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yns-world · 1 month ago

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How They Are During Sex/Favorite Positions

Pairings: Francis Crozier x Reader, John Franklin x Reader, James Fitzjames x Reader, Henry Goodsir x Reader

Warnings: nsft, silly stuff, mentions of k*nks

a/n: gender neutral reader!!!

clearly i’m the only person carrying the terror (both the show and the ship) from death. no one writes fanfics for the REAL hoes (us, the readers). but dw. god put me on the terror so the true, grimy mfs can finally be unleashed and be free 🗣️‼️send in any requests you have for the terror while they're still in my grasp 😼 i love gnawing on these men like my own personal chew toys GRRRR BARK BARK 🐕

Francis Crozier:

Cowgirl.

Old man doesn’t have much energy in him, we know this.

At first he’ll have his hands on your hips as you ride him, but within a few minutes his head is thrown back, eyes shut as he lets out strings of curses.

If Francis is drunk and had a particularly hard day, he would be inebriated and inclined enough to use you as a urinal--whether that’s in your mouth or on your body, is up to you. He’s probably too drunk to notice, but he’s aware enough to get hard and want to stick it in you.

Might dabble in the whole Daddy kink, but you’ll be the one bringing it up to him--or rather, it might’ve slipped out when you were drunk on him one night. It invigorates him, makes him feel like he’s finally in charge of something. He won’t pound into you, but his grip on your skin would be tighter, he would probably grunt in your ear and praise you like an actual father would. sobs

Old man knocks out after he comes. After care is him lying heavy on your body as he’s fast asleep. When he wakes up--possibly in horror and excitement--he’ll rush to clean up and prepare a sweet breakfast filled with bashful apologies for his behavior the night before behavior that will repeat.

John Franklin:

Religious man. But what a fucking freak.

I don’t need to tell you that he’s into that Daddy shit. Ofc he is.

Really into roleplay too. Some nights, you’ll pretend to be the demon that corrupts the Virtuous Saint™ that he is, other nights he’ll be your priest “cleansing” you of your sins.

Depending on the roleplay, you might end up on top of him, beneath him, or on your knees.

John usually ends the night in missionary, he wants to watch your eyes overcome with your own lust, how your face screws as you come around his own cock, the way your chest exhales its last breath as you fall completely still.

A sweet kiss on your forehead--”You’re so good to me.”

James Fitzjames:

A Fucking Freak™.

He’s in his physical prime, of course he’s getting freaky with you.

Angry sex, yearning sex, passionate sex, quickies; whatever he can have he’ll take, and then he’ll beg for some more.

His best ideas actually come from his time shared with you--unfortunately for you, as his mind snaps from passion and comes to the fruition of something that would save the crew, but you can’t be mad at him for too long.

Every position is his favorite position. In the beginning, he won’t care for the sentimentality of it since you both were chasing after a release, but as the relationship progresses and the meetings become frequent, he might opt for a sweet night instead of the usual 5-minute quickie.

He likes you, like, like like, but he bites his tongue and bates his breath waiting for the moment to let you know when you both finally make it to the other side of this thing. He doesn’t want to confess and leave you haunted with the love of a dead man. He doesn’t know that you’d rather wrap yourself in the warmth of a past confession than agonize over what could’ve been.

Henry Goodsir:

Sex to him is a very sacred and intimate act--more emotional to him than anyone else. His heart is a melting pot, everything you do makes his head spin. It would be a while before the two of you ever see each other naked. But when you finally reach that point…oh brother, get ready for those love letters 🙄 /lh

You probably are his first. Most likely his last. I don’t think he’ll ever get over you, especially not if you reciprocated the intensity and fullness of his love. He is permanently marked by you, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

I don’t think any man could ever love you the way Henry loves you. No one will ever love you the way he does--both a comfort, and a tragedy.

Missionary. Always. He just wants to look in your eyes--both as a reassurance that you want this, but also as a confirmation that you do actually love him, that your connection is real and not some made-up fantasy in his mind used to cope.

You will forever be a work of art to him. He handles you with such care and warmth--he won’t treat you like a fragile piece of glass, but rather an oil painting as he grazes his fingers across your skin, picking up on the traces of paint left on the tips of his fingers.

