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free-for-all-fics · 1 year ago

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Charlie Hunnam Character Prompts! This list includes: Alan McMichael, King Arthur, Raymond Smith, and Will “Ironhead” Miller. Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of the ideas presented here. I’d love to read it! 💜

1. After the events of Crimson Peak, Edith and Alan eventually marry. Edith gives birth to a daughter (whether the baby is Alan’s, or Thomas’ from his and Edith’s night in the depot is up to you.) Their daughter inherits the ability to see ghosts just like her mother and grandmother before her.

2. You’re Thomas and Lucille’s daughter but you don’t know. You’ve been raised to believe you’re their sister. Due to the nature of your birth and years spent growing up in the darkness of Allerdale Hall, your eyes have a strong sensitivity to light. You’re in your 20s when Thomas takes you to an optician in New York while he’s courting Edith. Maybe an American doctor will have something to help you that the English doctors back home don’t. You meet Alan, who gives you an eye exam. He helps you when your eyes are giving you trouble by prescribing you a special type of eyeglasses and sunglasses so you can go outside for longer periods of time. He also prescribes you eyedrops/medications and recommends using a parasol for shade while you’re out on walks. Over time, his prescription notes become love notes.

3. You’re the youngest Sharpe and are much more petite than the average woman, standing only at about 4’9. Thomas assures you it’s not your fault, it’s just how you were born. You also attribute your small stature to the lack of necessary sunshine and fresh air from your years growing up confined to the shadows of Allerdale Hall. Your brother rarely let you leave the grounds while you were a child, afraid you’d get sick and your immune system would be too weak to fight off any infection. You’d never gone past the front yard before. Now an adult, you fall in love with Alan McMichael while Thomas is courting Edith. He dances with you at balls, sends you secret love letters, etc. When Thomas discovers these letters, he takes them and locks you in your bedroom. Your attempts to stop him or slow him down do nothing to deter him. Despite your protests and pleas to be let out and for him to give Alan’s letters back, he instead hides them where Lucille wouldn’t find them. You don’t realize he’s locked you in to protect you from her. When Alan comes to Allerdale Hall to rescue Edith, he wants to take you away too and demands to know where you are. During the confrontation, you escape. It’s because of Alan that you discover your true lineage: Your siblings are actually your parents and you’re the product of incest. You’re helpless and horrified when Lucille stabs Alan. You try to run to him, but she holds you back while Thomas stabs him too.

You believe him to be dead until Lucille takes Edith away to sign the papers and Thomas urges you to help him get Alan downstairs, quickly. He’s still alive and your tears of mourning turn into tears of relief. There’s no time for explanations, but Thomas begs your forgiveness and tells you he loves you. While he’s not proud of the act he and Lucille did, he wants you to know you were never a mistake. He gives you a goodbye kiss on the forehead before he rushes to help Edith. While you keep him stable, Alan reveals that, before he was stabbed, Thomas gave him his blessing to marry you. He whispered it so low so Lucille wouldn’t hear. After leaving Crimson Peak, you later wed. Neither of you care about Mrs. McMichael’s snide remarks or disapproval of you. But when you come to be with child, you’re afraid for their health. You worry that your body is too small to safely carry to term, or that your lineage means any children you have are at risk for birth defects. Alan soothes your fears and assures you that you’re strong and capable. No matter what, he will love his child. If they are born anything but healthy, you and he will find a way to still give them the best life possible. You’ll devote your lives to their happiness.

4. Alan McMichael meets you, a woman who has Heterochromia. As an eye doctor, he wants to study this rare eye condition but over time, he gets to know you and falls in love with you. You help him with his studies on the subject and tell him about your life, from your genetic history all the way to the hardships you’ve faced for being different from everybody else. You tell him how you used to wear sunglasses all the time to hide your eyes out of shame. But you’re not ashamed anymore, and Alan further compliments them. The eyes are generally considered the most beautiful feature of the human body and your eyes are no exception. They’re unique, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.

5. Haunting of Hill House crossover AU (the novel, not the show): You’re Hugh Crain’s youngest daughter and the only family member who survived the hauntings of Hill House. While you grew up on the grounds, no corner of your house was safe. Your mother was killed in the drive up before the house’s completion, leaving you and your older sisters to be raised by a governess. Every room had its haunts. Even the outside garden was haunted by ghosts having picnics. Your eldest sister, Sophia, was given a disturbing monograph on morality from your father, signed in his own blood. As you grew older, you started to feel uneasy around your overbearing father and grew concerned about his intentions with Sophia. Though he was physically absent and often away in Europe with his new wife, you still felt the weight of his presence everywhere within the walls, along with the ghosts. It frightened you. You left Hill House when you turned 18 and never came back, though you missed your sisters dearly and kept writing them letters. You settled in New York, where you met and later married Alan McMichael, a handsome eye doctor. When he shows you his interest in ghost sightings through photography, you’re worried for his safety, still traumatized from your past experiences. You have yet to tell him the full story about Hill House.

Your middle sister sometimes visited with her husband, and you were saddened at her and Sophia’s falling out over the inheritance of the house. No matter how much you urged your eldest sister to leave Hill House, you knew she’d never visit. Sophia later died alone and you were devastated at the news of her death. Alan did his best to console you at her funeral. Your mourning was exacerbated when your middle sister died while trying to move some furniture and dishes out of the house, mere months after Sophia’s funeral. The coroner said she slipped and fell down the stairs, but you knew better. When Alan’s friend, Edith, marries Thomas Sharpe and moves into Allerdale Hall, you come with to help her settle in. But you realize immediately that Allerdale Hall is haunted, in eerily similar ways to how Hill House is. She confides in you about her ability to see ghosts and you do what you can to protect her and keep her safe since you couldn’t do the same for your beloved sisters. But you can’t stay in the house forever, so you go to Alan for help. You finally sit him down and confide in him everything about your experiences at Hill House. You urge him that Edith is now in great danger and needs both his help and yours before it’s too late.

6. You’re Eunice’s best friend and fall in love with her brother, Alan, when he meets you while attending medical school. Neither of you make the connection right away. After all, there’s tons of women named Eunice and you and Alan hadn’t seen each other since you were children. Uh oh when he takes you to meet his family and you realize you’re in love with your best friend’s brother.

7. You’re a mermaid-like creature in Camelot but unlike the Syrens, your magic isn’t dark and you don’t serve Vortigern. You stayed in hiding during his tyrannical reign, since you’re similar to a Ceasg and knew he’d abuse your magic. After Vortigern’s death and the destruction of the tower, the Syrens ventured back out to the deeper waters of the vast sea. You’re captured by Arthur’s men, mistaken for a Syren after saving the new King’s life by kissing him and granting him the ability to breathe underwater for a time. His knights mistook your actions and thought you were trying to eat their friend. You’re kept in the King’s bedchamber, in a large glass container full of water that has enough room to swim around in, but acts as your cage. Arthur interrogates you, asking you all sorts of questions about yourself, where you come from, your connection to the Syrens that served his uncle, etc. But over time, his questions become softer and he talks to you with a spirit similar to that of a young boy who just discovered fairytales are real. He and you fall in love. You use your magic to grant Arthur’s wishes, even if he unknowingly makes them. It takes him a while to realize what’s happening and that his wishes coming true is your doing.

One night, the door above your tank is left unlocked after you’re fed. You pull yourself out and crawl towards Arthur while he sleeps in his bed of furs. You’re so curious about the anatomy of humans and always wanted to see one up close. As you crawl on top of him to touch his face and play with his golden hair, Arthur responds as if in a dream and leans up to kiss you. When he jolts awake and realizes what he’s doing, he lets you touch and admire him, but only for a short while before he carries you back to your tank. He doesn’t want you to dry out. But you keep a firm hold on his hand and encourage him to join you, telling him you want to explore his body further. He relents and you make love under the water. Someone later tries to kidnap you and steal you away for their own greed, and your tank shatters. You flail around like a fish out of water before your tail dries and turns to legs. After he rescues you, Arthur gives you back your freedom. But instead you choose to stay and serve him as your King. Unlike Syrens, You don’t demand blood or human sacrifices. You simply ask for Arthur’s heart, his love, and he gives it to you. He makes you his Queen, as unconventional as his choice in a bride may be. There’s no other he wants for his wife.

8. Pirates of the Caribbean-esque AU: You’re a mermaid/siren but you’re a good natured one that isn’t bloodthirsty or man-eating like your sisters. Arthur captures you and holds you prisoner after he thinks you tried to kill him. He keeps you in a large tank in his private bedchamber because he needs a mermaid’s/siren’s magic to help him in a quest for something. But then you and he start bonding and developing romantic feelings for each other, especially when he realizes you actually saved his life that day you met and weren’t trying to kill him at all. Despite being kept in a tank full of seawater, you become very sick because you’ve been away from the actual sea for too long. Your skin and tail become ashy, your hair loses its luster, the sparkle in your eyes dims. Arthur grows so worried and remorseful for his mistreatment of you that he sets you free, returning you to the ocean where you belong. You wave to him as you swim away and he waves back with stray tears in his eyes.

