#that being said less misogyny doesn't mean no misogyny | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sebscore · 1 year

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gen z!reader is this sweet, bubbly, bright ray of sunshine who could honestly do no wrong, so I'd love to see a fic where in a driver's meeting gen z!reader loses their shit and calls out the FIA for their blatant sexism and misogyny in front of everyone and everyone is shocked cause they've never seen them gets this mad before.

NO ONE LIKES A MAD WOMAN

pairings: f1 grid x driver!reader (+ cameos from brundle, susie and buxton)

warnings: sexism. fia is fia'ing. swearing. my own unaccurate ruling of penalties (it's for the sake of the story, just go along with it). susie mothering. it wasn't sure to me who conducted the driver's briefing during this time so I just picked a random name from the many that I came across.

author's note: less comedic one this time, hope you enjoy it anyway!

masterlist

• • • • • • •

''Alright, thanks for clarifying, Checo.'' Derek concluded, glancing down at his journal to see what the next topic of discussion was.

The director scratched his voice before addressing the drivers again. ''Uhm, we also wanted to remind everyone to be wary of what they say in the media regarding our organization,'' he stated, ''the FIA has the feeling that there have been deliberate attacks on them the last few weeks and they are willing to give out penalties if it happens again.''

The drivers looked at each other, confused by the sudden declaration that the FIA has been receiving ''attacks'' from the drivers. ''Can you give an example, because I think I speak for everyone when I say that I'm confused.'' George spoke up, the others nodding along to his question.

Derek flipped through his papers, trying to find the notes his colleagues had given him regarding the ''offensive'' comments that had been made against them.

''Oh, here,'' he put on his reading glasses, holding the piece of paper farther from his face, ''the comment they're referring to was one made by… Y/N at the previous race.''

The young woman's head sprung up at the mention of her name, clueless as to how she could have upset the FIA. ''What? W-what did I say?'' She managed to stutter out, all the eyes on her making her feel uneasy.

''Uh, you were asked about the diversity in the sport and you said, and I quote: 'The FIA should do more regarding women in motorsport, there are still many things that need to be changed.' End quote.'' Derek answered her, putting his paper back in place.

Y/N frowned at the man. ''I don't see what's wrong with that, to be honest.'' She told him, failing to see how the FIA would feel this was a ''deliberate attack''.

The director sighed, already getting the suspicion the woman would not be happy with what he was about to say. ''Certain members of the board were offended by your words, because they saw it as you accusing them of being sexist.''

The silence in the room was deafening, every single person awaiting Y/N's reaction to Derek's clarification. The drivers took a glimpse at her, trying to read the indifferent expression on her face that didn't give much away about how she was feeling.

''They think I'm accusing them of being sexist? What I meant was that they should take more actions in encouraging young girls to get into racing- I don't understand how that would correlate to me calling them sexist.'' Her usual cheerful tone was replaced by a monotone voice that almost scared some of her colleagues.

Derek took a deep breath again. ''Well, they felt like you were insinuating it and they are offended by the alleged insinuation.''

''Just because they are offended doesn't mean they're right.'' She bit back, not missing a beat.

''I'm simply delivering their message, Y/N,'' the director told her politely, wanting to remind her that he's not the person she should be upset with, ''anyway- if you go up there and apologize for your comment, they're considering leaving it as a warning for you and also the others.'' He finished the list of notes they had given him.

The reaction from the room wasn't one he was expecting; absolute outrage.

''She shouldn't apologize for that neither should she be penalized for it.'' Sebastian was the first one to speak up, directly looking Derek in the eye.

The drivers agreed. ''Yeah, it's called freedom of speech.'' Max added, also not seeing why Y/N should go down there and say sorry to the members of the board.

''Like I said earlier, I'm simply delivering their message.'' Derek repeated himself, feeling the tension and frustration growing in the small space.

''But don't you see how ridiculous this is?'' Sebastian rebutted, hoping the man at the front could at least agree with them and say that it was indeed a weird request.

Derek shook his head. ''I'm just the middle man, Seb,'' he sighed, turning his head towards the quiet female driver, ''Y/N, make it easier for yourself and go up there after the meeting, you don't want to receive a penalty for something like this.''

''I'm not apologizing.'' Her voice comes out strong, not in an aggressive way, but in a manner that lets everyone know she's not backing down. ''Give me as many penalties as you want, I'm not accepting them.'' She crossed her arms, indicating she was sticking to her words, almost stubbornly.

The other drivers looked on proudly, glad she was standing by her belief and didn't give in simply because it would make everything ''easier''. Lewis gave her a nod, subtly letting her know he supported her and had her back.

''Alright, then that will result in a fine of a number that is yet to be determined.'' Derek picked up his pen and wrote down that she would not come by their office, already knowing his colleagues wouldn't be happy with it.

''Just so you know- I'm not paying that.'' Y/N said, matter-of-factly.

Derek looked up from his journal. ''If you refuse to pay the fine, we can either add a grid-place penalty or a time penalty.'' He recited the rule as if he had done it a million times before.

''Derek, this is stupid,'' Kimi decided to voice his opinion, ''the race shouldn't be affected, because of a comment she made that had nothing to do with racing in the first place.'' He defended her, allying behind her stance to not accept any of the penalties they give her.

''I'm just doing my job, Kimi.''

