled around her as she collected her luggage.

Keeping her eyes down, she pushed up the sleeves of her blouse and readied herself to carry the chest to the hotel.

“Need some help miss?” A gravely young voice called, boots crunching rocks to dust under each step.

“No thank you.” Quick, quiet responses. Only to the point.

“I insist.” A brown hat was tipped her way. She squinted through the blinding sun to meet brown eyes and tough skin. “Johnny Ringo.”

“Mr. Ringo, I sincerely appreciate your offer, but I can carry my belongings to the hotel.”

As Ringo opened his mouth, a second figured approached. Dressed all in black, cigar dangling from his lips, badge shining in the sun. “I think the lady declined your services, Johnny.”

“You can stay out of this, Earp.”

“Let’s not turn this into something.” Earp, who seemed decidedly safer, grabbed the luggage himself. “Wyatt Earp..”

“Y/N Y/L/N”.

“Well Miss Y/L/N, let’s get you checked in.”

The hotel was much more extravagant than she had imagined. A booming town did not mean all the glamour of home, but this hotel rivaled some that she used to pass by.

“Rare thing a woman traveling alone to Tombstone.” Wyatt said, settling the luggage inside the hotel door. “What brings you here?”

“Dry air is supposed to help you breathe better. I can’t hardly breathe back home.”

With an understanding nod, Wyatt tipped his hat and left. He had a faro table to run.

Unpacking was an easy affair. Hardly any of her belongings were packed with her. Her benefactor saw to it that only thing things she would need would make it with her. Anything else was simply sentimental junk of a decidedly unpleasant childhood that could be sold and split between the two.

Opening the window, she sat down on the chaise lounge next to it and took a deep inhale. Yes, this would do.

Yelling broke out in the streets below. Daring a peek outside, she saw Mr. Earp intervening with more of the red sashed men. Another figure strode across the street, black hat sat just askew. His southern drawl rattled in an echo across the street as he joined Mr. Earp.

A warning shot from the new gentleman broke up the ordeal. Earp and company glanced toward the hotel, finding a blushing Y/N staring out the balcony. “Busy town, Miss Y/L/N.” Mr. Earp called.

She nodded, blush still burning her cheeks. “Seems so.”

The other man tipped his hat with a wink and followed Mr. Earp into the saloon. Yes, Tombstone seemed quite busy.

Darkness fell before Y/N ventured out again. The heat of the day, the bittersweet realization that this was her life now all boiled over into an afternoon’s rest. She redressed, thankful that she didn’t have the finer silk dresses that would make the men notice her. Being noticed, especially by a red sash, was not something she was looking for.

Plain yet pretty, she left the security of the hotel and headed down the dusty streets of Tombstone. Dinner would be nice, though she supposed she could get it back in her room if all else failed.

The red embers of cigarettes glowed in the dusk, illuminating the men who leaned on porches waiting for something exciting to happen. As she passed a lively building, The Oriental according to the sign, one such figured called out for her.

“Pardon me, I believe I have not had the pleasure in making your acquaintance.” A deep southern drawl rolled.

Y/N paused briefly, determined to keep walking though manners made her at least stop for the man. “Oh?”

Slow footsteps creaked along the wooden porch and down onto the dirt. A dramatic wave of his hand, removed his hat. The stranger bowed, finger tips reaching out to brush against her hand. “I apologize for so rudely staring at your earlier, but I fear I was too distracted by both your beauty and the rapscallion nature of those cowboys to properly introduce myself.”

“You were with Mr. Earp?”

“Wyatt?” Oh how stretched the vowels were from his tongue. “Why yes, Wyatt Earp is my best friend. Though I would rather not spend my evening discussing him when I could be discussing you. John Henry Holliday, miss.”

She returned her name quietly, cheeks a flutter with pink as he took her hand and brought it to her lips. The hairs of his mustache tickling her skin just slightly. “Pleased to meet you Mr. Holliday.”

“Would you care to join me for a drink?” A devilishly glint flickered in his green eyes.

“You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve never drank.”

A boisterous laugh rattled into a cough. Mr. Holliday wiped at his lips with a handkerchief and quickly tucked it away. “Well darlin’, you’ll find Tombstone is a wonderful place to start.”

Dinner and a nightcap became common place between Y/N and Mr. Holliday. With some effort, she even got to the point of calling him Doc, a sound that when first said made Doc’s eyes roll back with lust. Yes, Doc was sure of it, he was smitten.

She would often talk around the concept of home while they ate and drank. Doc had not forgotten what life was like for a women in the south, though his dear cousin had some wealth to her name. Y/N appeared to have enough, but the scars and freckles that dotted her skin told him her life was far less leisurely than his youth.

Other times she would discuss literature and the little library she had worked at. These conversations especially aroused him. He’d bring novels and read to her as they strolled back to the hotel. Her eyes would shine at him as if he had written the prose himself.

Y/N reminded him of slow kisses under Spanish moss covered trees, of peach juice dribbling out of rosy lips, or warm milky skin he could sink his teeth into. She was a grand home with open windows and billowing curtains, piano music playing and a library of books to read. Yes, Doc was sure of it, he was falling in love. What a horrible thing.

Doc would walk her back to The Grand after a stiff drink (his darlin’ preferred bourbon) and then return to The Oriental to gamble and drink the night away. He never dared enter the hotel, always kissing her hand goodbye on the steps. For if the clerk saw, he knew he would be done for.

While hope and love lingered in his chest, squeezing him tightly, he never fully let himself indulge in that pleasure. After all, he was just a lunger waiting to die. He’d soil the the very name of any respecting woman with his desires and for once he didn’t have it in him.

Y/N finished up her bourbon, eyelashes fluttering up at him. “Will you let me pay tonight?”

“So stubborn for such an angelic face.” Doc grinned while paying her bill. “But no, darlin’. I am but a gentleman.”

The air was easier at night, cool and crisp against their skin. She was wrapped around his arm, head resting against his bicep. “Doc?” He let out a hum. “Do you…” she wasn’t sure what question longed to be asked. Do you like it here? Do you want to come up to my room? Do you like me?

“Nevermind. It’s silly.”

“Silly? From my little daisy? Nonsense.” Doc spun her around in his arms, holding her. The bustle teasing him through the fabric of her dress. Green eyes commanded attention. Calloused fingertips held her soft chin in his hands.

“Do you believe in love?”

Without missing a beat, he smiled his crooked smile. “Why yes, Y/N, yes I surely do.” Tenderly, his lips brushed her forehead. “Now, let’s get you to bed my dear.”

So it continued over several weeks. Touches becoming longer, necklines becoming lower. Guilt gnawed at his chest, thorny vines of shame bubbling out his throat. Pushing that away, Doc focused on hustling, gambling, drinking, and hating Johnny Ringo.

Wyatt puffed on a cigar, frowning as Doc engaged with Ringo. As Doc boasted that he was, “In his prime.” Wyatt reached for a gun under the table. Doc’s favored lover, Kate, stood at his side.

“Yes.” Johnny Ringo nodded, tipping his head toward Kate. “I’m sure your daylight darlin’ would love to know that.”

Doc lunged at Ringo causing a series of tumbling until Ringo was tossed out of the bar. “Fine you lunger, I’ll tell her!”

Fear set in. A cold fear chilled Doc’s bones like when he watched his mother die of the consumption. Death would be a relief in comparison to the heartache of losing his Y/N. Doc spent more of his evenings in her company and less in Kate’s. Once he was sure Ringo was nothing more than a belligerent drunk, (not wholly unlike himself) Doc resumed his usual activities.

Perhaps there was a thrill or he was a glutton for punishment. Doc was never sure. He would swear that he would spend the money he won on Y/N and when she asked what he did for a living hiding behind the badge of Wyatt Earp was a wonderful response.

Still, Y/N longed for more of her Doc. Thoughts and desires consumed her soul so much so the priest at confession was blushing. She wanted Doc in all the ways possible on this earth and beyond. She wanted to care for him, carry his name and his child, be his for whatever time he had left.

She dreamt of him, even on the day that a splitting headache and painful reminder she did not bare his fruit it. Y/N cancelled their usual dinner plans in exchange for a bath. Though the longer she soaked in the lavender (that he bought, the scent almost close to the lilac bushes from his youth), the pain rolled into longing. Deciding on the nicest dress he bought her, she dressed and pinned up her hair.

It was later than usual for their time together, but she couldn’t wait to see his eyes twinkle and his plump lips turn up into a smile. Rushing down the stairs, she made her way to The Oriental.

And, just like it had months ago, the darkness illuminated a man outside. Not her long and lean hero, but his devilish foil. The red sash around Ringo’s waist swayed in the breeze.

“Why Miss Y/L/N, The Oriental at night is no place for a woman of your nature. Perhaps it best I escort you home.”

“I’ll be quite alright, Mr. Ringo. Thank you.”

If Johnny wasn’t weathered by sun and by time, he would have felt remorse. Or perhaps loyalty to Doc. They were not that different and neither man deserved the sweet settling nature of Y/N. So yes, he decided, he was going to break Y/N’s heart.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you darlin’.”

The Oriental bounced with life. Music blared from the piano , whiskey sloshed on the floor, and cards fell on tables. It was very different from the space she was used to with Doc. But the thought of Doc and breathing in his scent was enough to draw her in.