Flesh pressed against flesh, he wants nothing more than to entangle himself with you-- to merge his body into yours, to be a piece of you forever, but doesn’t want to seem as “too much”, so he keeps these thoughts to himself and in his journal.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging since it helps my account! :)

DON'T BE A GHOST READER!!!! i would love to hear your thoughts and opinions, and comments are what keep writers going <3

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corleonewrites · 2 months ago

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Wandering winds

AU: The Terror (2018)

James Fitzjames x Original Female Character fanfic

Summary: Alexandra Walton’s life was always surrounded with sea: either it was her walks near the seashore with its cold waters, or deep sea of her senses. Her father taught her to throw herself headlong into it, without fear of being drowned and she used to it since her childhood. She dived into love with the same courageous way. And even when everything and everyone was talking about the hopeless state of things she continued to believe in the opposite: that her loved one will return to her safely.

Chapter 6. Mute music soothes my breast – unutter’d harmony that I could never dream

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Midsummer Sea's Dream was the kind of a party that almost every person from high society talked about, and not only those who were somehow connected with the Admiralty or attended the actual party. There even was a short story about it in the Sunday newspaper, about which our father just grinned. He knew that Alexander was watching his reputation greatly and nothing that could possibly discredit the honor of Walton family name happened there. And never did.

Our whole country mansion and the area around it were decorated with sea-themed details: trees and bushes were covered with sea nets, transparent colourfull cloth covered the ceiling and walls in almost every room on the first floor, when our private rooms were closed with the key. Anchors were laying on the floor and starfishes were laying on tables. And the glasses into which the drinks were poured were in the form of sea cups.

It was one of those parties which almost every young officer from the Admiralty attended and all the ladies did their best to make their dresses look as if they had just come out of the sea.

What I liked about those thematic mansion parties was the opportunity to wear dresses freely. I left the skirt without extra layers of flounces and petticoats, as my costume-dress required lighter silhouette. For example, during Midsummer Sea's Dream my turquoise dress was decorated with small seashells and pearl necklace was shimmering on my neck.

When Alexander and our friends were away in the sea – it was my turn to organise events and a book club was held every month in the mansion. And during these events table in the living room was filled not only with books, but also with selection of dainty sandwiches and scones which were served with clotted cream and jam. Cakes and pastries were served as well. Indian or Ceylon tea was poured into beautifully decorated bone China cups from silver tea pot. At that time 5 o’clock tea just came into fashion and we followed it with admiration and amusement.

Of course, ladies discussed not only books which they were reading at those times: gentlemen were in the center of attention during almost every conversation. Few ladies who were Sophia’s and mine common friends were already married and they talked about their lovely husbands, sometimes maybe too much and too sweet as Sophia and I looked at each other unnoticed by them and tried not to smile openly and roll our eyes.

But the rest of ladies loved to discuss officers on whom they put attention and who were the eligible bachelors. Sometimes even those kinds of ladies’ talks bored me, as generally I didn’t want to tell them about my love worries if they took place, which happened very rarely. After late Mister Charming trampled on my feelings – I didn't want to share with anyone what was going on in my heart as a matter of principle. The exception who knew my love secrets has always been my elder brother.

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The carriage drove into our family mansion on early Saturday's morning – Alexander and I needed to have proper time to prepare for the evening. Father left our city house on Friday evening and for the weekend we were on our own. Even though he retired from his naval duties at the beginning of 1844 – he remained in The Arctic Council and continued to attend meetings and receptions.

Our mansion in the countryside always seemed to be mysterious, with hidden secrets kept from prying strangers. Sometimes it felt like it was another country where only my family lived.

The territory was huge and was surrounded by trees, separating the house from the rest of the countryside. Big stable with horses, because all three of us used to ride them, and it was easy just to take the horse and ride anywhere we wanted to.

It was possible to reach the river without much difficulty, that is why there even was werf close to our mansion, where brother and father practiced their knowledge in building ships. Sometimes I came and visited them when they were there and kindly asked them to show me everything that they were doing: ships and sea always fascinated me and I when I had the opportunity to learn more – I would take it.

Despite the fact that opened sea always frightened me – it captivated me. Such mysterious and big part of nature, sometimes unpredictable and cruel, the depth of which no one never knew – it still cursed me with deep and dark secrets.