He doesn’t see you for so long that he thinks you’re gone forever. But then you show up again while he’s sailing out at sea, swimming along the side of his ship and you’re mistaken for a large fish. He’s surprised to see you when you climb over the side and hold yourself up on the railing. He’s left speechless when you reveal you’ve brought him the treasure he sought after in the first place. It wasn’t easy to find, that’s why you were gone so long. You never planned on abandoning him. You kiss him and tell him a secret: If a mortal wins the heart of a merfolk, that merfolk is granted the ability to walk on land when their tail is dry. And a mortal fortunate enough to receive the kiss of a merfolk is granted the ability to breathe underwater. You show Arthur he’s earned your love when your beautiful shimmering tail dries and becomes human legs. He quickly finds you some clothes and asks you to stay with him as his bride and be his Queen. You accept, but tell him you’ll have to return to the sea for short periods of time periodically to stay healthy. When the King and Queen are both missing from the palace, it’s safe to say they’re out swimming.

9. You’re Arthur’s Queen and are once again with child after many failed attempts. You’ve been able to get pregnant before, but the trouble has been keeping it. You’ve suffered many miscarriages so early on that sometimes you wouldn’t even bother telling your husband you were with child, too afraid you’d get his hopes up only to lose it. This put an emotional and mental toll on both you and Arthur. This is the farthest you’ve carried in any pregnancy, so Arthur is especially protective and doting, making sure you have the best of healers. Naturally, everyone in the kingdom hopes the firstborn will be a boy to carry his father’s legacy. Arthur assures you he just wants a healthy wife and child. The birth itself is difficult and you nearly die trying to bring your baby into the world. There’s so much blood. Arthur is terrified but refuses to leave your side. This is his castle, his wife, and his child. So he’s going to hold your hand and caress your hair through it all, even if it takes hours. He encourages you and tells you you’re the strongest woman he knows. When the babe is born, it’s a girl. You’re afraid you’ve disappointed the kingdom and your husband, but Arthur is overjoyed at the arrival of his little princess. She is his heir and he loves both her and you unconditionally. A huge celebration is in order. But first, you must rest and recover.

10. Ever after AU: Your stepmother works you like a servant for years following your father’s death, while plotting and scheming to get her own spoiled and selfish daughter on the throne. You pretend to be a courtier to save a man’s life, inadvertently catching the eye of King Arthur. He keeps pursuing you despite all your attempts to evade him, so you give him your deceased mother’s name when he pushes for yours. You didn’t think you’d see him again, but fate has you crossing paths and meeting in secret. A romance eventually blossoms. You show him you’re a country girl at heart with a strong spirit, not afraid to get dirty, climb trees, use a blade, etc. You want more than anything to tell Arthur the truth of who you are, but keep losing your courage at the last moment. He’s just so wonderful and you love him so much, you don’t want to hurt him with your deception. A masque ball is being held for the King to choose a bride so Camelot may finally have a Queen. Your stepmother lashes you for your insolence towards your stepsister after she tries to take your mother’s dress. She locks you in the cellar but you escape.

Your stepmother tries to sabotage you by assaulting you and exposing you as a fraud and devious little pretender in front of the entire royal court, but her scheme backfires terribly when Arthur reveals he doesn’t care about your status as a servant. He holds your hand as he tells your stepmother that she seems to have forgotten herself and must be unaware of his own background. He grew up in a brothel under the care of prostitutes. He loved those women like family and he rose up out of gutter in the village streets of Londinium through years of hard work and blood, sweat, and tears. He has your stepmother and terrible stepsister taken away to be dealt with later and announces you as his intended bride. That is, if you’ll have him. The decision is yours. Meanwhile, your other stepsister, who is much more gentle and kind hearted, has been in a blooming romance of her own: She’s falling in love with one of Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table. Upon your marriage and coronation, your stepsister is appointed your lady-in-waiting and becomes part of the royal court. On your wedding night, Arthur discovers the lashing marks on your back and is horrified. He’s so livid he would’ve sentenced your stepmother to death for daring to lay such a violent hand upon you, but you talk him down. He strips her of her title in front of the royal court and, at your behest, sentences her and your horrible stepsister to lifelong servitude. Neither you nor your other stepsister have spared a thought for your cruel stepmother or odious stepsister, too busy in your happy new lives.

11. You’re thrown overboard when the ship you’re traveling on gets stuck in a terrible and merciless thunderstorm. As you try to keep yourself above water, you hear voices shouting what you think is your name. Lightning cracks and starts a fire on the ship, but that’s all you remember as you hit your head and black out. You awaken on the shoreline, found by men who later reveal themselves as Knights of the Round Table. They take you to their King, Arthur. When you reveal you don’t remember anything but a shortened version of your name, Arthur takes it upon himself to look after you while you recover from your ordeal. At least until your memory returns or your family can be found. He has his knights work on locating your family while he shows you his castle, takes you on tours of Camelot, etc. Over time, your friendship turns into a romance. Little do either you or Arthur know, you’re actually a Viking Princess who was on voyage to Camelot to marry Arthur. The very same Viking Princess who is believed to be dead. Your arranged marriage was meant to strengthen an alliance between Norway and England in exchange for protection, resources, trade routes, weapons, etc. But your supposed death has created a new array of problems for Arthur as he’s tried to draft up a new agreement with your mourning mother and/or father, not realizing he has their amnesiac daughter right under his roof. What happens when the truth is revealed?

12. Arthur stumbles across a baby girl in a basket drifting in the water. This child was watched over and protected by the Lady of the Lake, who instructs Arthur to take you in and raise you as his daughter. He does so, and you grow up a Princess of Camelot. But as you grow, you show signs of possessing magic similar to that of mermaids, water nymphs, or fairies. You have unique abilities over controlling water and can even influence people when you sing. You may have the ability to breathe underwater or swim at incredible speeds. Your father still loves you and does what he can to help you control your powers, but he may need the help of the Mage to further teach you, since he’s just a human man who has no knowledge of your birth or who your natural parents were. The Lady of the Lake didn’t tell him much when she gave you to him.

13. You’re either Roz’s sister and Mickey’s sister-in-law, or you’re Mickey’s sister and Roz’s sister-in-law. The choice is up to you. Either way, you and Ray find yourselves in a high risk, high reward romance as you try to hide your affair from Roz and Mickey. Ray started off as your personal bodyguard and you’re worried they wouldn’t understand or would be against mixing love and business for whatever reason. You’d rather not see Ray get fired or killed, so you keep it secret. Ray also enjoys living too much to die just yet, thank you. But maybe Roz and Mickey wouldn’t be angry that you’ve kept secrets from them, just disappointed that you’d think so little of them. You’re Mickey and Roz’s sister (in-law) and they love you. Ray has been like family for years too, and there’s no better man for you than him. But maybe at the time you were just too scared and foolish to realize that they’d always have your back and support you no matter what.

14. You’re Ray’s wife. You used to be a journalist, but your articles caught the interest of an espionage agency. They gave you an interview under the guise of a publishing company and, during it, you noticed the organization's hidden cameras and microphones. You discovered the interview’s true purpose and passed the test. Your set of skills got you hired on the spot, and you built a career as one of the top spies in the organization. You’ve obtained valuable intel while infiltrating galas, fundraisers, house parties, board meetings, etc. But you promised Ray not to go on any more missions once you became pregnant. So you retire, or work from the safety of your own office at home instead of actively being out on the field. Despite both you and Ray laying low and taking as many precautions as possible to keep yourselves safe, somehow enemies of your agency or Mickey Pearson had discovered your location and/or connection to Ray. They sabotage your vehicle and set you up to get into a serious car accident in an attempt to eliminate you. They want to use your death to get to your husband and ultimately yours and/or his boss. Your body is gone from the crash scene, so you’re believed to be missing or dead.

What Ray doesn’t know until later is that Mickey pulled some strings to get you out of there and sent you to a high security hospital without the enemy agents knowing. You were swapped out with a body too damaged for recognition while the enemy agents were distracted by a diversion and they took it, believing it to be you. Ray is sent your coordinates from a burner phone and drives as fast as he can to get to you, scared half to death about you and your child. If either of you are hurt or dead, there will be hell to pay. There were rules to this game, one of the most important being to never go after wives or children. The people who targeted and attacked you will pay. Once Ray and Mickey are through with them, they’ll wish they had never been born. There are fates much worse than death, after all. But first, Ray needs to be the doting husband and take extra good care of you and his unborn child. You need him now more than ever.

15. Ocean’s 8/11/12-esque fic with Ray and you. The plot is up to you, just imagine an action packed heist with him.

16. Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU: You and your husband, Ray, had been attending marriage counseling since it was on the rocks for a while and divorce seemed imminent. You were working for rival agencies at the time and were each ordered to kill the other. But neither of you realized you were each other’s target because the names you’d been given on the slip of paper were aliases you and Ray used. You also wore masks or disguises to infiltrate places. Your rivalry had resulted in multiple massive shootouts or perfectly laid traps that you and Ray survived and got out of. One such shootout nearly destroyed your house and ended with you aiming at each other’s heads, but once the masks/disguises got knocked off and you each realized who you were trying to kill, you stopped and threw down your weapons. Ray told you he loved you and couldn’t kill you. You told him the same. You made love and reconciled, then teamed up instead. You became such a power couple that your employers sent other assassins after you both to finish the job. In present day, you and Ray hold hands and tell your marriage counselor that your careers are going great and your marriage is thriving.