Pausing at the bar for a drink, she surveyed the saloon. Wyatt sat proudly in the dealers spot, smoking. His eyes caught Y/N’s with a wince.

Y/N trailed her eyes in the direction of Wyatt’s. Her chest tightened like the attacks she used to get back home. Doc sparkled with sweat, beads of it drenching his shirt. An empty bottle sat on the table, the only buffer between him and the woman.

Y/N didn’t know the woman, hadn’t really seen her around. Still, not knowing who she was didn’t really lessen the pain of what she was. She was Doc’s. The woman patted the sweat off his forehead and stroked through his hair. And worst of all, only one of Doc’s hands was visible.

A burning rose through Y/N’s throat with the heartache. Her eyes blurred with tears. She desperately wanted to scream at him, to even whisper his name would do. But all she could do was let out a cough to mask the sob and leave.

“I’m walking you home, Miss Y/L/N.” Ringo held out his arm but Y/N pushed by it.

“Jesus woman, don’t you understand that lunger doesn’t care?!” Ringo shouted grabbing her elbow. “He sees her every night.”

He pulled her tight to his chest. Rough hands reached under her skirt grabbing the virgin flesh underneath. “He does?” It sounded pathetic falling from her lips.

“He beds her in that same boarding house you’re in.”

The wail that left het lips was enough for a crowd to rush out. Wyatt, heroic as ever ran out with Doc trailing behind. Johnny released Y/N from his hold but not before letting Doc see the tearful girl covered in Johnny’s hands.

“Nothing to see here,lunger.” Johnny cackled. “Just a broken heart.”

Johnny disappeared into the night as Doc approached. “Darlin’?”

She turned away from him marching back to the boarding house. “Y/N!”

Picking up her skirts she began to run. Tears stinging her skin, she flew up the stairs to her room. The wind blew in from her opened window; tombstone smelled of death.

Doc stood in the dusty streets. Wyatt offered an assuring squeeze to his shoulder. “I fear I may have defiled myself.”

“A young women scorned is not easily fixed.” Wyatt offered a tight smile.

Doc chased her into the hotel, just missing her slam the door. He knocked on her door, “Y/N? Darlin’ please let me in.”

He rattled the doorknob with urgency. “Please.”

The door swung open revealing a teared stained face. A book hit him, followed by another, and then a third and a dress. “Take your shit Mr. Holliday.” She seethed.

The sound of his name brought his first tear. “Now listen to me, you don’t call me that.” A scolding finger pointed in her face.

Smacking it away, she spat at him. “We have no acquaintance. I was a fool to think I could mean anything to you.”

“Stop that.” He begged fear spiraling through his veins. This was it. He had done it. Ruined something good with evil like his family told him he always would.

“I hate you.”

Doc grabbed her wrists and pulled her to his chest. His arms feeling just like the snare of Ringo. Perhaps all men where just as vile.

“Please, Y/N, say whatever you must just never that.” His lips forced their way onto her skin. Kissing her neck and her lips as she struggled again him. “Damn me, curse me, hell shoot me just never say that.”

Wriggling out of his grasp, chest heaving, Y/N broke down to the floor. “What else is there to say?”

Doc sat with her between his knees, clinging tightly. “I can only apologize for weakness.”

“Every night you bed her down the hall. You’re no gentleman. I am but an object to amuse you. You neither respect nor love me and it’s horrifying that I wanted to bare everything you could give me.”

Everything? Had she shared in his lustful fantasies? Did she fully return his affection? “I sincerely want everything with you, daisy.”

“No.”

Doc stayed until she fell asleep in a pitiful puddle in his arms. He carried her to bed, earning a wheeze from his lungs.

The cough was worse the next day. His handkerchief blood soaked by midday. It was no surprise to Wyatt when he rushed Doc back to his room, the doctor in tow.

As blood bubbles from his lips, he begged for Y/N. She did not come nor respond when Wyatt pounded on the door. The second day of Doc’s fever, Y/N quietly pleaded at Wyatt to go away.

It was on the third day that the door opened to Wyatt. Dressed plain, no longer donning the silky dresses Doc had bought her, Y/N emerged. Eyes sunken in and skin marked with tracks of tears, she headed to Doc.

“How is he?”

Wyatt offered a sad smile. “Sorry.”

“That’s not what I asked, Mr. Earp.”

A frown crossed his lips as his stomach lurched. “Please, Miss Y/N, don’t shut me out. You’re my friend.” Wyatt sighed. “He’s a dying man unless someone can settle him down. His fever comes and goes.”

There was a stillness in the room that made her stomach churn. Windows were open, letting in better air. The room was filled with the things she’d thrown at him. The dress crumbled up next to him in bed, the books scattered around with pages marked or weighted down.

Y/N watched the slow nature of his chest rise and fall with breathe. Ignoring the sudden numbness in her throat, crossed the room to his bedside. Removing the cloth from his forehead, she wrung it out and refilled in the water basin.

Tenderly, she washed his face, neck, and bare chest. She fluffed up the pillows and pulled the sweat stained sheets down. “Ask for more sheets when you leave. I’ll stay with him today.”

Wyatt merely nodded, waiting to smile until he was out of sight. Doc might just be a lucky bastard yet again.

She cleaned up the room and refilled water while Doc slept. Lunch was delivered just before A coughing fit roused him from a fitful sleep. “Drink.” She held a cool glass to his lips.

Doc merely nodded, revealing in the relief of water on this throat. He opened his mouth to speak but her finger tapped his lips. “No. Even if I wanted to hear what you had to say, you need to rest your throat.”

She sat the glass down. “I’m going to change the the top sheet if that’s alright.” Glazed eyes focused on her and he nodded.

As she peeled back the sheets she did her best not to stare at him. His lean body shimmering with sweat. Muscles rippled beneath curls of hair that trailed down his chest to something she had only dreamed about.

Tucking him into the new sheets, her chest hurt with the thought that someone else had seen him and touched him. Someone who wasn’t here while he lay dying. Pleasure would not be here to give.

A clammy hand grabbed her wrist and led her hand over his stomach. Whines left his throat.her cool hands were a relief and he needed that in more ways that just one.

“No.” Things were different. Just three days before she would have slipped into the delirium of his touch. But now, bile crawled up her throat.

She left his side momentarily to grab soup and a spoon. “It’s cooled enough so it shouldn’t hurt. You must eat and rest.”

Doc might have been delirious with fever, but he was hopeful. None of his escapades had ever valued his life the way she seemed too. His very soul lay between gentle hands that fed him. Flashbacks of himself at his mothers side broke through bought of fever and he was certain that this was love.

It was late that night when Doc awoke with a start. Pain no longer resonated with each breath. Sweat did not fall over him.

Pushing himself up against the headboard, he rolled his shoulders. Adjusting to the candle lit room, he knew he was not alone. Linen pants and a cotton tie front shirt were folded at the foot of the bed. He grabbed them, they didn’t smell of sweat or liquor, they were new. Water was running in his bathroom.

Leaning on his cane, thighs trembling with each step. Nudging the door open, he finds Y/N on her knees filling the claw foot tub. A minty smell tickles his nose and swirls into his chest. He breathes without much pain.

The cotton of her slip is all she wears under a corset. Lace flowers and ivory fabric that he had not yet gotten to see taunt him. “Why I do believe this is heaven.”

If Doc squinted, he was sure he saw a crinkle of a smile. “Let me help you in.”

“Why yes I’m sure of it now, this is heaven. I fear have been wrongly placed I am a sinner of the worst kind.” A hum of acknowledgment told him enough.

Gentle hands held his as she trembled into the bath. Easing himself in, his lungs cleared momentarily. “I can breathe.”

“Eucalyptus. Group of travelers were selling it when I went to buy your clothes. Said it helped.”

“My modern woman.” A blissful sigh let his lips at another deep inhale. “How long did the doctors give me?”

A sharp glare chilled the steaming bathroom. “You could live if you changed.” Y/N snapped. “But you choose to drink and smoke and bed whores every night. Perhaps I wasted my time on a dead man.”

He’s convinced his heart breaks again then. Watching green eyes trail with tears, his own reflecting the same. “Please do not think of me as time ill spent.”

“I will not think of you at all.”

“Daisy, that is even worse.” He reached for her hand once more, finding nothing. “Please?”

Fingers brushed his. “I’m leaving.”

For the first time since his raising from the dead, Doc coughed. Eyelashes fluttering rapidly. “I beg your pardon?” Doc imagined a lot of things with Y/N and none of those were leaving Tombstone (or at least not without their family and Wyatt).

“I have no prospects here. My benefactor provided plenty of funds. I’ve heard Denver has nice mountain air.”

“No prospects? What ever do you mean? My intentions were not clear to you?” Calloused fingers stroked her jaw.

“I’m as good as used.” She forced her bruised wrists to him. Pulling up her shift, he saw purple finger tips scattered on precious skin. “He touched me Doc, like you touched her. No one will marry me now.”

Like you touched her. Envy, rage, regret, and list churned in his stomach. A Pitiful series of “No’s” left his lips as he pulled her towards him by her skirt. He tried to stand but she eased him back in. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” It was small, barely a whisper. Water splashed over the tub and onto her giving peeks of sweet skin underneath.