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Winter’s Tale supposed to be dedicated to the farewell to winter and welcoming the long-awaited spring. The transition of seasons needed to be shown in decorations as well. This party had a mysterious sense too: all the guests had to wear masks. And of course, ladies' dresses needed to be flower-oriented.

It was amusing to walk around flowers and fake snowflakes with coloured tulle hanging from walls, just the process of seeing the mansion being prepared for the actual event was entertaining.

My exquisite silk dress was in bright navy blue colour, with small cream-coloured flowers around the waist and wide neckline was hanging from the wardrobe. My governess just finished lacing my corset and now I was sitting in front of a mirror, putting a white gold pendant in the shape of a narcissus flower around my neck.

Same flower-shaped earrings and a Venetian mask in navy blue colour decorated with artificial daffodils were laying on the table, surrounded by jewelry box, perfume bottle and lipstick. All those small things finished my look perfectly.

Winter's Tale promised to be one of those parties that could not be forgotten, and every moment of it meant something very personal to almost everyone who attended it. And I was not the exception.

The evening arrived smoothly. Soon the sounds of carriages arriving to the entrance outside and loud voices of guests in the living room could be heard clearly.

I took a final look at my own reflection in the mirror, put perfume behind my ears and on wrists, tied the silk ribbons of Venetian mask around the head and left the room to meet the sounds of champagne bottles being opened in the living room.

Confetti crackers and spiral ribbons were flying around me, when I was coming down the stairs.

When I entered the room – my eyes caught a big circle near the table with drinks and mechanical music player: Alexander, who was wearing his black Venetian mask and a pirate hat gathered our friends around him. Henry Le Vesconte and Graham Gore stood near my brother, laughing at joke that Alexander told. I didn’t recognise them at first among the others as both of them were wearing big masks, which covered their faces.

My eyes spotted Sophia and Captain Sir James Clark Ross talking closely to each other, standing in the quiet corner of the living room, but they never saw my curious gaze. I wondered when would I talk to Commander Fitzjames in such quiet way, sharing our thoughts and deep secrets.

“And here is the hostess of the mansion”, my brother finally saw me and held out his hand in my direction, holding a glass of champagne for me.

I smiled at him, but rolled my eyes: he always loved to make a scene when I finally came down to guests when we held such parties years ago.

"Well, I hope you weren't bored without my presence", I took a glass from his hand and stood in front of Alexander, facing him.

“Oh, surprisingly, we were not”, Alexander winked at me and nodded to his left, where Graham and Henry were standing with their glasses of champagne in their hands, “These gentlemen kept great company”

“Is that so, gentlemen?”, I looked at our friends, pretending to be surprised.

“Indeed, miss Walton”, Graham replied, making me grin at his ‘Miss Walton’, and then he raised a glass of champagne in his right hand and adjusted the slightly off mask, “I’m proposing a toast”

Alexander, Henry and I also raised our glasses, waiting for Gore’s toast. He always loved to say toasts, he was very good orator and always knew exactly what to say at a certain time, to certain people and under any circumstances. In narrow circles, he even had the nickname Cicero in honor of one of the greatest orators and philosophers of Ancient Rome.

"Here's the toast for the hosts of the party, our dear friends Alexander and Alexandra, who not only can organise such unforgettable parties, but they are great friends in life"

Suddenly, I felt uneasy after Graham's words: something was eating me inside, as if something terrible and irreversible would happen that would change life of not only Gore’s, but also Henry's, Alexander's and mine. I wanted to shove this feeling off my head, but with every new look at my friends awoke such burden even harder. Neither laughs of guests nor the music could drown it out.

"...and generally, for all four of us, our amusing company of fine officers and lovely young lady", his last words of toast finally woke me up from heavy thoughts. I wished those thoughts would only remain as my imagination.

"Here, here", we cheered together, trying to drown out the noise from the laughter of the guests, and the music playing on the background.

When our glasses clinked, there was a sound of firecrackers and confetti began to circle around the room. They looked like snow falling in the cold wind of winter. It was hard to imagine that spring was already on the threshold.