17. You’re Ray’s neighbor and have no inkling about who he really is or what he does. He befriends you and invites you over to his house to cook dinner for you on occasion. You enjoy these cozy evenings where you help him in the kitchen, then relax on the couch and watch a movie by the fire. Or sometimes you just sit and talk, his arm laying over the back of the couch behind you. In the darkness of the room while the movie plays, you’ve shared fleeting kisses and Ray’s arm has moved to your shoulder so he can hold you close. Ray has never experienced this kind of romantic affection before since he’s been so focused on his work, but it feels nice with you. You’ve asked about his job, but he’s told you something mundane that’s just a cover. The less you know, the safer you’ll be. You don’t even know who Mickey Pearson is and Ray wants to keep it that way.

On one of these date nights, he finally takes you to bed. While you’re making love, you tell Ray you love him. In the wee hours of the morning, you crawl out from underneath him without waking him up and throw on one of his shirts. You climb down the stairs leading to the basement, either in search of a midnight snack or wanting to make breakfast since he made dinner the night before. You open the freezer, only to discover the body of Aslan. Ray is awoken by your screams and grabs his gun, afraid you’re hurt or there’s an intruder. You hear his footsteps rushing towards where you are as he calls your name. Oh god, what do you do? What happens now?

18. Something similar to that scene from The Godfather Part 2: You’re Ray’s wife (maybe you’re pregnant) and you’re in bed when you ask him to close the curtains. That’s when he notices the snipers and has you get down as gunfire destroys your bedroom. While you fall out of the bed with a cry, Ray crawls towards you and lays on top of you to shield you with his body. He asks if you’ve been hit, and you’re maybe hit in the shoulder or have a superficial graze. Either way, seeing your blood is enough to make Ray livid. He’s like Mickey in that he doesn’t give a damn about money but he is very emotional about how someone dared to target his home, his family! Attacked in his bedroom where his wife sleeps and where his children may play with their toys. The people who did this are not going unpunished, and Mickey would definitely help his friend and consigliere in getting retribution. Those people will wish they’d never been born once he and Mickey get to them. Death is too quick a mercy.

19. Threesome between Will, you and Catfish. That is all. That’s the prompt.

20. You’re Catfish’s sister who works as a makeup artist in Hollywood. Your brother got his pilot license suspended on a coke bust because he was covering for you. You were in deep shit and needed his help to get out, nearly in hysterics from all your panicking. He loves you so much he’d do anything to protect you. But you know how much Frankie loves to fly, so you feel immensely guilty for what happened. For both yours and your brother’s sake, you go into rehab. You’re finally ready to accept help for your drug addiction. In the past you fell in with Dieter Bravo, an Oscar-winning actor who you used to do makeup on for his movies. You’d talk for hours while he was in your chair, and eventually you started sleeping together and doing drugs with him. For a while it was just about sex and drugs, but then you fell in love with him and he with you. You saved Dieter from an OD and that was when he realized he loved you.

You had a lot of fun and good times with Dieter when you were fuck buddies and dating, but you also had a lot of bad times and rough patches. Eventually you and Dieter made the mutual decision to break things off amicably, but you’re still best friends to this day. You meet Will when he picks you up from rehab while your brother is busy with his new baby, and from there you become friends. The longer you stay clean, the more you and Will get to know each other and fall in love. Catfish and the guys are so proud of you, supportive in every step of your recovery. When you run into Dieter again, he’s excited to tell you about Anika and his own journey towards getting clean. You meet Anika and Dieter meets Will. You’re both so happy for each other and how your lives have turned around for the better.

#charlie hunnam character fanfiction #charlie hunnam characters #charlie hunnam #alan mcmichael x reader #will ironhead miller x reader #will miller x reader #raymond smith x reader #ray smith x reader #king arthur x reader #random fic ideas #fic ideas #random prompts #fic prompts #pls tag me if you write any of these #i’d love to read it

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persnicketypomelo · 3 months ago

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Hey, if you like characters with very little fics about them like Norrington then I have a character you might like from the horror movie, Crimson Peak, Dr Alan McMichael.

The small amount of people who write for that movie only ever write for Thomas. I think Alan is underrated.

I haven't watched the movie, but I did my best to understand the characters and plot from clips and plot summaries.

spoilers for Crimson Peak, obsessive tendencies, manipulative behavior

Yandere Alan McMichael Headcanons

Alan seems a real sweetheart through and through

The kind of sweetheart to be by his dear childhood friend's side, even while she becomes the bride of someone else

I think an interesting scenario could be either where you take Edith's place as the victim of Sharpe siblings' schemes, or where you meet him in the aftermath

In the event where take Edith's place, his temperament will be far sweeter and more laidback

Its a crush he developed now that you two have blossomed into adults

In an ideal scenario, he would be by your side as your husband, and he will do his damn best to convince you of his vision as well

However, if you truly wish to marry this Thomas fellow over him, he is sound enough to respect your wishes

He will loyally and dutifully stay by your side as your best friend, content to watch you be happy

In this scenario, I surmise the plot would carry on much the same as in the original

Something about your husband and his sister disconcerts Alan, and when he learns of the truth, he makes haste to rescue you

I think, however, a scenario in which you nurture a relationship with him after the ordeal with the Sharpe family, is more interesting

His experience would harden him somewhat, making him more wary and cynical of the world and others

Your sweet and kind-hearted nature would appeal to him greatly, reminding him of something he lost in the traumatic evening he and Edith endured

McMichael knows the world to be full of people capable of vile things masked by kindly demeanors

Yet, you wear your innocence so openly that it simultaneously troubles and endears him

Someone could come along and hurt you, take advantage of your trusting nature, gain your love then leave you broken hearted

With the last possibility, his worry is tinged with jealousy

He can't let that happen to you

There's another aspect to his possessive nature as well

He's been the leftover, the cast-aside before when it came to his first love

It's a feeling he doesn't want to tolerate again

This time, he feels he can right the disappointments of the past, as well as protect you from ever having to endure the same heartbreak

His courtship is sweet, warm like sunshine, and oh-so protective

As a yandere, I don't see him doing anything particularly terrible, especially in comparison to the virility of some other yanderes

But he may or may not employ some underhanded tactics to ensure that other suitors are...unappealing to you

Or you may find that those too romantically intimate with you end up dropping their pursuit, deeming it not worth the strange and intimidating attention of the shadow by your side

I think, due to his protective sentiment towards you, he would be as close to you and occupy as much of a role in your life as you allow him to

And even when you do set boundaries with him, he may or may not be lurking just about the corner, present and aware of aspects of your life greater than what you share with him

He couldn't stand it if you needed his care or protection while he wasn't around

And should you need a guardian--someone to step in for you if you ever find yourself in a precarious situation--how fortunate then that he managed to be in just the right place at the right time

I think he is too well-intentioned to ever purposefully put you in dangerous situations to later rescue you

That doesn't mean, though, that he wouldn't ever abuse his power to...guide you in the right path (the one towards him)

Any mild symptoms of dis-ease: a headache, fatigue, or mild cold would have him fretting over you

You would think, with the way he treats you. that you were made of glass

Though his paranoia may be just be a symptom of that terrible happening at Allerdale Hall

He experienced his best friend being poisoned, and was unable to be there for her until it was almost too late

Alan will not make the same mistake again with you

If you do end up marrying him (due at least in part to his insistence) his protective and possessive nature would amplify to be even worse, since the two of you are no longer encumbered by the inhibitions of friendship or being acquaintances

It would never be his intention to cause you harm despite his questionable behavior, but it's as they say...

The road to hell is paved with good intentions

divider by saradika

#reader insert #x reader #yandere #crimson peak #obsessive #headcanons #alan mcmichael

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charliehunnamsgf-character-ai · 7 months ago

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ALAN MCMICHAEL || CLEANING

#character ai #character ai bot #x character #x reader #x yn #charlie hunnam #crimson peak #Alan McMichael

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five-miles-over · 1 year ago

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The Phantom of Asgard - Part Two (Thor: The Dark World!Loki x Reader)

(Thank you @michelleleewise for this artwork)

Summary: It has been three days since you or anyone else in Asgard has seen a sign from the Phantom. Meanwhile, your friend tries to use a book from Midgard to convince you that ghosts exist.

Warnings: dark!Loki ,hypnotism, mentions of the plot of "Crimson Peak"

You closed the door behind you. "What are we doing here? I thought you were too scared of the Phantom to venture in the palace after dark."

"This library is different from that one. We're safe." Revna sat down on one of the comfy armchairs, leaning back. Ingrid, on the other hand, immediately searched through several books within a section of the library labeled as "Midgardian literature" as soon as she finished lighting a few candles. She pulled out a dark red hardcover book with a black stripe on the binding. "This is where Prince Thor kept his special books from Midgard. I heard from one of the Warriors Five who heard it from the All-Father himself that these books were brought from another library found in a place called New York."

"As in…New York where Thor fought alongside a bunch of so-called heroes?" You raised an eyebrow.

Ingrid placed the book in a table in front of Revna. "I thought I would show you this book since you still don;'t believe in the existence of the Phantom of Asgard."

"Actually…" Revna adjusted her position on the couch, "you never told us what happened two nights ago when we went to investigate the Phantom. We heard you screaming…and then nothing."