“I do not deserve the luxury of you.” His finger trailed over her collar bone and up her neck. “I have not felt happiness like this since I was a foolish young man. Still foolish now.” Tracing the rose of her lips, he tapped her plump bottom lip forcing his finger just between. “I’m deviant Y/N, I’m a vile sinner who thinks unspeakable things about you daily and wanted to ruin it. Why live when you could not possibly want me to tarnish you?”

“What about your intentions you just spoke of?”

“Well my daisy I am selfish as well. I want To keep you as my wife. I just have these vices I wish to shield you from. I love you more than life. I would die to keep you happy.”

“Oh doc please don’t say such things!” She flung herself around his shoulders hugging him close.

Slowly, due to his healing and uncertainty of their relationship, he peeled her into the tub. Still clothed in now sheer cotton, Y/N dared a peek out from the crook of his neck. “Doc?” Breathy, she hardly recognized her own voice.

“May I have the pleasure of loving you?” He trailed finger along her clavicle. “Of keeping you as mine?”

“Yes.”

“Forever Mrs. Holliday?”

Daring a kiss to his lips, she hummed. “Forever.”

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

[doingthingsthewriteway]

Daisy

summary: doc and his the trials of his love with his daisy

Tombstone burnt under the fire of the afternoon sun. Sweat beaded out of every pore, clothes clung tightly to aching chests, and buzzards circled in anticipation. Death was inevitably close in this heat.

Y/N had experienced the wet heat of the south her whole life but this heat was new. It passed through her chest without so much as a cough, hardly any plant could survive for her to be allergic to. If she escape the allergies of home, then she reckoned the heat of Tombstone was worth it.

Town appeared to be busy despite the heat. No one paused here to sit on porches, fanning themselves and sipping sweet tea. People ran about, some literally in a scurry to get away from the echoing gunshots that caused her to jump.

Traveling by herself, Y/N felt relatively safe. Her benefactor sent her along in the nicest car on the most modern line. The train wasn’t robbed and all her things arrived safely. Bandits seemed to be nothing more than a myth to frighten little boys and girls into staying home back east. People simply weren’t like that, or at least they weren’t until Tombstone.

Dashing young men with matching red sashes lingered like the hyenas she read about in the library. Cackling smiles and shrill whistles greeted her was she stepped off the train. Some dirty, some disgusting, and some downright devilishly handsome all circled around her as she collected her luggage.

Keeping her eyes down, she pushed up the sleeves of her blouse and readied herself to carry the chest to the hotel.

“Need some help miss?” A gravely young voice called, boots crunching rocks to dust under each step.

“No thank you.” Quick, quiet responses. Only to the point.

“I insist.” A brown hat was tipped her way. She squinted through the blinding sun to meet brown eyes and tough skin. “Johnny Ringo.”

“Mr. Ringo, I sincerely appreciate your offer, but I can carry my belongings to the hotel.”

As Ringo opened his mouth, a second figured approached. Dressed all in black, cigar dangling from his lips, badge shining in the sun. “I think the lady declined your services, Johnny.”

“You can stay out of this, Earp.”

“Let’s not turn this into something.” Earp, who seemed decidedly safer, grabbed the luggage himself. “Wyatt Earp..”

“Y/N Y/L/N”.

“Well Miss Y/L/N, let’s get you checked in.”

The hotel was much more extravagant than she had imagined. A booming town did not mean all the glamour of home, but this hotel rivaled some that she used to pass by.

“Rare thing a woman traveling alone to Tombstone.” Wyatt said, settling the luggage inside the hotel door. “What brings you here?”

“Dry air is supposed to help you breathe better. I can’t hardly breathe back home.”

With an understanding nod, Wyatt tipped his hat and left. He had a faro table to run.

Unpacking was an easy affair. Hardly any of her belongings were packed with her. Her benefactor saw to it that only thing things she would need would make it with her. Anything else was simply sentimental junk of a decidedly unpleasant childhood that could be sold and split between the two.

Opening the window, she sat down on the chaise lounge next to it and took a deep inhale. Yes, this would do.

Yelling broke out in the streets below. Daring a peek outside, she saw Mr. Earp intervening with more of the red sashed men. Another figure strode across the street, black hat sat just askew. His southern drawl rattled in an echo across the street as he joined Mr. Earp.

A warning shot from the new gentleman broke up the ordeal. Earp and company glanced toward the hotel, finding a blushing Y/N staring out the balcony. “Busy town, Miss Y/L/N.” Mr. Earp called.

She nodded, blush still burning her cheeks. “Seems so.”

The other man tipped his hat with a wink and followed Mr. Earp into the saloon. Yes, Tombstone seemed quite busy.

Darkness fell before Y/N ventured out again. The heat of the day, the bittersweet realization that this was her life now all boiled over into an afternoon’s rest. She redressed, thankful that she didn’t have the finer silk dresses that would make the men notice her. Being noticed, especially by a red sash, was not something she was looking for.

Plain yet pretty, she left the security of the hotel and headed down the dusty streets of Tombstone. Dinner would be nice, though she supposed she could get it back in her room if all else failed.

The red embers of cigarettes glowed in the dusk, illuminating the men who leaned on porches waiting for something exciting to happen. As she passed a lively building, The Oriental according to the sign, one such figured called out for her.

“Pardon me, I believe I have not had the pleasure in making your acquaintance.” A deep southern drawl rolled.

Y/N paused briefly, determined to keep walking though manners made her at least stop for the man. “Oh?”

Slow footsteps creaked along the wooden porch and down onto the dirt. A dramatic wave of his hand, removed his hat. The stranger bowed, finger tips reaching out to brush against her hand. “I apologize for so rudely staring at your earlier, but I fear I was too distracted by both your beauty and the rapscallion nature of those cowboys to properly introduce myself.”

“You were with Mr. Earp?”

“Wyatt?” Oh how stretched the vowels were from his tongue. “Why yes, Wyatt Earp is my best friend. Though I would rather not spend my evening discussing him when I could be discussing you. John Henry Holliday, miss.”

She returned her name quietly, cheeks a flutter with pink as he took her hand and brought it to her lips. The hairs of his mustache tickling her skin just slightly. “Pleased to meet you Mr. Holliday.”

“Would you care to join me for a drink?” A devilishly glint flickered in his green eyes.

“You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve never drank.”

A boisterous laugh rattled into a cough. Mr. Holliday wiped at his lips with a handkerchief and quickly tucked it away. “Well darlin’, you’ll find Tombstone is a wonderful place to start.”

Dinner and a nightcap became common place between Y/N and Mr. Holliday. With some effort, she even got to the point of calling him Doc, a sound that when first said made Doc’s eyes roll back with lust. Yes, Doc was sure of it, he was smitten.

She would often talk around the concept of home while they ate and drank. Doc had not forgotten what life was like for a women in the south, though his dear cousin had some wealth to her name. Y/N appeared to have enough, but the scars and freckles that dotted her skin told him her life was far less leisurely than his youth.

Other times she would discuss literature and the little library she had worked at. These conversations especially aroused him. He’d bring novels and read to her as they strolled back to the hotel. Her eyes would shine at him as if he had written the prose himself.

Y/N reminded him of slow kisses under Spanish moss covered trees, of peach juice dribbling out of rosy lips, or warm milky skin he could sink his teeth into. She was a grand home with open windows and billowing curtains, piano music playing and a library of books to read. Yes, Doc was sure of it, he was falling in love. What a horrible thing.

Doc would walk her back to The Grand after a stiff drink (his darlin’ preferred bourbon) and then return to The Oriental to gamble and drink the night away. He never dared enter the hotel, always kissing her hand goodbye on the steps. For if the clerk saw, he knew he would be done for.

While hope and love lingered in his chest, squeezing him tightly, he never fully let himself indulge in that pleasure. After all, he was just a lunger waiting to die. He’d soil the the very name of any respecting woman with his desires and for once he didn’t have it in him.

Y/N finished up her bourbon, eyelashes fluttering up at him. “Will you let me pay tonight?”

“So stubborn for such an angelic face.” Doc grinned while paying her bill. “But no, darlin’. I am but a gentleman.”

The air was easier at night, cool and crisp against their skin. She was wrapped around his arm, head resting against his bicep. “Doc?” He let out a hum. “Do you…” she wasn’t sure what question longed to be asked. Do you like it here? Do you want to come up to my room? Do you like me?

“Nevermind. It’s silly.”

“Silly? From my little daisy? Nonsense.” Doc spun her around in his arms, holding her. The bustle teasing him through the fabric of her dress. Green eyes commanded attention. Calloused fingertips held her soft chin in his hands.

“Do you believe in love?”

Without missing a beat, he smiled his crooked smile. “Why yes, Y/N, yes I surely do.” Tenderly, his lips brushed her forehead. “Now, let’s get you to bed my dear.”

So it continued over several weeks. Touches becoming longer, necklines becoming lower. Guilt gnawed at his chest, thorny vines of shame bubbling out his throat. Pushing that away, Doc focused on hustling, gambling, drinking, and hating Johnny Ringo.

Wyatt puffed on a cigar, frowning as Doc engaged with Ringo. As Doc boasted that he was, “In his prime.” Wyatt reached for a gun under the table. Doc’s favored lover, Kate, stood at his side.

“Yes.” Johnny Ringo nodded, tipping his head toward Kate. “I’m sure your daylight darlin’ would love to know that.”

Doc lunged at Ringo causing a series of tumbling until Ringo was tossed out of the bar. “Fine you lunger, I’ll tell her!”