“Have all the guests arrived yet?”, I asked Alexander, leaning closer to him and raising my voice so that he could definitely hear me.

My brother looked around the room, and then, as if he saw someone who had just arrived and waved at him, inviting him to come to us.

“Now yes, Alex”, he slightly winked at me behind his mask before I could even ask something else.

“I hope I’m not late for the party”, very familiar low and slightly hoarse voice could be heard behind me, forcing me to turn towards the newcomer.

My soul trembled at that particular moment as I recognized the man, even though he was wearing white mask on his face. Commander James Fitzjames nodded to my company and kissed my hand in greeting manner. But his eyes remained to look at me longer, than it should be.

"You arrived just in time, my friend", Alexander called for another glass of champagne and gave it to commander, smiling, "Welcome to our humble abode, if I may say so", he looked around the living room, grinning a little, and began pointing at the portraits of our relatives and ancestors.

"Mind you, every person in this living room is being watched by these authoritative Waltons"

James also looked around, lingering on each portrait: my great-grandfather, grandfather and uncle.

"I see, so no mischiefs must be managed here, I suppose", he smiled again as if he had something in his mind at that moment, "May I ask, do you have other portraits? And where they are hanging?"

"Oh, yes, father thought that it’d be better to hang our portraits over the fireplace", I nodded in the fireplace's direction, which at that particular moment was too noisy and crowded: guests were having fun, confetti were flying in the air, and the music was just gaining its momentum.

Portraits of me, Alexander, our father and mother were hanging there beside the fireplace. No one knew for how long I used to stand there ang looking at mother’s portrait, paying close attention to every small detail, every paint stroke, trying to remember the face of my mother clearly, and place it in my memory.

“I don’t think that you’re able to see them now with all the noise around the room, but I think you’ll have time for it later, as the evening has just begun”, Alexander finished his glass of champagne, snaped his fingers, and signaled the servant to switch the metal disc on the mechanical music player.

Johann Strauss’ II "Sinngedichte", Op. 1 started to play and suddenly the hems of the ladies' dresses in different colours rustled more and more vigorously: everyone was getting ready for the waltz. My companions disappeared a moment later as they were either planning to continue talking somewhere quiet or searching for ladies to have a dance with.

"May I, Alexandra?", James held out his white-gloved hand to me. Both of us knew that no one could hear us or even be bothered about us calling each other by our first names. From our first interaction it was clear for everyone around us that we were destined for each other.

"By all means, James", I smiled at him, placing my hand on his.

We danced gracefully to all the waltzes of Johann Strauss’ II which sounded that evening. When "Gunstwerber", Op. 4 began – the living room transformed into the Royal Palace just for me and Commander Fitzjames. We were as close to each other as we possibly could, closer than the first time we met during the reception at the Admiralty. He held me even more tight and confident, but he didn't forget to let me lead him during our dances.

The clink of glasses and ringing laughter spread through the living room, but we didn't pay attention to it, continuing to waltz. A garland of tinsel and golden leaves sparkled with bright light, spangles and confetti flew through the air, whirling with us in the same rhythm.

When we needed a break from endless waltzes and mazurkas – we talked. James told me about his life, what was his childhood like, his first sails at the Royal Navy. He never forgotten to ask me questions about my life: it could be understood that commander was curious to learn more about me, not as Alexander’s younger sister, but as the lady, as someone with strong opinion in terms of attitude, life and principles.

I lost count how many confetti crackers burst during dances and talks, how many spiral ribbons were launched into the air, how many beverages were drunk and how many quadrille parties were danced: the euphoria of Winter's Tale and the joy of spending endless time close to James filled me with desire and excitement.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen", Alexander said loudly, his mask was now on his pirate's hat, "I welcome you to join me and my sister outside – this evening should be finished with bright notes."

Everyone was bustling around, talking excitedly to each other. Alexander spent the rest of the time before the party started preparing a mountain of all kinds of fireworks, which were currently set up on the snow-covered lawn near the fountain, not far from the rear exit to the veranda and the stables.

James helped me to put on my fur coat and we headed outside, catching crispy air of the night.