You ran your fingers through your hair and knelt beside her. "I told you what happened. Nothing," you lied.

"I'm not buying it."

"Well, I'm not selling." You quipped. "Crimson Peak?" You turned your attention to the hardcover, stroking the leather cover and eyeing the gold lettering.

"Crimson Peak, written by Edith Sharpe." Ingrid opened to the first page, which contained a dedication to the author's father and to her childhood friend Alan McMichael. "It's a book about this woman who married a dark, handsome man whose family home is filled with ghosts hiding in red clay!" Ingrid moved a candle closer to the book. "Maybe Lady Sharpe will change your mind about phantoms."

For the next hour, Ingrid took it upon herself to play narrator, putting on a dreamier-than-usual voice to reenact Edith's thoughts when she encountered the Sharpe siblings for the first time.

As for Revna, she quickly became invested in the story. All she needed was the writer description of Edith's first kiss with her husband Baronet Thomas Sharpe in his workshop - the way he lifted her skirt and pinned her against the window, his passion overtaking him in the moment as he crashed his lips onto hers. "That's it." Revna declared with a loud sigh. "I want a Thomas Sharpe of my own."

"Well, why don't you ask Prince Thor to bring you one when he visits Midgard again?" You teased her.

Ingrid tutted. "Don't be hasty, ladies…"

"Please, I would bet that he could out-dance all of the men of Asgard." Revna leaned back again, crossing one leg over the other.

"That's because no one here knows how to waltz." Ingrid turned the page and continued to read.

With every detail about Lady Edith's experience as the wife of Thomas Sharpe, encountering ghosts in 'Crimson Peak" that warned her of Thomas's previous marriages, you begin to picture eery, faceless monsters - no, walking skeletons - covered in red liquid that dripped with every movement. It was a far cry from the Phantom you encountered, who was truly just the God of Mischief in hiding.

But just as things started to sound too grim, the story would mention some intimate detail about Thomas, like the part of how surprisingly strong his arms were underneath the loose white shirts he wrote. And those were most entertaining to listen to, not because of how perfectly Edith expressed her love for her husband in a nuanced manner, but because of how they made Revna close her eyes and sigh, almost as if she were the one in Edith's place. You and Ingrid - how on earth was she still able to maintain a good narrative pace? - couldn't hold back peels of laughter.

"Ingrid…" Revna moaned softly, throwing her head back, which was starting to bead with sweat. "I want him."

"Even after he murdered his father-in-law, and his ex-wives?"

"He's a human and we're from Asgard" Revna countered. "I'll deal with his sister before the wedding. I'll set her up with someone."

You snickered. "Oh, so we're talking about a wedding?"

"Yeah, why not? I'll have him stay in Asgard with us."

"Let's hope the Phantom doesn't get to him," Ingrid reminded you both, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

"Still scared?" Revna rested her chin on her palm.

Ingrid closed the book. "No one has seen him or heard from him in the past three days." She lowered her voice to a whisper, "What if he's planning a murder? Or worse…?"

"Then we'll just have Thomas's sister deal with him."

"You're insane," you interjected under your breath and hugged your knees underneath your gown while your thoughts wandered to the Phantom. Maybe no one has heard from him because he's left Asgard. He was, after all, the God of Mischief. It would be easier to search Midgard for a Thomas Sharpe doppelgänger than to attempt to completely understand Loki's psyche. And whatever he did, or wherever he went, you were bound to find out about it at some point.

Still…there was one thing you hadn't managed to understand about your encounter with the Phantom: why you? Or rather, what did he want with you? Before going into hiding as the phantom, the god of mischief was known for his silver tongue, begrudgingly praised by Asgardians. He always knew how to get what he wanted, how he wanted, and when he wanted it, one way or another. So there must have been an ulterior motive behind him showing you his magic. Some twisted, dark reason for him holding you close, touching you so intimately while he confessed the truth behind the Phantom of Asgard.

And what of the lilly he left behind when he disappeared into the night? You could still picture its pristine white petals and perfectly-cut stem, which was decorated by a green silk ribbon whose hue resembled the cape worm by the younger prince in formal events. Perhaps if you'd encountered two or more other maidens with similar 'presents' from the Phantom of Asgard, you’d have suspected that the God of Mischief had adopted a philandering persona. Though between the two princes of Asgard, it was Thor who cavorted with noble girls and laid with whomever caught his eye. Loki, on the other hand, struck you as the more romantic one, the kind of prince described in tales whispered among girls as they brushed each others’ hair. The type of prince who would never think to look at anyone else with desire after he lost his heart to someone.

“Hey?” Revna snapped her fingers in front of you, amidst Ingrid giggling. “Hello? You alright?

You blinked, accidentally saved from your own wandering mind. “We should probably head to bed…I’m fine, just tired.”

"You’re bluffing.” Revna crossed her arms. “Seriously, what happened that night? You refuse to tell us anything, and clearly you are off.”

“Look, the phantom just…” You swallowed and stood up reluctantly, wrapping your finger around the edge of another sofa. “He…he didn’t do anything. I couldn’t see him but I…I felt something hold me.” You increased your pitch to sound more nonchalant. “And then he sent me on my way.”

“So he hugged you?” Ingrid stepped closer after she returned the book.

You confirmed her words. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“That’s weird.” Revna made her way to the door and Ingrid extinguished most of the candles in the library fro the night. “Well, try to get some sleep. Who knows, maybe it was a one-time thing. At least he was nice…”

You mumbled a ‘yes’, and Revna decided that all three of you ought to head to your bedroom now. She descended down the steps of the library with Ingrid following suit.

But before you could blow out the last candle in the library, the doors swung shut with a booming thud. Holding the flickering candle by your side, you strode towards the entrance of the library only to be stopped by a harsh whisper.

“No.”

You turned around to find none other than the beautiful Phantom of Asgard standing behind you with his silk gloves, tailored black waistcoat and signature emerald mask. His raven curls and pale, square-like forehead not obscured by the mask glowed in the faint candlelight.

Your fingers pressed further into the candlestick, not caring if they left an imprint in the wax. “You…you’re not supposed to be in this part of the library.” You muttered, inching your other hand towards the doorknob and twisting it.

“And why not? Because I’m a phantom, doomed to haunt only the darkest hall, past the throne room?” He darkly chuckled, taking a step forward. With a simple flick of the wrist, the doorknob you held instantly went stiff. “Don’t pretend you don’t know the truth.”He delicately clasped your chin. “Tell me who I am.”

“You’re the God of Mischief.”

He wrapped his gloved fingers around your cheek and leaned in even closer. “Say my name.”

Heat rose in your cheeks and between your thighs. You closed your eyes, struggling to believe just how easily he could make you flushed with just a single touch. “You’re Prince Loki.”

The God of Mischief answered you by pressing his forehead against yours, while his other hand held your shoulder.

“My prince….” You felt his lips against the tip of your nose. “Don’t tease.”

“And what should I do instead?” He taunted, whispering against the side of your face. “This?” He lightly kissed your neck, and smirked when you let out a sigh. “If only you knew how much I have missed your warmth. Have you been thinking of me, sweet one?”

“How did you know?” You tried to look down only for the God of Mischief to force your eyes to meet his. “Forget I ask,” you faltered. “You’re the God of Mischief.”

“Exactly.” Loki walked backward, leading you to a couch. “Honestly, must you ladies always be in packs like she-wolves?” He remarked in a playful tone. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you alone in this palace once.”

You chose to remain silent as Loki’s hand rested on your waist, and you sensed him reappear behind you, his chest pressed against your back. “It pains me to be away from you, sweet one.”

Your hand slid down across your body, towards his. “My prince…”

“Loki.”You glanced over your shoulder. “You say that I am the only one who knows the truth…”

“Yes?” He goaded with a light kiss behind your ear.

"Then why…” You began, wondering how best to pose your question to the god of Mischief. It certainly didn’t help that his other hand inched towards your rib, lingering just below your breast. “Why? Why are you….touching me?”

He froze. “You don’t like it?” In that moment ,Loki’s voice dropped to a scared murmur, a voice so innocent and fearful that it could’ve been mistaken for a boy’s.

“No…I do like it but…” You took a deep breath. “You could have any woman in this palace, in any of the Nine Realms. Why me?”

“Because you are the only one who sees me as I am, and yet chooses my company.” Loki pushed a few locks of your hair aside. “I do not want you solely for your beauty, sweet one. I also want you for your heart.” He nuzzled against your hair. “Were someone to take you away from this place, I swear that I would burn this palace to the ground…”

“Loki.” You swallowed. Did he just say that he wanted your heart? That he would set Asgard on fire at a moment’s notice?

“Stay by my side, even if it’s only for a few moments,” he pleaded, caressing your hair. “Turn your face away from this garish light of day,…and simply take delight in this darkness, with each of its sensations.” Loki wrapped his long fingers around your neck. His intoxicating whisper drove away any defensive part of you that wanted to flee.

“As you wish,” was all that left your lips.

He rested on the couch, with you in his arms. “Someday, I’ll show you the stories in this library I enjoy the most. But tonight, all I ask is that you relieve me from my solitude.” Loki kept his fingers entangled in your hair, with the other hand resting on your own arm. He whispered, for your ears only,

“I ditt smil mitt hjerte finner ro,

I dine øyne, kjærlighet jeg for alltid skal tro."