Fear set in. A cold fear chilled Doc’s bones like when he watched his mother die of the consumption. Death would be a relief in comparison to the heartache of losing his Y/N. Doc spent more of his evenings in her company and less in Kate’s. Once he was sure Ringo was nothing more than a belligerent drunk, (not wholly unlike himself) Doc resumed his usual activities.

Perhaps there was a thrill or he was a glutton for punishment. Doc was never sure. He would swear that he would spend the money he won on Y/N and when she asked what he did for a living hiding behind the badge of Wyatt Earp was a wonderful response.

Still, Y/N longed for more of her Doc. Thoughts and desires consumed her soul so much so the priest at confession was blushing. She wanted Doc in all the ways possible on this earth and beyond. She wanted to care for him, carry his name and his child, be his for whatever time he had left.

She dreamt of him, even on the day that a splitting headache and painful reminder she did not bare his fruit it. Y/N cancelled their usual dinner plans in exchange for a bath. Though the longer she soaked in the lavender (that he bought, the scent almost close to the lilac bushes from his youth), the pain rolled into longing. Deciding on the nicest dress he bought her, she dressed and pinned up her hair.

It was later than usual for their time together, but she couldn’t wait to see his eyes twinkle and his plump lips turn up into a smile. Rushing down the stairs, she made her way to The Oriental.

And, just like it had months ago, the darkness illuminated a man outside. Not her long and lean hero, but his devilish foil. The red sash around Ringo’s waist swayed in the breeze.

“Why Miss Y/L/N, The Oriental at night is no place for a woman of your nature. Perhaps it best I escort you home.”

“I’ll be quite alright, Mr. Ringo. Thank you.”

If Johnny wasn’t weathered by sun and by time, he would have felt remorse. Or perhaps loyalty to Doc. They were not that different and neither man deserved the sweet settling nature of Y/N. So yes, he decided, he was going to break Y/N’s heart.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you darlin’.”

The Oriental bounced with life. Music blared from the piano , whiskey sloshed on the floor, and cards fell on tables. It was very different from the space she was used to with Doc. But the thought of Doc and breathing in his scent was enough to draw her in.

Pausing at the bar for a drink, she surveyed the saloon. Wyatt sat proudly in the dealers spot, smoking. His eyes caught Y/N’s with a wince.

Y/N trailed her eyes in the direction of Wyatt’s. Her chest tightened like the attacks she used to get back home. Doc sparkled with sweat, beads of it drenching his shirt. An empty bottle sat on the table, the only buffer between him and the woman.

Y/N didn’t know the woman, hadn’t really seen her around. Still, not knowing who she was didn’t really lessen the pain of what she was. She was Doc’s. The woman patted the sweat off his forehead and stroked through his hair. And worst of all, only one of Doc’s hands was visible.

A burning rose through Y/N’s throat with the heartache. Her eyes blurred with tears. She desperately wanted to scream at him, to even whisper his name would do. But all she could do was let out a cough to mask the sob and leave.

“I’m walking you home, Miss Y/L/N.” Ringo held out his arm but Y/N pushed by it.

“Jesus woman, don’t you understand that lunger doesn’t care?!” Ringo shouted grabbing her elbow. “He sees her every night.”

He pulled her tight to his chest. Rough hands reached under her skirt grabbing the virgin flesh underneath. “He does?” It sounded pathetic falling from her lips.

“He beds her in that same boarding house you’re in.”

The wail that left het lips was enough for a crowd to rush out. Wyatt, heroic as ever ran out with Doc trailing behind. Johnny released Y/N from his hold but not before letting Doc see the tearful girl covered in Johnny’s hands.

“Nothing to see here,lunger.” Johnny cackled. “Just a broken heart.”

Johnny disappeared into the night as Doc approached. “Darlin’?”

She turned away from him marching back to the boarding house. “Y/N!”

Picking up her skirts she began to run. Tears stinging her skin, she flew up the stairs to her room. The wind blew in from her opened window; tombstone smelled of death.

Doc stood in the dusty streets. Wyatt offered an assuring squeeze to his shoulder. “I fear I may have defiled myself.”

“A young women scorned is not easily fixed.” Wyatt offered a tight smile.

Doc chased her into the hotel, just missing her slam the door. He knocked on her door, “Y/N? Darlin’ please let me in.”

He rattled the doorknob with urgency. “Please.”

The door swung open revealing a teared stained face. A book hit him, followed by another, and then a third and a dress. “Take your shit Mr. Holliday.” She seethed.

The sound of his name brought his first tear. “Now listen to me, you don’t call me that.” A scolding finger pointed in her face.

Smacking it away, she spat at him. “We have no acquaintance. I was a fool to think I could mean anything to you.”

“Stop that.” He begged fear spiraling through his veins. This was it. He had done it. Ruined something good with evil like his family told him he always would.

“I hate you.”

Doc grabbed her wrists and pulled her to his chest. His arms feeling just like the snare of Ringo. Perhaps all men where just as vile.

“Please, Y/N, say whatever you must just never that.” His lips forced their way onto her skin. Kissing her neck and her lips as she struggled again him. “Damn me, curse me, hell shoot me just never say that.”

Wriggling out of his grasp, chest heaving, Y/N broke down to the floor. “What else is there to say?”

Doc sat with her between his knees, clinging tightly. “I can only apologize for weakness.”

“Every night you bed her down the hall. You’re no gentleman. I am but an object to amuse you. You neither respect nor love me and it’s horrifying that I wanted to bare everything you could give me.”

Everything? Had she shared in his lustful fantasies? Did she fully return his affection? “I sincerely want everything with you, daisy.”

“No.”

Doc stayed until she fell asleep in a pitiful puddle in his arms. He carried her to bed, earning a wheeze from his lungs.

The cough was worse the next day. His handkerchief blood soaked by midday. It was no surprise to Wyatt when he rushed Doc back to his room, the doctor in tow.

As blood bubbles from his lips, he begged for Y/N. She did not come nor respond when Wyatt pounded on the door. The second day of Doc’s fever, Y/N quietly pleaded at Wyatt to go away.

It was on the third day that the door opened to Wyatt. Dressed plain, no longer donning the silky dresses Doc had bought her, Y/N emerged. Eyes sunken in and skin marked with tracks of tears, she headed to Doc.

“How is he?”

Wyatt offered a sad smile. “Sorry.”

“That’s not what I asked, Mr. Earp.”

A frown crossed his lips as his stomach lurched. “Please, Miss Y/N, don’t shut me out. You’re my friend.” Wyatt sighed. “He’s a dying man unless someone can settle him down. His fever comes and goes.”

There was a stillness in the room that made her stomach churn. Windows were open, letting in better air. The room was filled with the things she’d thrown at him. The dress crumbled up next to him in bed, the books scattered around with pages marked or weighted down.

Y/N watched the slow nature of his chest rise and fall with breathe. Ignoring the sudden numbness in her throat, crossed the room to his bedside. Removing the cloth from his forehead, she wrung it out and refilled in the water basin.

Tenderly, she washed his face, neck, and bare chest. She fluffed up the pillows and pulled the sweat stained sheets down. “Ask for more sheets when you leave. I’ll stay with him today.”

Wyatt merely nodded, waiting to smile until he was out of sight. Doc might just be a lucky bastard yet again.

She cleaned up the room and refilled water while Doc slept. Lunch was delivered just before A coughing fit roused him from a fitful sleep. “Drink.” She held a cool glass to his lips.

Doc merely nodded, revealing in the relief of water on this throat. He opened his mouth to speak but her finger tapped his lips. “No. Even if I wanted to hear what you had to say, you need to rest your throat.”

She sat the glass down. “I’m going to change the the top sheet if that’s alright.” Glazed eyes focused on her and he nodded.

As she peeled back the sheets she did her best not to stare at him. His lean body shimmering with sweat. Muscles rippled beneath curls of hair that trailed down his chest to something she had only dreamed about.

Tucking him into the new sheets, her chest hurt with the thought that someone else had seen him and touched him. Someone who wasn’t here while he lay dying. Pleasure would not be here to give.

A clammy hand grabbed her wrist and led her hand over his stomach. Whines left his throat.her cool hands were a relief and he needed that in more ways that just one.

“No.” Things were different. Just three days before she would have slipped into the delirium of his touch. But now, bile crawled up her throat.

She left his side momentarily to grab soup and a spoon. “It’s cooled enough so it shouldn’t hurt. You must eat and rest.”

Doc might have been delirious with fever, but he was hopeful. None of his escapades had ever valued his life the way she seemed too. His very soul lay between gentle hands that fed him. Flashbacks of himself at his mothers side broke through bought of fever and he was certain that this was love.

It was late that night when Doc awoke with a start. Pain no longer resonated with each breath. Sweat did not fall over him.

Pushing himself up against the headboard, he rolled his shoulders. Adjusting to the candle lit room, he knew he was not alone. Linen pants and a cotton tie front shirt were folded at the foot of the bed. He grabbed them, they didn’t smell of sweat or liquor, they were new. Water was running in his bathroom.

Leaning on his cane, thighs trembling with each step. Nudging the door open, he finds Y/N on her knees filling the claw foot tub. A minty smell tickles his nose and swirls into his chest. He breathes without much pain.

The cotton of her slip is all she wears under a corset. Lace flowers and ivory fabric that he had not yet gotten to see taunt him. “Why I do believe this is heaven.”