The night was cold, but it felt like no one really cared about it: everyone was already drunk and felt themselves really hot and all the guests stood as close to each other as they possibly could. James stood near me, as if protecting me not only from the crowd, but also from the freezing night. This feeling of being close to him warmed me even more, and the desire of hold his hand was unbearable. And in one second, I thought that I could hear his heartbeat.

As the fire of the fuse approached the box of fireworks faster and faster, it seemed that time was stopping and something truly magical was happening. Those seconds of waiting were always the most exciting things for me.

When the first volleys of fireworks lit up the night sky, everyone exhaled and clapped their hands. Someone began to sing, someone opened a bottle of champagne, and there were sounds of glasses clattering against each other.

Commander Fitzjames and I looked at each other at the exact same second: fireworks were in the reflection of his eyes. Invisibly to others, James put his hand in mine, and I felt light tremble inside me, and it wasn't because of the night's cold wind. With every new explosion of bright fireworks of all possible shapes and colors it felt like the remains of distance between me and commander were exploding, leaving the space behind.

When the show was over everyone cheered but I thought all the guests were cheering for me and James as if we just announced our engagement.

But something was telling me that it all would be completely different when some time would pass. This nervous feeling was crawling inside me and no matter how hard I tried – with every second it was eating my mind more and more.

I deeply wished to remember everything from that evening. Every music piece that was playing, every dance that was danced, every joke, every laugh, every look. I wished to remember faces, those familiar faces of friends who were very close to my heart. And to believe that all those anxious thoughts that I had were only my overwhelming imagination.

______________________________________________________________

Mechanical music player stopped playing Chopin's Nocturnes, Op. 27: No. 1 in C-Sharp Minor, Larghetto some time ago. Almost all the guests left the mansion, but only one stayed a little longer. Commander James Fitzjames and I were sitting in different sofas in at that time empty living room, the fireplace was gradually fading out.

“It was a very great party”, the man said quietly and I turned his head at him, smiling, “The dances, the talks, I can’t remember a time when I had such a great time”

“Oh, James, you’re flattering”, I grinned lightly, but he shook his head

“It’s not in my nature”, he sighed and suddenly asked, “Have you ever felt lonely, Alexandra?”

It made me pause and had a thought: commander’s question caught me off guard for some reason. I never thought about it. Probably, yes, especially when father and brother were sailing away.

Of course, I had friends, books, and hobbies. And when Alexander returned, we spent our free time together. But even then, I felt lonely. Because I knew that soon he would sail away again and I would be waiting for him.

“I think we can all feel lonely sometimes”, I smiled sadly and looked at James’ beautiful hazel-green eyes, “No matter how many people surround a person during the day, at night they are always alone with their thoughts and yearns.”

There was a silence. No words were needed to be said. James understood my reply and he understood what I felt throughout my life but never admitted it to myself. Not until that night after Winter’s Tale.

With all kinds of shiny tinsel hanging from the walls, with confetti that were scattered on the floor like shiny coins, everything seemed absolutely unreal and deafeningly empty.

"May I speak to you very truthfully?", James asked me, looking into my eyes.

"Please, James.", I simply replied, my gaze was fully on him as well.

"I can't talk to anyone else as openly as I can with you", he said these words quietly, as if he wanted to keep that mysterious moment between us.

James' eyes reflected the fading fire in the fireplace, which gave a magical shine to them.

I didn't know what to say. Probably, no reply needed to be said, as the look in my eyes showed the gratitude and my admiration towards commander as he smiled warmly, never taking his eyes off me.

Sofas separated us from each other by only a few centimeters. James held out his hand to me, and I put my palm without hesitation. He gently stroked my palm with his thumb while I rested my head on the back of the sofa: at that moment, my head seemed to be too heavy from the past day and from the euphoria of emotions that I was experiencing at that tender moment between me and commander.

We sat like that for couple of minutes. There was solitude and sacredness in that moment that we shared. That nocturnal sacredness, the arrival of which I have always been waiting for. Time stood still.

I never noticed when I slightly closed my eyes and fell into sleep. I never felt how James slowly stood up beside me, touching strands of my hair. I never knew how he took me accurately in his strong arms and carried me to my room, carefully laying me on the bed. I never noticed how he looked at me lovingly and admirably for the last time before he left our mansion.

He told me those things later. When the spring of year 1844 came.

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Wandering winds masterlist

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