(In your smile, my heart finds peace,

In your eyes, love I shall forever believe.)

He repeated the couplet two more times, and a strange calm fell over you. Your eyelids started to grow heavy, and your limbs became numb, like you were melting into a puddle. In a matter of moments, you fell fast asleep, a peaceful smile on your face.

“My beauty…” Loki whispered. For a brief moment, Loki lifted his mask and leaned down to kiss your eyelid. He slid the mask back on and simply held you for a few moments. While you slept in his embrace, Loki pondered to himself about the future of Asgard. He contemplated about how or if he would ever convey the news of him “not quite dying” to Thor.

How would he explain the disappearance of the All-father from Asgard? Would his punishment be worsened? No, that wouldn’t be possible, given that his original sentence was to spend the rest of his godly not-terribly-signifiant life in the dungeons.

“In due time,” Loki uttered to no one in particular. With those words, the God of Mischief lifted you in his arms in a bridal carry, and opened the library doors with a silent spell.

Once he brought you to his chambers, the God of Mischief placed you on a round bed adorned with ivory white satin bedsheets and gold pillows. He gently positioned you so that you lay on your side, and pushed the strands of hair obscuring your face. Then he conjured an emerald green cape and draped it over your body.

Would that he could, he would join you in his bed and hold you close as your heartbeat lulled him to sleep. But it would leave him far too vulnerable. What if you tried to remove his mask while he slept, lest you became repulsed by his looks, leaving him in the early hours of daylight? Alone in his bed, surrounded with his own demons and his own battles to fight? It was better that he suppress his own desires, at least for now. Forcing himself to tear his gaze away from your perfection, the God of Mischief closed the door of his own chamber and disappeared into the night.

Tagging: @icytrickster17 @mischievoushiddleston,@lokischambermaid , @lady-rose-moon , @lokisgoodgirl , @lokisninerealms @jennyggggrrr ,, @tom-hiddleston-imagines , @lokiismineforever @smolvenger @winterfrostlovetriangle , @the-haven-of-fiction , @turniptitaness @cakesandtom ,@sallymagnoliaposts @leahs-reading-nook @holdmytesseract @muddyorbsblr @anukulee @acidcasualties @lotsoflokilove23 @caffiend-queen @aesonmae @asgards-princess-of-mischief @eleniblue @fruityfucker @el-zef @huntress-artemiss @evelyn-rathmore @lovingchoices14

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki odinson #loki god of mischief #loki fanfic #mcu loki #Loki x female reader #loki of asgard #marvel loki #loki x reader fic

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charnelhouse · 3 years ago

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Write about DR ALLEN MCMICHAEL!!!! God daaaaamn Charlie in a suit being polite and whizz saving his girl ooooh damn

A/N: Alan McMichael x F!Reader. Violence. Smut.

Alan McMichael is a man of science. Medicine. Numbers and facts and logical explanations.

Observations.

He did have his interests in the dead - in the concept of impressions and spirits caught on celluloid.

But - what he had seen at Allerdale Hall was something else entirely. It had shattered his faith in a way that he might not be able to reconstruct.

He stumbles over the ice and mud. His wounds have grown numb. He is so cold and he can hear your teeth chatter in your mouth.

You cling to his arm - your face round and shocked as you press your cheek to his shoulder. They’re both trailing blood - staining the snow like all the red-clay they had left behind.

Your feet are bare in the ice and he would carry you if he could - he tries to distribute his weight - tries to lift you against him but there’s no use. He is near-delirious with blood loss.

“Stop, Alan,” you chastise as if he were a child. “You’re in a worse condition than me.”

This night would mark him. The months would mark you - scar you in a way he hadn’t quite processed yet.

The girl he knew has drifted away and Alan doesn’t know what you had to do to live. You had come limping back to him - your face streaked in scarlet - your nails caked in gore. Lucille had been a crumpled corpse in the distance when you’d hauled him outside.

When he finally gets you into the carriage, he drags you flush against him, curling his fingers over yours and breathes. “You saved me.”

He shouldn’t be surprised. You had always been headstrong and brilliant and unafraid. You meet his gaze - your eyes faraway and wet with grief.

“You came for me.”

You let him embrace you - let him seek your warmth. It’s so cold. He feels himself fading out and you cradle his face, combing his hair from his brow. “Hold on for me.”

They both live. They’re both physically stitched back together. The poison you’d been fed for weeks on end had sickened your insides - possibly ruined your health for life. Alan vows to get you through it - to protect you and care for you and fix you as best he can.

The nightmares - though.

Alan does not know how to solve that equation. He has no medicine for those memories. He has nothing.

***

You are better. Not the same - never the same. But - neither is Alan.

He comes to understand that while you may have hated what Thomas had done to you, you had also loved him.

In the beginning, you’d cry over him - your dead husband. When Alan would step into the room, you’d try to wipe them away - try to deny it.

“It’s alright,” he murmured as he knelt at your feet. “It’s alright to have loved him - to mourn him.”

Alan practically lives with you after they return to Buffalo. He helps you organize your father’s affairs. He makes sure your home is properly set up. He comes for meals and to monitor your health. He simply visits so that he can talk to you - share happy memories - childhood stories. Anything - but what you had dealt with overseas.

His mother prods at him - needles him. Her opinion of you has swiftly changed after Alan had told her you had essentially saved his life.

When are you going to marry that girl?

When it seems appropriate. She’s been through too much, mother.

The truth was, he was frightened. If he put those words out there, he could not take them back. He loved you in a way that consumed him. He wanted to protect you - cherish you - support you in everything you longed to do.

***

He marries you a year later.

When he had finally told you the truth of his feelings, you had smiled - folding your hands across the clasp of his jaw.

“I know,” you whisper against his mouth.

“Was I terribly obvious?” He pulls you closer to him - just as he did in that carriage when they escaped. It is past propriety - but what did he care when they had already committed the things they did to survive.

Your lips quirk. “Well - you did cross the ocean to save me.” You brush your knuckles over his cheekbone. “Looking very much like a knight in shining armor.”

“Yes - but it was the damsel who slew the dragon.”

You blink at him - a brief flash of pain shuttering across your expression before it disappears. It’s still there. Lucille. The memory of you crushing her skull with a shovel. Thomas’s betrayal.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have - “

You crush your lips to his - insistent and frantic. He lifts you against him - carries your weight as he had longed to do over the snow.

***

The nightmares come and go. You wake next to him - holding your head in your hands as you tell Alan how you can hear bones crunching - how you can still hear the moans of the Sharpe’s dead mother and wives. The split skull. Blood-red clay. The clink of piano keys.

You ask him to love you then - to make you forget. You grip the lapels of his nightshirt and yank him against you. He climbs over your body - holds his weight as he watches your face. There’s still fear there - the same trembling shock that had burned across your eyes when you had come back to him after killing Lucille.

“It’s alright, my love,” he soothes - running his thumb over the faint scar that splits your cheek. “You’re safe with me.”

These are the nights that you don’t ask him to be gentle. You demand roughness. You tell him to pin your wrists above your head and spear his cock into you at a pace that is far from forgiving. He is deliberate with his touch - fingertips nudging the crux of your sex until you pulse and flex around him. You bloom and arch into the weight of his chest - tongue sweet against his own.

He does not know what you had done with Thomas Sharpe. He does not know if he was cruel in bed or not. It was apparent his feelings for you weren’t completely false judging by what he had done to try and save them from his sister.

Still, there is an ache of jealousy in Alan. He’d never admit it, of course. He had you now - warm and wet beneath him. You clutching at his shoulders and fluttering around him as you mewl like a kitten.

“Alan,” you gasp as he fucks you deeper - as their marital bed creaks and the ghosts between them depart. He grinds himself to the hilt, your knees digging into his ribs. Your wrists fragile - and caught in the grip of his hand while his other strokes you to one more finish.

He burns when he has you like this. When you tighten and pulse and grow silky and slick - kissing him hungrily and heaving with each pump of his cock.

He is reminded of your strength. He is reminded how you ran out into the snow - slowed by poison and fractured bones and cuts and still killed that horrifying woman.

When he’s done, he blankets himself over your trembling body. He peppers kisses across your face - savoring the swell of your breasts beneath his chest - the curves of you notching into his own muscles.

“My knight,” you tease - flicking his hair out of his eyes. Your color has returned - lush and sated. The nightmare now a distant shard of ice that had tried to dislodge their happiness.

Each night - they move farther from Allerdale Hall and the blood fog that had come with it. Each night - they move closer to something like life.

#crimson peak #crimson peak fanfiction #alan mcmichael x reader #alan mcmichael x female reader #alan mcmichael x you #charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam characters #alan mcmichael imagine

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rayslittlekitten · 3 years ago

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Hello to you ❤️ on this fine celebratory weekend 🥳 For your 500 followers ficlet challenge, may I please request a smutty ficlet with Alan McMichael (I watched Crimson Peak recently and okay so it’s not one of Charlie’s bigger roles, but oh is sweet soft Alan now one of my fave Charlie characters 💘) with the following gif

(gahh look at him looking all fine, clean and handsome whilst going about his working day 💓) and three words strip, shock, sweet.