If Doc squinted, he was sure he saw a crinkle of a smile. “Let me help you in.”

“Why yes I’m sure of it now, this is heaven. I fear have been wrongly placed I am a sinner of the worst kind.” A hum of acknowledgment told him enough.

Gentle hands held his as she trembled into the bath. Easing himself in, his lungs cleared momentarily. “I can breathe.”

“Eucalyptus. Group of travelers were selling it when I went to buy your clothes. Said it helped.”

“My modern woman.” A blissful sigh let his lips at another deep inhale. “How long did the doctors give me?”

A sharp glare chilled the steaming bathroom. “You could live if you changed.” Y/N snapped. “But you choose to drink and smoke and bed whores every night. Perhaps I wasted my time on a dead man.”

He’s convinced his heart breaks again then. Watching green eyes trail with tears, his own reflecting the same. “Please do not think of me as time ill spent.”

“I will not think of you at all.”

“Daisy, that is even worse.” He reached for her hand once more, finding nothing. “Please?”

Fingers brushed his. “I’m leaving.”

For the first time since his raising from the dead, Doc coughed. Eyelashes fluttering rapidly. “I beg your pardon?” Doc imagined a lot of things with Y/N and none of those were leaving Tombstone (or at least not without their family and Wyatt).

“I have no prospects here. My benefactor provided plenty of funds. I’ve heard Denver has nice mountain air.”

“No prospects? What ever do you mean? My intentions were not clear to you?” Calloused fingers stroked her jaw.

“I’m as good as used.” She forced her bruised wrists to him. Pulling up her shift, he saw purple finger tips scattered on precious skin. “He touched me Doc, like you touched her. No one will marry me now.”

Like you touched her. Envy, rage, regret, and list churned in his stomach. A Pitiful series of “No’s” left his lips as he pulled her towards him by her skirt. He tried to stand but she eased him back in. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” It was small, barely a whisper. Water splashed over the tub and onto her giving peeks of sweet skin underneath.

“I do not deserve the luxury of you.” His finger trailed over her collar bone and up her neck. “I have not felt happiness like this since I was a foolish young man. Still foolish now.” Tracing the rose of her lips, he tapped her plump bottom lip forcing his finger just between. “I’m deviant Y/N, I’m a vile sinner who thinks unspeakable things about you daily and wanted to ruin it. Why live when you could not possibly want me to tarnish you?”

“What about your intentions you just spoke of?”

“Well my daisy I am selfish as well. I want To keep you as my wife. I just have these vices I wish to shield you from. I love you more than life. I would die to keep you happy.”

“Oh doc please don’t say such things!” She flung herself around his shoulders hugging him close.

Slowly, due to his healing and uncertainty of their relationship, he peeled her into the tub. Still clothed in now sheer cotton, Y/N dared a peek out from the crook of his neck. “Doc?” Breathy, she hardly recognized her own voice.

“May I have the pleasure of loving you?” He trailed finger along her clavicle. “Of keeping you as mine?”

“Yes.”

“Forever Mrs. Holliday?”

Daring a kiss to his lips, she hummed. “Forever.”

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

[doingthingsthewriteway]

Daisy

summary: doc and his the trials of his love with his daisy

Tombstone burnt under the fire of the afternoon sun. Sweat beaded out of every pore, clothes clung tightly to aching chests, and buzzards circled in anticipation. Death was inevitably close in this heat.

Y/N had experienced the wet heat of the south her whole life but this heat was new. It passed through her chest without so much as a cough, hardly any plant could survive for her to be allergic to. If she escape the allergies of home, then she reckoned the heat of Tombstone was worth it.

Town appeared to be busy despite the heat. No one paused here to sit on porches, fanning themselves and sipping sweet tea. People ran about, some literally in a scurry to get away from the echoing gunshots that caused her to jump.

Traveling by herself, Y/N felt relatively safe. Her benefactor sent her along in the nicest car on the most modern line. The train wasn’t robbed and all her things arrived safely. Bandits seemed to be nothing more than a myth to frighten little boys and girls into staying home back east. People simply weren’t like that, or at least they weren’t until Tombstone.

Dashing young men with matching red sashes lingered like the hyenas she read about in the library. Cackling smiles and shrill whistles greeted her was she stepped off the train. Some dirty, some disgusting, and some downright devilishly handsome all circled around her as she collected her luggage.

Keeping her eyes down, she pushed up the sleeves of her blouse and readied herself to carry the chest to the hotel.

“Need some help miss?” A gravely young voice called, boots crunching rocks to dust under each step.

“No thank you.” Quick, quiet responses. Only to the point.

“I insist.” A brown hat was tipped her way. She squinted through the blinding sun to meet brown eyes and tough skin. “Johnny Ringo.”

“Mr. Ringo, I sincerely appreciate your offer, but I can carry my belongings to the hotel.”

As Ringo opened his mouth, a second figured approached. Dressed all in black, cigar dangling from his lips, badge shining in the sun. “I think the lady declined your services, Johnny.”

“You can stay out of this, Earp.”

“Let’s not turn this into something.” Earp, who seemed decidedly safer, grabbed the luggage himself. “Wyatt Earp..”

“Y/N Y/L/N”.

“Well Miss Y/L/N, let’s get you checked in.”

The hotel was much more extravagant than she had imagined. A booming town did not mean all the glamour of home, but this hotel rivaled some that she used to pass by.

“Rare thing a woman traveling alone to Tombstone.” Wyatt said, settling the luggage inside the hotel door. “What brings you here?”

“Dry air is supposed to help you breathe better. I can’t hardly breathe back home.”

With an understanding nod, Wyatt tipped his hat and left. He had a faro table to run.

Unpacking was an easy affair. Hardly any of her belongings were packed with her. Her benefactor saw to it that only thing things she would need would make it with her. Anything else was simply sentimental junk of a decidedly unpleasant childhood that could be sold and split between the two.

Opening the window, she sat down on the chaise lounge next to it and took a deep inhale. Yes, this would do.

Yelling broke out in the streets below. Daring a peek outside, she saw Mr. Earp intervening with more of the red sashed men. Another figure strode across the street, black hat sat just askew. His southern drawl rattled in an echo across the street as he joined Mr. Earp.

A warning shot from the new gentleman broke up the ordeal. Earp and company glanced toward the hotel, finding a blushing Y/N staring out the balcony. “Busy town, Miss Y/L/N.” Mr. Earp called.

She nodded, blush still burning her cheeks. “Seems so.”

The other man tipped his hat with a wink and followed Mr. Earp into the saloon. Yes, Tombstone seemed quite busy.

Darkness fell before Y/N ventured out again. The heat of the day, the bittersweet realization that this was her life now all boiled over into an afternoon’s rest. She redressed, thankful that she didn’t have the finer silk dresses that would make the men notice her. Being noticed, especially by a red sash, was not something she was looking for.

Plain yet pretty, she left the security of the hotel and headed down the dusty streets of Tombstone. Dinner would be nice, though she supposed she could get it back in her room if all else failed.

The red embers of cigarettes glowed in the dusk, illuminating the men who leaned on porches waiting for something exciting to happen. As she passed a lively building, The Oriental according to the sign, one such figured called out for her.

“Pardon me, I believe I have not had the pleasure in making your acquaintance.” A deep southern drawl rolled.

Y/N paused briefly, determined to keep walking though manners made her at least stop for the man. “Oh?”

Slow footsteps creaked along the wooden porch and down onto the dirt. A dramatic wave of his hand, removed his hat. The stranger bowed, finger tips reaching out to brush against her hand. “I apologize for so rudely staring at your earlier, but I fear I was too distracted by both your beauty and the rapscallion nature of those cowboys to properly introduce myself.”

“You were with Mr. Earp?”

“Wyatt?” Oh how stretched the vowels were from his tongue. “Why yes, Wyatt Earp is my best friend. Though I would rather not spend my evening discussing him when I could be discussing you. John Henry Holliday, miss.”

She returned her name quietly, cheeks a flutter with pink as he took her hand and brought it to her lips. The hairs of his mustache tickling her skin just slightly. “Pleased to meet you Mr. Holliday.”

“Would you care to join me for a drink?” A devilishly glint flickered in his green eyes.

“You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve never drank.”

A boisterous laugh rattled into a cough. Mr. Holliday wiped at his lips with a handkerchief and quickly tucked it away. “Well darlin’, you’ll find Tombstone is a wonderful place to start.”

Dinner and a nightcap became common place between Y/N and Mr. Holliday. With some effort, she even got to the point of calling him Doc, a sound that when first said made Doc’s eyes roll back with lust. Yes, Doc was sure of it, he was smitten.

She would often talk around the concept of home while they ate and drank. Doc had not forgotten what life was like for a women in the south, though his dear cousin had some wealth to her name. Y/N appeared to have enough, but the scars and freckles that dotted her skin told him her life was far less leisurely than his youth.

Other times she would discuss literature and the little library she had worked at. These conversations especially aroused him. He’d bring novels and read to her as they strolled back to the hotel. Her eyes would shine at him as if he had written the prose himself.

Y/N reminded him of slow kisses under Spanish moss covered trees, of peach juice dribbling out of rosy lips, or warm milky skin he could sink his teeth into. She was a grand home with open windows and billowing curtains, piano music playing and a library of books to read. Yes, Doc was sure of it, he was falling in love. What a horrible thing.