I’d also be happy if you’d prefer the same three words with Will 😋, as I’m aware Charlie’s character in Crimson Peak wasn’t really one of the main ones.

Than you so much for your submission and as always for your support!! I always LOVE reading your comments! I am forever grateful for them. Hope this is smutty enough for you.

“Consummation”

500 Follower Ficlet Challenge Masterlist

A/N: Okay so I've only seen Crimson Peak once and that was when it first came out. I found it a little underwhelming. I had higher expectations because of some of the other Guillermo Del Toro movies I've seen. Hellboy and Pacific Rim are probably my top two. Charlie also had a tiny role. So if this seems a little OOC, sorry! This is like AU, reader is like Edith, but not Edith if that makes any sense. This is also my first time writing anything with Alan McMichael. Coulda did Will, but I like a challenge.

Rating: M

Pairing: Alan McMichael x F!reader

Contains: fluff, events leading to first time de-virginizing wedding night sex

Word Prompts: strip, shock, sweet

Alan has always been such a gentleman. Too gentle, some would say. He's just a wholesome, sweet, honest man. It's what most women yearn for in a man, in a friend, in a husband – except for the women his mother would set him up with. They wanted someone who is charming, passionate, confident, assertive. Dark and mysterious. Someone who can demand attention in a room by merely entering it. Alan are those things, but not in a self-absorbed way.

Mrs. McMichael never approved of you, but Alan didn’t care. He was drawn to you and saw something in you that he didn’t see in the others.

After pursuing you and getting to know you, he asked for your hand in marriage. Spinster, you say, Mrs. McMichael?

You’re both now standing in his bedroom – your bedroom too. This moment has been on your mind since you woke this morning. In fact, you were barely able to sleep. You have never been with a man before, just as he have not been with a woman. Both of you are nervous and excited to consummate your marriage.

After ridding of his suit jacket, he walks over to you and looks you up and down. You feel warmth on your cheeks as he soaks you in. You stay standing where you are and look back at him, not knowing what else to do.

“You look so beautiful in that dress,” Alan breaks the silence.

“Thank you, Alan. You look handsome in that suit.”

“But I would love to see the true beauty underneath all that.” Alan takes a step closer to you. He’s so close you can feel the heat emanating off of him. He reaches up to cup your face and he kisses you. Alan has kissed you before, but never like this. He’s kissing you with urgency and passion. It’s making you feel things inside of you that you have never felt before. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you against his body. You also feel something rigid below your waist pressing against you. His hands travel down to your backside and he cups you through your white, puffy dress.

Alan pulls back from your lips and you are left breathless. You see a fire in his eyes you have never seen before.

“Turn around,” Alan tells you. You are shocked by his assertiveness. You do as he says and you feel him starting to unzip your dress. You let him strip you of your garments until you are wearing nothing but your jewelry. You turn back towards him, feeling vulnerable. Your eyes glance down to the front of his trousers and see a very noticeable bulge.

Alan takes in a sharp breath as he admires your naked body.

“Lay down.” Alan nods towards the bed.

You slowly walk over and lay your back on the cool bed and soft sheets. You watch him disrobe himself before he gets on top of you, ready to officially make you his.

#inbox #500 follower ficlet challenge #500 followers milestone #alan mcmichael #crimson peak #alan mcmichael x reader #alan mcmichael x you #crimson peak fanfiction

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lucrezia-thoughts · 3 years ago

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May I ask for a HC of what having sex with Alan Mcmichael is like?

Of course you may, love!! 💚

f!reader

Warning(s): 18+ only, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (p in v), first time...

Dr. Alan McMichael is everything a well bred Victorian man should be; honorable, polite, refined... but he is also a perfectionist with a thirst for knowledge...

These needs and desires permeate all aspects of his life...

As a doctor, he has a logical and fundamental understanding of the mechanics of the sex act...

Underneath the proper exterior; however, he is a man desperate to experience the physical sensations he read about in his medical manuals...

He's also determined to explore the more "deviant" acts depicted in the salacious literature his brothers at university shared with him...

On your wedding night, he is so eager to consummate the marriage, his hands shake as they undress you...

When you are gloriously bare before him, he is completely overwhelmed...

He has a fervent need to explore every inch of you with his fingers... and his mouth...

As soon as his tongue touches the wet lips of your femininity, he's certain he'll never get enough of your taste...

He feasts upon your sex until your entire body is trembling violently... until your voice is hoarse... until you fear your heart may very well burst...

It is only when you can no longer hold your head up to meet his hungry gaze that he finally pulls his mouth away from your quim...

He very gently strokes the side of your face as he lines his weeping cock up with your entrance and slowly breeches your sex...

The hot, wet tightness of your cunt is too much for him to withstand, so he doesn't last very long before he is spilling his seed deep into your womb...

Once he comes down from his climactic high though, he's quick to withdraw and reposition the two of you... he's only just getting started employing and testing the carnal knowledge he's accumulated...

#lucrezia answers #hi friend!!#i 💚you #and so does neville nugget #female reader #smut #alan mcmichael headcannon #alan mcmichael x you #alan mcmichael smut #alan mcmichael fanfiction #alan mcmichael x reader #alan mcmichael x f!reader #charlie hunnam fanfiction

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hotdamnhunnam · 4 years ago

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Alan: crimson peak lips

(Again if you haven’t watched Crimson Peak, you can skip this or sub with a different character. He had a really small role in this anyways.)

Thanks for another fun request! ❤️

Drabble Fest Rules (3 words –> 💯word smut)

Drabble Fest Masterlist

..................................................

Dr. Alan McMichael (Crimson Peak) x F!Reader

crimson • peak • lips

♥️🏔💋

His golden mane is swept impeccably off to the side. Bow at his neck perfectly tied. White flowers on his sharp black jacket set just right.

Then you walk in and he has no hope to remain composed tonight.

That crimson dress, the sin that it suggests... the siren’s smile upon your lips, the sultry swaying of your hips... He’s never felt such primal lust consuming him from deep inside.

Before you even speak, his passion has already reached its peak... A fire of desire that he couldn’t fight, not even if he tried.

Such is the fire you ignite.

--- 💯 words ---

..................................................

Main Tag List – Join Here!

Drabble Fest Tag List – below; if you’d like to be added, just let me know!

@est11 @itspdameronthings @rayslittlekitten @alexa-rae-dreamz @20david50david @niki-xie @abby-splace @autumnleaves1991-blog @classyhorseeclipseduck @coffeebooksandfandom @jitterbugs927 @happyhenners

#charlie hunnam #alan mcmichael #crimson peak #charlie hunnam smut #charlie hunnam imagine #charlie hunnam fanfiction #crimson peak imagine #crimson peak fanfiction #alan mcmichael x reader #alan mcmichael x you #charlie hunnam x reader #charlie hunnam x you #drabbles

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the--blackdahlia · 8 years ago

Text

Beware of Crimson Peak Chapter 15 (Dean x Reader)

Title: Beware of Crimson Peak Chaper 15

Summary: An old manor in Maine holds many dark secrets. Can (y/n) and the Winchesters destroy the evil inside the house, or will it tear them apart forever?

Warnings: Language

Dean set up in bed with a gasp. A strange feeling had hit him hard in his sleep and he couldn’t shake it. He was about to wake Sam and make him go the hospital with him when he got a whiff of himself. He made a face before quietly getting up and grabbing his things to get a shower.

He stood under the warm water. It wasn’t hot, but he didn’t really expect it to be. He just needed to clean himself up so he didn’t smell like a rotting dumpster when he went back to see (y/n). He just hoped that this feeling he had wasn’t going to turn out to be something bad for (Y/n).

He left the shower and made his way back to the beds. Sam was awake and sitting up in bed, rubbing at his tired eyes. Dean gave him a tired smile before going to his jacket. He was ready to get back to the hospital to see (Y/n).

“Dean, I doubt they’ll let you back in this early.” Sam yawned. Dean shrugged.

“Then I can sit in the waiting room until they let me in.” Dean told him. Sam groaned and pulled himself out of bed.

“Let me piss and change clothes and then we can go.” Sam grumbled, making his way into the bathroom. Dean kept tapping his foot as he waited for his brother to come out of the bathroom. What felt like an hour had only been a few minutes before Sam finally came out of the bathroom. Dean grumbled about annoying little brothers as he waited for Sam to pull on some clean clothes.

“Come on.” Dean said. Sam rolled his eyes.

“We’ll get there Dean, just calm down.” Sam said, grabbing his jacket but realizing as they headed outside that it wasn’t really needed. Just habit.

“Shut up Sam.” Dean snapped. Sam just settled into the passenger seat and enjoyed the short ride from the motel to the hospital.

****

The Winchester boys made their way onto the floor (Y/n) was on, only to be greeted by a huge mess. There was broken glass on the floor, a thin layer of smoke seemed to linger, and Anthony was sitting at the nurses station with a bandage on his head.

“Anthony!” Sam said. Anthony cringed when he looked up at the boys.

“Sam. Dean.” He said.

“What the hell happened?” Dean asked.

“I can answer that.” A man said. He looked familiar to the boys, but only slightly. He had golden hair parted to the side and eyes that no longer carried the weight of the world. Anthony watched the interaction.