Doc would walk her back to The Grand after a stiff drink (his darlin’ preferred bourbon) and then return to The Oriental to gamble and drink the night away. He never dared enter the hotel, always kissing her hand goodbye on the steps. For if the clerk saw, he knew he would be done for.

While hope and love lingered in his chest, squeezing him tightly, he never fully let himself indulge in that pleasure. After all, he was just a lunger waiting to die. He’d soil the the very name of any respecting woman with his desires and for once he didn’t have it in him.

Y/N finished up her bourbon, eyelashes fluttering up at him. “Will you let me pay tonight?”

“So stubborn for such an angelic face.” Doc grinned while paying her bill. “But no, darlin’. I am but a gentleman.”

The air was easier at night, cool and crisp against their skin. She was wrapped around his arm, head resting against his bicep. “Doc?” He let out a hum. “Do you…” she wasn’t sure what question longed to be asked. Do you like it here? Do you want to come up to my room? Do you like me?

“Nevermind. It’s silly.”

“Silly? From my little daisy? Nonsense.” Doc spun her around in his arms, holding her. The bustle teasing him through the fabric of her dress. Green eyes commanded attention. Calloused fingertips held her soft chin in his hands.

“Do you believe in love?”

Without missing a beat, he smiled his crooked smile. “Why yes, Y/N, yes I surely do.” Tenderly, his lips brushed her forehead. “Now, let’s get you to bed my dear.”

So it continued over several weeks. Touches becoming longer, necklines becoming lower. Guilt gnawed at his chest, thorny vines of shame bubbling out his throat. Pushing that away, Doc focused on hustling, gambling, drinking, and hating Johnny Ringo.

Wyatt puffed on a cigar, frowning as Doc engaged with Ringo. As Doc boasted that he was, “In his prime.” Wyatt reached for a gun under the table. Doc’s favored lover, Kate, stood at his side.

“Yes.” Johnny Ringo nodded, tipping his head toward Kate. “I’m sure your daylight darlin’ would love to know that.”

Doc lunged at Ringo causing a series of tumbling until Ringo was tossed out of the bar. “Fine you lunger, I’ll tell her!”

Fear set in. A cold fear chilled Doc’s bones like when he watched his mother die of the consumption. Death would be a relief in comparison to the heartache of losing his Y/N. Doc spent more of his evenings in her company and less in Kate’s. Once he was sure Ringo was nothing more than a belligerent drunk, (not wholly unlike himself) Doc resumed his usual activities.

Perhaps there was a thrill or he was a glutton for punishment. Doc was never sure. He would swear that he would spend the money he won on Y/N and when she asked what he did for a living hiding behind the badge of Wyatt Earp was a wonderful response.

Still, Y/N longed for more of her Doc. Thoughts and desires consumed her soul so much so the priest at confession was blushing. She wanted Doc in all the ways possible on this earth and beyond. She wanted to care for him, carry his name and his child, be his for whatever time he had left.

She dreamt of him, even on the day that a splitting headache and painful reminder she did not bare his fruit it. Y/N cancelled their usual dinner plans in exchange for a bath. Though the longer she soaked in the lavender (that he bought, the scent almost close to the lilac bushes from his youth), the pain rolled into longing. Deciding on the nicest dress he bought her, she dressed and pinned up her hair.

It was later than usual for their time together, but she couldn’t wait to see his eyes twinkle and his plump lips turn up into a smile. Rushing down the stairs, she made her way to The Oriental.

And, just like it had months ago, the darkness illuminated a man outside. Not her long and lean hero, but his devilish foil. The red sash around Ringo’s waist swayed in the breeze.

“Why Miss Y/L/N, The Oriental at night is no place for a woman of your nature. Perhaps it best I escort you home.”

“I’ll be quite alright, Mr. Ringo. Thank you.”

If Johnny wasn’t weathered by sun and by time, he would have felt remorse. Or perhaps loyalty to Doc. They were not that different and neither man deserved the sweet settling nature of Y/N. So yes, he decided, he was going to break Y/N’s heart.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you darlin’.”

The Oriental bounced with life. Music blared from the piano , whiskey sloshed on the floor, and cards fell on tables. It was very different from the space she was used to with Doc. But the thought of Doc and breathing in his scent was enough to draw her in.

Pausing at the bar for a drink, she surveyed the saloon. Wyatt sat proudly in the dealers spot, smoking. His eyes caught Y/N’s with a wince.

Y/N trailed her eyes in the direction of Wyatt’s. Her chest tightened like the attacks she used to get back home. Doc sparkled with sweat, beads of it drenching his shirt. An empty bottle sat on the table, the only buffer between him and the woman.

Y/N didn’t know the woman, hadn’t really seen her around. Still, not knowing who she was didn’t really lessen the pain of what she was. She was Doc’s. The woman patted the sweat off his forehead and stroked through his hair. And worst of all, only one of Doc’s hands was visible.

A burning rose through Y/N’s throat with the heartache. Her eyes blurred with tears. She desperately wanted to scream at him, to even whisper his name would do. But all she could do was let out a cough to mask the sob and leave.

“I’m walking you home, Miss Y/L/N.” Ringo held out his arm but Y/N pushed by it.

“Jesus woman, don’t you understand that lunger doesn’t care?!” Ringo shouted grabbing her elbow. “He sees her every night.”

He pulled her tight to his chest. Rough hands reached under her skirt grabbing the virgin flesh underneath. “He does?” It sounded pathetic falling from her lips.

“He beds her in that same boarding house you’re in.”

The wail that left het lips was enough for a crowd to rush out. Wyatt, heroic as ever ran out with Doc trailing behind. Johnny released Y/N from his hold but not before letting Doc see the tearful girl covered in Johnny’s hands.

“Nothing to see here,lunger.” Johnny cackled. “Just a broken heart.”

Johnny disappeared into the night as Doc approached. “Darlin’?”

She turned away from him marching back to the boarding house. “Y/N!”

Picking up her skirts she began to run. Tears stinging her skin, she flew up the stairs to her room. The wind blew in from her opened window; tombstone smelled of death.

Doc stood in the dusty streets. Wyatt offered an assuring squeeze to his shoulder. “I fear I may have defiled myself.”

“A young women scorned is not easily fixed.” Wyatt offered a tight smile.

Doc chased her into the hotel, just missing her slam the door. He knocked on her door, “Y/N? Darlin’ please let me in.”

He rattled the doorknob with urgency. “Please.”

The door swung open revealing a teared stained face. A book hit him, followed by another, and then a third and a dress. “Take your shit Mr. Holliday.” She seethed.

The sound of his name brought his first tear. “Now listen to me, you don’t call me that.” A scolding finger pointed in her face.

Smacking it away, she spat at him. “We have no acquaintance. I was a fool to think I could mean anything to you.”

“Stop that.” He begged fear spiraling through his veins. This was it. He had done it. Ruined something good with evil like his family told him he always would.

“I hate you.”

Doc grabbed her wrists and pulled her to his chest. His arms feeling just like the snare of Ringo. Perhaps all men where just as vile.

“Please, Y/N, say whatever you must just never that.” His lips forced their way onto her skin. Kissing her neck and her lips as she struggled again him. “Damn me, curse me, hell shoot me just never say that.”

Wriggling out of his grasp, chest heaving, Y/N broke down to the floor. “What else is there to say?”

Doc sat with her between his knees, clinging tightly. “I can only apologize for weakness.”

“Every night you bed her down the hall. You’re no gentleman. I am but an object to amuse you. You neither respect nor love me and it’s horrifying that I wanted to bare everything you could give me.”

Everything? Had she shared in his lustful fantasies? Did she fully return his affection? “I sincerely want everything with you, daisy.”

“No.”

Doc stayed until she fell asleep in a pitiful puddle in his arms. He carried her to bed, earning a wheeze from his lungs.

The cough was worse the next day. His handkerchief blood soaked by midday. It was no surprise to Wyatt when he rushed Doc back to his room, the doctor in tow.

As blood bubbles from his lips, he begged for Y/N. She did not come nor respond when Wyatt pounded on the door. The second day of Doc’s fever, Y/N quietly pleaded at Wyatt to go away.

It was on the third day that the door opened to Wyatt. Dressed plain, no longer donning the silky dresses Doc had bought her, Y/N emerged. Eyes sunken in and skin marked with tracks of tears, she headed to Doc.

“How is he?”

Wyatt offered a sad smile. “Sorry.”

“That’s not what I asked, Mr. Earp.”

A frown crossed his lips as his stomach lurched. “Please, Miss Y/N, don’t shut me out. You’re my friend.” Wyatt sighed. “He’s a dying man unless someone can settle him down. His fever comes and goes.”

There was a stillness in the room that made her stomach churn. Windows were open, letting in better air. The room was filled with the things she’d thrown at him. The dress crumbled up next to him in bed, the books scattered around with pages marked or weighted down.

Y/N watched the slow nature of his chest rise and fall with breathe. Ignoring the sudden numbness in her throat, crossed the room to his bedside. Removing the cloth from his forehead, she wrung it out and refilled in the water basin.

Tenderly, she washed his face, neck, and bare chest. She fluffed up the pillows and pulled the sweat stained sheets down. “Ask for more sheets when you leave. I’ll stay with him today.”

Wyatt merely nodded, waiting to smile until he was out of sight. Doc might just be a lucky bastard yet again.

She cleaned up the room and refilled water while Doc slept. Lunch was delivered just before A coughing fit roused him from a fitful sleep. “Drink.” She held a cool glass to his lips.

Doc merely nodded, revealing in the relief of water on this throat. He opened his mouth to speak but her finger tapped his lips. “No. Even if I wanted to hear what you had to say, you need to rest your throat.”

She sat the glass down. “I’m going to change the the top sheet if that’s alright.” Glazed eyes focused on her and he nodded.

As she peeled back the sheets she did her best not to stare at him. His lean body shimmering with sweat. Muscles rippled beneath curls of hair that trailed down his chest to something she had only dreamed about.

Tucking him into the new sheets, her chest hurt with the thought that someone else had seen him and touched him. Someone who wasn’t here while he lay dying. Pleasure would not be here to give.

A clammy hand grabbed her wrist and led her hand over his stomach. Whines left his throat.her cool hands were a relief and he needed that in more ways that just one.

“No.” Things were different. Just three days before she would have slipped into the delirium of his touch. But now, bile crawled up her throat.

She left his side momentarily to grab soup and a spoon. “It’s cooled enough so it shouldn’t hurt. You must eat and rest.”

Doc might have been delirious with fever, but he was hopeful. None of his escapades had ever valued his life the way she seemed too. His very soul lay between gentle hands that fed him. Flashbacks of himself at his mothers side broke through bought of fever and he was certain that this was love.

It was late that night when Doc awoke with a start. Pain no longer resonated with each breath. Sweat did not fall over him.

Pushing himself up against the headboard, he rolled his shoulders. Adjusting to the candle lit room, he knew he was not alone. Linen pants and a cotton tie front shirt were folded at the foot of the bed. He grabbed them, they didn’t smell of sweat or liquor, they were new. Water was running in his bathroom.

Leaning on his cane, thighs trembling with each step. Nudging the door open, he finds Y/N on her knees filling the claw foot tub. A minty smell tickles his nose and swirls into his chest. He breathes without much pain.

The cotton of her slip is all she wears under a corset. Lace flowers and ivory fabric that he had not yet gotten to see taunt him. “Why I do believe this is heaven.”

If Doc squinted, he was sure he saw a crinkle of a smile. “Let me help you in.”

“Why yes I’m sure of it now, this is heaven. I fear have been wrongly placed I am a sinner of the worst kind.” A hum of acknowledgment told him enough.

Gentle hands held his as she trembled into the bath. Easing himself in, his lungs cleared momentarily. “I can breathe.”

“Eucalyptus. Group of travelers were selling it when I went to buy your clothes. Said it helped.”

“My modern woman.” A blissful sigh let his lips at another deep inhale. “How long did the doctors give me?”

A sharp glare chilled the steaming bathroom. “You could live if you changed.” Y/N snapped. “But you choose to drink and smoke and bed whores every night. Perhaps I wasted my time on a dead man.”

He’s convinced his heart breaks again then. Watching green eyes trail with tears, his own reflecting the same. “Please do not think of me as time ill spent.”

“I will not think of you at all.”

“Daisy, that is even worse.” He reached for her hand once more, finding nothing. “Please?”

Fingers brushed his. “I’m leaving.”

For the first time since his raising from the dead, Doc coughed. Eyelashes fluttering rapidly. “I beg your pardon?” Doc imagined a lot of things with Y/N and none of those were leaving Tombstone (or at least not without their family and Wyatt).

“I have no prospects here. My benefactor provided plenty of funds. I’ve heard Denver has nice mountain air.”

“No prospects? What ever do you mean? My intentions were not clear to you?” Calloused fingers stroked her jaw.

“I’m as good as used.” She forced her bruised wrists to him. Pulling up her shift, he saw purple finger tips scattered on precious skin. “He touched me Doc, like you touched her. No one will marry me now.”

Like you touched her. Envy, rage, regret, and list churned in his stomach. A Pitiful series of “No’s” left his lips as he pulled her towards him by her skirt. He tried to stand but she eased him back in. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” It was small, barely a whisper. Water splashed over the tub and onto her giving peeks of sweet skin underneath.

“I do not deserve the luxury of you.” His finger trailed over her collar bone and up her neck. “I have not felt happiness like this since I was a foolish young man. Still foolish now.” Tracing the rose of her lips, he tapped her plump bottom lip forcing his finger just between. “I’m deviant Y/N, I’m a vile sinner who thinks unspeakable things about you daily and wanted to ruin it. Why live when you could not possibly want me to tarnish you?”

“What about your intentions you just spoke of?”

“Well my daisy I am selfish as well. I want To keep you as my wife. I just have these vices I wish to shield you from. I love you more than life. I would die to keep you happy.”

“Oh doc please don’t say such things!” She flung herself around his shoulders hugging him close.

Slowly, due to his healing and uncertainty of their relationship, he peeled her into the tub. Still clothed in now sheer cotton, Y/N dared a peek out from the crook of his neck. “Doc?” Breathy, she hardly recognized her own voice.

“May I have the pleasure of loving you?” He trailed finger along her clavicle. “Of keeping you as mine?”

“Yes.”

“Forever Mrs. Holliday?”

Daring a kiss to his lips, she hummed. “Forever.”

#Doc Holliday x reader #Doc Holliday imagines #Doc Holliday imagine #Val Kilmer imagine #Val Kilmer x reader #tombstone #tombstone imagines

[doingthingsthewriteway]

Relief

Requested: yes

Summary: Your husband figures out how to give you some relief during the late stages of your pregnancy.

Word count: 0.6k

Warnings: pregnancy.

Pairings: Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky x wife!reader

Waves gently splashed on the sand as you walked down the shore. Tom was a few feet in front of you, laying a picnic blanket out carefully. You smiled at the sight, hand resting on your large bump. Your baby was due in just over three weeks, meaning that in less than a month you and your husband would have an addition to the family. The two of you had been trying for a baby for the past year and a half. You were just about to give up when you finally got pregnant with your baby boy.

Your husband lifted his head as you got closer. With a smile, he stretched out his hand and pulled you toward him. “How’re you doing, baby?” He questioned as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. His hands settled on the side of your bump.

His tanned skin was warm from the sunlight as you gripped his forearm. There was a soft, loving smile on your face as you stared into his eyes. “I’m good. Happy we’re here.” Lately, it seemed as if you and your husband had spent no time together. This was going to be one of the last times that the two of you would be able to go out alone for a while. In a few weeks, you would have a permanent addition to your family.

Ice grinned down at you, thumb gently stroking over your belly. One last kiss was pressed to the crown of your head before he turned around. The pilot kneeled down, fixing a few things up. He sat down on the multicolored blanket. Patting the spot next to him with a smile, he held a hand out to you.

It took a second, but eventually, you were ready to sit down. On your way down, however, you froze, setting a hand on your bump and standing back up. Ice was by your side in a matter of seconds. There was a worried look on his face as he held you up. His eyes moved up and down your frame quickly, looking for anything that might be wrong.

“I’m okay,” You assured him. “My back’s just sore.” He still didn’t look convinced.

Tom moved behind you, causing a confused look to rise on your face. His arms wound around you, hands settling just below your bump. When realization struck you, you moved to shake your head. You really didn’t need him to do that. You’d be fine in a few seconds.

“C’mon,” He murmured, breath fanning across the back of your neck. You relaxed back into him, hands settling on his forearms. Your husband pressed a chaste kiss to the skin behind your ear. “Just let me help you.”

The next thing you knew, Tom was gently lifting up your bump. Unbeknownst to you, a pleasured and relieved sigh fell from your lips. Instantly, the weight on your shoulders and lower back disappeared. What could only be described as a moan fell from your lips. Tom smiled, glad that you were finally feeling some relief.

You stood there like that for the next few minutes, leaning back onto Ice as he held up the weight of your bump. Your eyes fluttered shut and you basked in the warmth of the sun as you let the tension roll off you in waves.

After about five minutes, Ice slowly began to release your baby bump. You sighed as the pressure of the weight returned to your lower back. Your eyes opened slowly, squinting at the bright light of the sun. “Feeling better?” He whispered against the shell of your ear. You nodded, squeezing his arm gently as you leaned back against him. Ice smiled warmly and tightened his arms around your waist.

a/n: Hope you all enjoyed this cute little fic! Feel free to send in any requests.

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[doingthingsthewriteway]

Wayne Munson has always doubted that he’s done right by his nephew. Sure, the situation is better than Eddie living with his deadbeat dad, but the kid sells drugs and spent an extra two years in high school.

It’s not until you come into the picture that Wayne sees the values he instilled in Eddie.

Like when Eddie brings you to meet Wayne for the first time, holding the door open for you and taking your jacket. You hand a package of Oreos to Wayne, telling him, “Eddie said these are your favorite, so I had to get them.” The three of you sit in the living room, sharing the cookies and swapping stories.

On his birthday, when he comes home to you and Eddie in the little kitchen, putting candles in a homemade cake. “Happy birthday!” you call out in unison, and Wayne can’t help but smile. Eddie lights the candles and you tell Wayne to make a wish. “Besides me moving out,” Eddie teases as Wayne blows out the candles. “You made this?” he asks the two of you. “I baked it, and Eddie put the frosting on,” you say. Wayne hasn’t had a homemade cake in years.