“And just who the hell are you?” Dean asked. Sam looked over at Anthony.

“Sam, Dean. This is Alan McMichael. But you might know him better as Doctor Al.” Anthony explained. “He’s my grandfather.”

“But yesterday you were an old man.” Sam said. Alan nodded.

“That’s right. Just like Edith had a curse on her, I did too.” Alan explained. “When I went to bury Lucille and Thomas, she must have had a spell on her body to curse whoever buried them.”

“But didn’t Edith think you were dead?” Dean asked. Alan nodded.

“Yes. I loved Edith dearly, but her heart was never mine. I knew how to fake it.” He looked around. “I’ve been living here, taking care of patients. Trying to undo everything that Lucille did just to fix it. But I learned some things over the past few years that you would never believe.”

“Try us.” Dean said. Alan looked at him.

“Well, for starters, the real Lucille Sharpe died at a young age. Killed by a demon she summoned to kill her abusive mother.” Alan explained. “I didn’t believe it at first, until the events that transpired here just hours ago.”

“A demon?” Sam asked. “But Lucille was a ghost.”

“I think the demon was so far into Lucille that it couldn’t get out when she died. But possessing (Y/n) allowed for it to take hold of another host and kill what was left of Lucille once and for all.” Alan told them. Dean sighed. Why couldn’t they just have normal hunts? Demon ghosts? The spawn of Satan? Imaginary friends being killed off? It was all getting to be too much.

“How is (Y/n)?” Sam asked. That got Dean’s attention real fast.

“She’s resting.” Alan explained. “If it wasn’t for her and Anthony, a lot more people would’ve died. They stopped Lucille once and for all.”

“So she’s finally gone?” Dean asked. Alan nodded. “Thank god.”

“You should go see her.” Alan said. “I think she would enjoy it.” Dean nodded and headed towards her room before he stopped.

“Thanks Alan.” He said before heading in. Sam went to talk to Anthony. Alan placed a hand on his grandson’s shoulder and offered him a small smile before he walked down the hallway leading away from the ward.

No one saw Alan McMichael again.

****

Dean stood awkwardly in the doorway of (Y/n)’s room, just watching her sleep. The color had returned to her skin and she was breathing easier. She looked like she was warmer too, and not about to die any second. Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath before walking over towards her bedside. He gently squeezed her hand.

“Just take your time sweetheart.” Dean told her. “I’ll be right around here. I just want you to get better.” He leaned down and gently kissed her lips before letting go of her hand. He wanted to go tell Sam something before he settled in at (Y/n)’s bedside for the day. Just as he reached the door, a soft noise caught his attention.

“Dean?”

Dean turned around and a smile spread on his face when he saw the most beautiful eyes looking back at him.

“(Y/n).”

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#dean #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #reader #reader insert #thomas sharpe #thomas sharpe x reader #thomas x reader #supernatural #crimson peak #beware of crimson peak #tom hiddleston #Jensen Ackles

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wardenparker · 11 months ago

Text

At First Sight

Alan McMichael x female Reader

Rating: G for General Audiences, but this blog is always 18+! Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: Alcohol, flirting, period manners, fluff, scheming family members, undesirable dance partners. Summary: Alan's sister Eunice is finally engaged and their mother is throwing a grand ball to celebrate. It is the last place that he wants to be...until he meets a young lady who wants to be there just as little as he does. Notes: It's been so, so very long since I wrote anything solo. Please be kind -- all errors are my own, and this is definitely not beta read. It's just a little piece inspired by my downtime at work and countless rewatches of Crimson Peak. Alan deserves some happiness, so I wanted to give him a bit. If there's interest I'll try to write more for these two, but I'll understand entirely if there's not. Thank you so so very much for reading! Dedicated to @julesonrecord for her tireless patience in putting up with me babbling about this character and how he deserved better. And to @ruflirtingwithme for always letting me keep Wade in my pocket wherever I go. There's a bit of him in this as well, for sure.

Despite the tailoring of his tuxedo, the familiar weight of the costume, and the well-traveled ballroom he finds himself standing in, Alan McMichael shifts uncomfortably. He’s lost weight this past year, worry and injury taking their toll, and the tailor assured him that it could barely be seen but took his jacket and the waist of his trousers in anyway. He isn’t as fit as he once was. He isn’t as strong. Not since he followed Edith up that mountain in England, only to bring her back down again to dual hospitalizations and true exhaustion. The doctors at the sanatorium don’t allow him to visit anymore .They say it causes episodes of hysteria.

So now they must live inside their own heads separately, and his mother has taken that as meaning it is time to push him to move on. “It’s for the best.” His mother had said. But Alan couldn’t be sure. Still, he was forced to resume his everyday life, and now it has been a full year since that fateful trip to Crimson Peak.

Eunice’s engagement has been a blessing to distract Mrs. McMichael. Her ploy to whisk her daughter off to New York City in the early summer had paid odd and now Eunice is engaged to the son of some banker who claimed to have an ancestor lead the charge at the Battle of Cowpens. They were all, Mrs. McMicheals told everyone in earshot, quite proud.

Now it was Alan’s turn to once again have marriage prospects pushed on him, and he stood in the ballroom ready to receive guests alongside his father with a false smile and a belly full of dread.

* * * * * *

“I thought you didn’t like Mrs. McMichaels?” The question hands in the air as you finish getting ready for the ball this evening. Spending the Christmas holiday in Buffalo with your aunt and uncle had been your brother’s idea – trying to see that you were taken care of without directly saying that having you in his house would be a burden. So you had reluctantly agreed, giving most of your staff the better part of three weeks off and taking only your maid with you to Buffalo.

It’s not that I dislike her entirely, dear heart,” your aunt Joan insists. “I adore her soirees.”

“How foolish of me.” It takes all your strength not to roll your eyes but your maid recognizes the expression and smiles privately. “I ought to have known. You and Uncle Christian will want to stay until daybreak, won’t you?”

“Certainly.” Aunt Joan quips, appraising herself in her vanity mirror. “Her cook makes the most divine fruit crepes.”

You could point out that her usual overt piety discourages desire and gluttony, but at near seventy years of age, your great-aunt has earned a little indulgence from life. Instead you hum a non-committal agreement and pick up your gloves., “Then it will be well worth staying until breakfast,” you encourage, offering her a smile instead.

“Indeed.” She seems most pleased at the prospect and shoes your maids away with finality. “Your dance card must be full tonight, child,” she warns with an alarming hint of mischief in her voice. “If we want you engaged before the worst of winter snows threaten to keep us all at home.”

* * * * * *

The McMichael’s ballroom shimmers with candlelight and each guest who is announced at the door is another jewel in the crown of the evening. Mrs. McMichaels flits about like a bird with a rare and precious seed, showing it off to everyone around her, and the guests who have eagerly arrived first bask in the shared glow of witnessing such good fortune. Fortunately, very certainly it is a fortunate thing, your Aunt Joan and Uncle Christian do not believe in arriving early to parties. They believe in leaving their home at the time the party is listed as beginning in order to appear both desirably busy and aloof, which means that your trio is squarely in the second half of arrivals to the McMichael house this evening. Even if it is only by a measure of twenty or thirty minutes, the less time you must spend with eligible men being foisted upon you, the better.

“Mr. and Mrs. Christian Tate,” are announced along with your name, and Aunt Joan practically shoves your out in front of them to make sure you’re seen. Not that anyone would have noticed you otherwise, so perhaps it’s wise. The peacock colored gown you chose shimmers softly in the gaslight, but the ballrooms of Buffalo do not have the large, expansive windows and glass doors that you are accustomed to in Newport. It is all mahogany and walnut paneling here, and all the ladies but you – in their pinks and creams and honey yellows – knew better. You will be lost in wainscotted corners in your deep blue, green, and purple hues. Though perhaps it is for the best. This is not your society anyway. You have no intention of ending your time in Buffalo engaged no matter what Aunt Joan might intend.

The two gentlemen at the center of the ballroom could not be anymore obviously father and son, but where the father jokes and jovially signs dance cards at praise of his skills in the country dances, the son seems dour and aloof. His pinched smile does not precisely forbid conversation but it certainly does not encourage it, and he all but sighs in resignation when your Uncle Christian seems happy to see him.

“My wife’s great-niece,” you hear him saying, just before you are shuttled forward again. “Visiting from Newport for the holidays.”

“A pleasure,” the man intones, though you cannot think he means it.

“Is it?” You offer your hand only because your aunt clears her throat so pointedly. But it is at this point that the skyscraper with blonde hair you are being introduced to chuckles. The sound is broken but warm, and you are not so displeased with being here that you miss the way his blue eyes sparkle like aquamarine in the flickering light.

“Perhaps,” he muses, catching the dance card dangling from your wrist before you can take your hand back. “Perhaps you are the first young lady to arrive tonight not to simper and curtsy over the supposed honor of being my mother’s guest. And perhaps I can recognize a fellow soul was was strong-armed into attending.” He looks tired, the heaviness of it hanging deep in his handsome features. Because yes, he is handsome. Intriguingly and admirably so. But that isn’t what is drawing you in to him like a rope tied into your ribcage that tugs you forward whenever he speaks. It’s something else. “Perhaps we will be allies tonight, you and I.”

“Allies?” You watch his hand as he claims both waltzes on your dance card, the first gentleman to do so and claiming what are arguably the most intimate of dances. “How terribly Napoleonic of you,” you droll in response.

He laughs again, a little more deeply, and shrugs his shoulders. “I would avoid the elder Mr. Davies if I were you,” he advises, clearly demonstrating his intent as that very ally he has claimed to be. “His wife passed last spring leaving him with three young children. He has become so desperate for a wife that he is inclined to propose to almost any new young lady he meets.”

“How very concerning for the young ladies.” You murmur back, glancing over at the man being subtly pointed out to you. He is squirrelish and balding, all the hair on his head seeming to have fallen to the bushy mustache adorning his upper lip. “Is there anyone else I ought to be wary of?”

“Oh, a dozen at least.” The mischief returns to this man-shaped mountain’s eyes and he offers you his arm. “It is well worth discussing. Perhaps over punch?”

“Mr. McMichael, I think you are using me as an excuse to abandon the receiving line.” You hum in amusement, not really able to say you blame him for such a thing. Or that you mind.

“Perhaps.” His grin has a shade of mischief and guilt to it. “But perhaps you are using me to avoid the attention of other guests who might bore, annoy, or otherwise rankle you, or even step on your shoes. Which I’m sure are quite beautiful and not to be defiled. This arrangement seems better for us both, don’t you think? I can promise you with surety that it has been more than a decade since I trod on a lady’s slipper at a ball.”

“I had intended to feign lightheadedness from the crowded ballroom halfway through the night,” you confess with a sly expression all your own. “Perhaps I still will. Or perhaps this mischief will prove diversion enough all on its own.”

* * * * * *

There have been many dances in your life that have made you terribly glad for the barrier of gloves between you and the man leading. Whether it was their manners that were unsuitable, the sweat of their palms, or some unsavory odor lingering around them like a drought-stricken pond, there seemed always to be some partners with whom dancing was as undesirable as an overturned stagecoach.

Tonight you fear it might be you.

Dr. McMichael — Alan, he has insisted that you call him Alan — is a divine dancer. The grandeur of his stature does nothing to inhibit his grace and as he twirls you both about the ballroom you have the oddest sensation of floating that has ever been. But as if grace and poise were not enough, the man has a damning and wicked sense of humour as well. It has taken only the smallest encouragement from you to earn you scathing reviews of the other partygoers from you. The descriptions have you nearly in hysterics in his arms, but worse yet is the way that he smiles. It is a sly and puckish expression that makes his eyes light and sparkle in the candlelight, and every time he aims it at you, you can feel yourself sweat in the most unbecoming and unladylike way.

Moist palms or a damp dress back do not make for a desirable partner, and all you can do is hope desperately that your gloves and corset are providing ample barrier so that he has no idea how deeply those smiles and jokes and bright eyes are affecting you.

“I must sound deeply cynical,” he comments after a pause. He has just told you the story of the two Misses Shrewsbury and their positively ghastly attempt at conning the attendants of a seance he attended in Albany some years ago. “I am not. Or at least I do not mean to be.”

“Is it society that you disapprove of? Or faith?” Neither question is a judgment on your part, but you tilt your head to him conspiratorially as you dance. “I have found myself weary of both in the past, that is why I ask.”

“It is neither,” Alan admits, though he does so with a wistful sigh. “I think perhaps I yearn for times past when I reveled in dancing and philosophical pursuits. When the contents of conversation at a dinner party provided fascination for days afterward.” Subtly, so that you can feel it but it is not seen to the plain-eyes observer, he shrugs. “Life soldiers on, I suppose.”

“It does.” You cannot dispute that, and you would not try. You know the trudging on of time as well as any other touched by tragedy. “May I ask what changed? Or is that impertinent?”

“It is not impertinent.” He casts his eye around the room then back down at you. “But I am afraid it is not polite, either. I would not shock you so, to tell it all. I will only say that I lost my dear friend very recently.”

“Then I am very sorry to hear it, but I have every belief in your humanity. Your taste for society, your faith, and your fascinations will return.” The look on his face says he wonders how you can be so sure, and you half-smile. The hint of sadness in your eyes keeps it from becoming full. “Take the word of an orphan of two beloved parents, Dr. McMichael. You will come back to life again after the loss of your friend. It may simply take time.”

“Alan,” he presses softly, reminding you of his insistence. “And I am sorry to hear of your sadness, as well. But it seems that perhaps God or the ghosts of our past have seen fit to introduce us tonight. Whichever it is that you believe in.”

“Whichever it is, I welcome their intervention.” It seems to you at this point that he does not care much for spiritualism or ghosts of any kind, so you will not speak your mind on that topic. As for God? His guidance has not been the one you sought in many years. No, tonight you will not give credence to any of it, if only to keep the mood light and perhaps make Alan laugh again. “I think, however, that I shall ascribe it entirely to my great-uncle. As he was the one to see us introduced.”

“So he was.” As the song ends, Alan bows quite deeply in deference to his admirable partner. “I believe I shall have to thank him for it.”

* * * * * *

“Why don’t I know the girl your son has been doting on all night?” Mrs. McMichael is behind her fan to her husband from the edge of the dance floor, inspecting the dancing and overseeing the needs of all her guests. Her guests. Which is why she is so perturbed not to be able to identify this young woman immediately. “Who is her family? She must be with one of your business associates, yes?”

“Let Alan flirt.” Edwin McMichael waves one hand dismissively, not even looking in his only son’s direction. “It’s good for him. He’s been too dour for too long.”

“I don’t care if he flirts.” Ellen ruffles, her lips pursed and ready for an argument. “So long as he flirts with the correct young ladies.”

“How do you know she is not correct?”

“Because I do not know who she is or who she came with.”

“She is Christian Tate’s great-niece.”

Ellen’s nose wrinkles. “The orphan?”

“The orphan with an eight million dollar inheritance and a palatial cottage in Newport in her name.” Mr. McMichael raises one eyebrow as he peers down at his wife, knowing precisely the sort of affect this news will have on his wife. After all, she married him for his fortune — why should Alan not marry a fortune as well? “Let Alan flirt. It makes him smile.”

* * *

He finds you again later, outside of the ballroom when you’ve wandered away to breath air that hasn’t come from the mouths of five other people first and doesn’t smell distinctly of stale cigars and brandy. He finds you when you are slumped, unladylike, in the window seat of his father’s library gazing out the window at the snow as it drifts lazily down from the pitch-black sky.

“I thought you’d run away on me.” His voice is light but the undercurrent of worry, or else embedded sadness, is there if you listen. Like a weariness that had taken hold in him sometime since the loss of his friend that he had not been able to shake. Rather than apologizing for it or paying it any mind, Alan simply holds out one of the delicate cups of mulled wine that he brought with him when he went in search of you. “I’m very glad to see that isn’t the case.”

“I had to make myself scarce from the quadrille,” you admit, having the good sense to look at least a little sheepish about it. “That Mr. Davies…the one you warned me about? He caught sight of the fact that I had been left out of the dance before and attached himself to me.” Though the conversation could not be considered so terrible to be characterized as harrowing or torturous or anything as dramatic as all that, you still had not enjoyed his overbearing presence and unfortunate lack of manners. “I’m afraid that I feigned a headache to excuse myself.”

He laughs. Truly and thoroughly, and from his belly. Alan McMichael laughs so entirely that you bury your face in one hand after you accept the offered drink from his hand and you sigh audibly. “I’m sorry…” he chuckles, gasping for a dramatic sigh when he can catch his breath. “ It’s just that you’re so terribly apologetic and sweet about it. No one would be cross with you for avoiding an impertinent man old enough to be your father.”

“I see you have not met my Aunt Joan.” With a dutiful but resigned sigh, you stand from your place of respite and sip the rather delicious drink that he has brought you. At precisely 4:02 in the morning it is both horrifyingly too late for such a drink and far too terribly early – a dichotomy that delights you. “She has done her best to see me partnered with every single man here tonight. It is only my ill luck that I encountered the only desirable partner so early in the night. To dance together a third time would expose us both to comment.”

“So?” Alan sips his own wine and gazes down at you curiously, wondering whether or not you actually give a damn about all of this convention and these rules that seem to have been mutually agreed upon by the same people who determined what food is served at each course at formal suppers. That is – someone very long ago and far away that no one can remember any longer. “I’d like to dance with you again. And you just said that you’d like to dance with me. So who gives a damn if someone talks about it?”

“Won’t your mother be cross with you?” He had said something earlier about his mother wanting him to dance with just every young lady at the ball tonight. And you know for certain that he has not just as you have not danced with every single man.

“My mother is routinely cross with me.” He admits, enjoying a laugh at the truth of it. “I try not to let it disappointment me too much.”

It is all you can do to consider him – broad shoulders stretching that jacket of his and bright eyes sparkling with mischief, the tilt of his smile and the invitation of his outstretched hand – before you are sighing in a rather dramatic show of resignation that barely shields the actual delight written on your face. “Very well,” you acquiesce, taking his hand and giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. “Let us be the object of idle gossip tomorrow. Let tongues wag. I will be gone in a week anyhow and that will be the end of it. For tonight, at least, we shall have a bit of fun.”

______

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