Or when Eddie walks through the door, eyes red and puffy, explaining to his uncle, “We had a fight, but I did that breathing thing you told me about and calmed down. I think we’ll work it out.” He’s referring to the time he was 14, frustrated with a riff he just couldn’t get, and punched a wall so hard he broke his hand. On the way back from the hospital, Wayne told him, “When you feel that angry, you gotta breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Slow and steady. Can’t afford another hospital bill, kid.” He didn’t realize Eddie remembered it after all this time.

The time he gets home from work a little earlier than usual, only to overhear you telling Eddie softly, “’M sorry, Eds. I’m not really in the mood.” Without any hesitation, Eddie says, “Don’t apologize. We can cuddle though, right?” There’s no pressure, no whining or begging. Only Eddie respecting the girl he loves.

The day you and Eddie finally get your own place, boxes loaded into a moving van. Before you leave, you give a neatly wrapped gift to Wayne. “Shouldn’t I be getting you a housewarming present?” he jokes, opening it carefully. It’s a photo of the three of you at last year’s Fourth of July carnival, fireworks in the background. The wooden frame reads Family is Forever. “So you don’t miss us too much,” Eddie teases him. He pulls you both in for a quick hug. The photo sits on his bedside table, where he sees it first thing every morning.

On Eddie’s birthday, Wayne gives him a card with a check inside; not a lot, but a little something. “What’re you gonna spend it on?” he asks, thinking his nephew will cash it and buy something for his van or his precious guitar. But Eddie gives him a shy grin and tells him, “Actually, I’m saving up for an engagement ring. Just wanna get her the best, y’know?”

When you pull Wayne onto the dance floor, feeling beautiful in your white dress, the new Mrs. Munson. Wayne isn’t much of a dancer, but he’s two drinks in and just so damn happy, and he can’t help but shuffle about when the band sings “Twist and Shout.” He also dances with you to a slow song, which is where you whisper to him, “thank you for raising such an incredible man.”

Or during a Sunday dinner, when you and Eddie invite Wayne over and ask him if he prefers to be called “Grandpa” or “Pop-Pop.” Later, he privately asks Eddie if he’s nervous about being a dad, to which he truthfully replies, “A little. But I learned from the best.”

And when Wayne sees Eddie hold his newborn son, he swells with pride. My boy has a boy of his own, he muses incredulously, and then it’s his turn to hold the baby. “So, what do you think?” Eddie asks him, beaming. Wayne pauses for a moment before he answers.

“I think we did all right.”

[doingthingsthewriteway]

a big thank you to all the love on the alpha! eddie fic!! I have a ralph fic in the works and potentially a steve x eddie x reader. 

I’ve just been in a hectic mindset lately, so give me a little bit of time. love y’all 

[doingthingsthewriteway]

Pick me up and turn me round

Summary: Heat happens. 

Pt. 3 of Home

Pt. 1, Pt. 2

Warnings: smutty smut, breeding kink, alpha!eddie 

A heady musk filled the trailer. No amount of incense from that cute little head shop in Indianapolis could mask the pheromones wafting through the air. There was no doubt to Eddie-hell the whole damn trailer park- that Y/N was in heat. He knew it as soon as he left for school that morning. Eddie tried staying but Y/N was adamant that Eddie go to school for as long as possible before her heat. 

Keep reading

#alpha eddie munson #alpha!eddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson smut #abo

[doingthingsthewriteway]

Pick me up and turn me round

Summary: Heat happens. 

Pt. 3 of Home

Pt. 1, Pt. 2

Warnings: smutty smut, breeding kink, alpha!eddie 

A heady musk filled the trailer. No amount of incense from that cute little head shop in Indianapolis could mask the pheromones wafting through the air. There was no doubt to Eddie-hell the whole damn trailer park- that Y/N was in heat. He knew it as soon as he left for school that morning. Eddie tried staying but Y/N was adamant that Eddie go to school for as long as possible before her heat. 

It’s all he could think about as he sat in some stupid elective about stupid life-skills. Well, he didn’t think it was entirely stupid. He learned a lot about classifications that way. For example, what to put in his omegas nest. Eddie worked very hard on the nest in his bedroom. With a little more space of their own, it could be even better. As for now, though, the little nest in the corner of his bed filled with his shirts and jackets would do. 

His day was monotonous as he went bell to bell, classroom to classroom. He tried really hard to pay attention, honest he did, but all he could think about was how his shirts smelled of bourbon and vanilla and pure raw lust. The stains of the slick that would coat his mattress as Y/N’s heat progressed. Fuck he couldn’t stand it. 

Mrs. O’Donnell’s class was going to be the death of him. It was the one thing standing in the way of his omega. He all but growled as he entered the room early. A tardy would be a detention which absolutely could not happen. 

“Munson, you’re early.” Mrs. O’Donnell looked down the nose of her glasses as he took his seat. 

“Eager to learn ma’am.” He flashed a grimace of a smile. Eddie pretended not to notice how her nose twitched. Like most teachers, O’Donnell was a beta and the smell of an omega was foreign to their senses. Betas controlled themselves better, yes, but they weren’t blind to the smell as so many thought. 

She wasn’t sure why she offered it. Perhaps after three years, she’d grown to care for the Munson boy. It was hard to deny he made her day interesting. He was really trying lately, the omega the likely cause. Whatever the reason, she opened her desk drawer and pulled out a red piece of paper no bigger than a hall pass. “As a mated alpha, you are entitled to a heat excuse.” 

She filled it out, holding the paper expectantly toward him. Students started trickling into the classroom. “Take it and go home. All work during that time is excused. You can come back in three days.” 

Eddie was sure he was dreaming. “You’re serious?” 

She just held the pass to him. With an eager yelp that reminded her of a pup, Eddie hurriedly shoved his shit into his backpack and snatched the pass. “You’re the best! Forget every nasty drawing I’ve every put on a test, you truly are the best.” 

“Just go before I remember every nasty drawing.” 

Eddie bounced with excitement the whole way home. He had already stocked up on the things he learned his little love liked (his baby had such a sweet tooth he could only imagine how it would intensify once she was on her heat) so he was free to leave the halls of Hawkins High and head home as fast as possible. 

Dust from the gravel drive billowed under his tires as he whipped into the lot adjacent to his trailer. Eddie pushed the door open, growling as he did so. “Oh fuck, honey.” 

The scent was thick in his nostrils, swirling around his lungs and lingering like the smoke from his cigarettes. Suddenly his clothes were entirely too tight, His jeans scratched painfully against his aching cock. 

His fingers trembled as they moved down to unzip his jeans, allowing his purpling tip to spring out. “Omega?” How desperate he was. In all his sexual escapades (of which there weren’t that many), he’d never got the sheer delight of fucking an omega, let alone one in heat. Never had he thought he’d be able to claim an omega, make love to an omega. 

Yet, here he was shimmering out of his too tight pants, stumbling over his scuffed sneakers into the bedroom. 

“Alpha.” A low, pitiful whine echoed through the trailer. “Alpha is that you?” 

Eddie’s wild curls and wolfish smile preened into the bedroom. “I’m here, omega. Seems like something else is too.” 

“Oh alpha it hurts.” 

“Poor baby.” He didn’t mean to sound so condescending but the rush of pheromones into the air only encouraged him. His baby liked it. “Must feel awful empty.” 

Calloused fingers suddenly touched sweaty skin making both alpha and omega moan with pleasure. Eddie made quick work of the worn t-shirt Y/N had wriggled herself into. Y/N whined and pawed at Eddie’s own shirt until he yanked it off in one swoop. 

With a determined glint in his warm, brown eyes, Eddie licked away the sweat beading around Y/N’s collarbone. “I’m going to knot you omega.” Simple as that. No more words were needed, though plenty would come. 

Wrapped up in his toned arms, Y/N was flipped onto her tummy. “Ass up, ‘mega.” His hands squeezed into the soft flesh as he maneuvered her into the desired position. “Oh baby.” Shimmering slick trickled down her thighs. “Need to be bred so bad, huh?” 

“Need it. Need it. Need it.” Y/N chanted, mind solely focused on her alpha, on her Eddie. Heat wasn’t entirely in control here. Love poured into every touch, moan, and thrust. This wasn’t just fucking they were mating for life. “Want your knot, want your babies.” 

And shit that was all it took. Eddie could only describe it as seeing gold. Warm golden memories that hadn’t happened yet rushed through his mind in a flash. Y/N glowing with life. Little pups running around with swords made from paper towel rolls. Eddie providing for his family. 

“Well shit.” Eddie snapped his hips into her from behind, fingers splayed across her belly. “I’ll fuck ya full of my cum. Give ya my knot ’n my babies.” His breath tickled her ear as each thrust hit deeper, harder until they were both soaked in each other’s juices. 

“Gonna make ya a momma.” Eddie growled as slick skin smacked into slick skin. “Gonna make ya my wife.” His teeth sunk into the mating gland on her neck as she cried out with pleasure. 

With a grunt, Eddie removed himself just long enough to flip his omega over. His cum flooded inside her, followed by the pleasurably swell of his knot. 

Her chest heaved as she caught her breath. “Promise?” Y/N looked sleepily at Eddie, heat sated for the time being. 

His lips tenderly touched her breasts, then her neck, then her lips. “Promise.” 

#eddie munson x reader #alpha eddie munson #alpha!eddie #eddie munson #eddie munson imagines #breeding #abo #eddie munson au #eddie munson smut