''I also want to just do my job, Derek, which is racing, but these ridiculous rules to silence me prevent me from doing that.'' Y/N argued his response, just wanting him to see her point of view.

The director's hand went over his face, seemingly wiping his agitation away. ''No one is trying to silence you, Y/N.'' He quickly answered.

''That's why all the other drivers receive penalties whenever they question the FIA, right?'' Her comment must have shut him up as he solely put his pen down without saying another word about the matter. ''Yeah, that's what I thought.''

Y/N felt her presence wasn't longer necessary as she stood up from her chair, ready to leave the room and join her engineering team in preparation for the upcoming race. However, Derek felt different about that. ''The briefing isn't over yet, Y/L. Sit back down, please.''

''I'll see you at the next meeting, Derek.'' She ignored his plea and walked towards the door.

The director stood up from his desk at the front. ''Y/N, if you leave before it's done, the board will-''

''The board can kiss my ass.''

''Y/N Y/L RECEIVES A 20-PLACE GRID PENALTY AHEAD OF THE 2021 SPANISH GRAND PRIX DUE TO DAMAGING REMARKS AGAINST THE FIA''

''FIA RE-EVALUATING Y/N Y/N's PENALTY AFTER BACKLASH''

''FIA SUSPENDS GRID PENALTY OF Y/N Y/L DUE TO AN ERROR''

The day after the driver's briefing had been quite eventful to say the least. As soon as the FIA announced that she had been given a penalty, the backlash from drivers, fans and reporters started.

Lewis had condemned their decision claiming it was based on nothing and that nothing about her comment was an attack on the organization. His teammate, Valtteri, followed him in his opinion stating: ''Drivers should be able to say what they want to say, she doesn't deserve a penalty for that.''

Sky Sports F1 reporter, Martin Brundle, also came to the driver's defense. ''If we're going to punish drivers for stating their opinions, we might as well get rid of the entire sport, especially if what they're saying isn't far from the truth.''

After finishing P5 in the race, Y/N spoke to Will Buxton in her post-race interview. ''You must be very happy with your result today, considering you almost had to start from the very back of the grid.''

''I'm content with today's race, obviously would have loved a podium but Mercedes was better today,'' she chuckled, ''yeah, it wasn't fun waking up to that news, but I'm happy that it was reversed and the support I received was just- wow, I'm very grateful for everyone.''

''According to some sources, it got pretty heated in the driver's briefing on friday- would you like to clarify?'' Will asked her.

A sarcastic laugh left her mouth. ''I would just like to forget about it, moving on is the best thing to do right now.'' She smoothly avoided the question, figuring she shouldn't make the FIA more mad by airing out all their business.

''Alright, thank you so much for talking to us, Y/N and congratulations on your race today.'' He nodded, bidding her goodbye.

On her way back to her team's hospitality, she was stopped by none other than Susie Wolff. ''Lewis told us what happened during the briefing- I'm very proud of you for standing up for yourself, not everyone could have done that.''

''It was so awful, Susie,'' Y/N hugged the older woman, ''it's like they just wanted to give me some sort of punishment- I don't even want to know what would have happened if I went down there by myself.'' Susie rubs her back at her words, also not wanting to think about what could have gone down.

''It's okay now, honey,'' they pulled apart, Susie's hand staying on her shoulder, ''by the way- did you really say that the board could kiss your ass?''

Y/N laughed at her question, excitedly nodding her head. ''At first I wanted to say something like 'the board can stick that penalty right up their ass’ but I needed a cool getaway so I opted for something shorter.''

''Atta girl''

taglist :: @i0veless @missskid @missthem @rosesintj @evans-dejong @thehistoryone @dreamycloudsworld @formulazeesworld @muushmeg @topguncultleader @the-great-adventures-of-me @love13tter @xcharlottemikaelsonx @kiwisa @starkwlkr @nora_moon @princesselle2111 @valluvsu @thatsadsmallchild @babyyoda89 @milkbreadforlife @fxllfaiiry @hc-dutch @its-ash-not-grey @princessbetsy123-blog @mehrmonga @nyenye @screechingtrashkid @ahnneyong @holybatflapexpert @itsnotgray @beautycinders @scuderialavender @rowansshit @uhhevie @revengze @nylaslife @majx00 @multi-universe21 @jaydensluv @isasalom @gentlemonsterjennie1 @appledashhh @breathinfive @lighttsoutlewis

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#f1 fic #f1 fics #f1 x reader #formula 1 fic #f1 x oc #f1!drivers x fem!driver #f1 female driver #female f1 driver #formula one fics #formula 1 oc

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stormsbourne · 5 months

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alright listen

I know we're all having an evaluation of how eagerly we believe people who present with even the slightest air of authority and frankly good! we all need to be less credulous of people on the internet who tell lies.

but I think there are also other lessons to learn from james somerton. namely about his raging and blatant misogyny, which I've often seen similar forms of in fandom and on this specific site. to paraphrase bombs himself in the ctrl alt del video, if you see shitty behavior within your sphere, it's important to recognize it and try to fix it instead of rejecting it and asserting that no REAL members of the ingroup are like that. and nerds have a misogyny problem. including tumblr. so let's reckon with it.

do you append "white" or "straight" to your comments about women even when those things have little to do with the topic being discussed, just to make your comments seem more legit? (and no, m/m shipping discourse does not give you a ticket to say it's all straight women -- it's fictional characters, james.) do you often theorize about how (hurriedly appended "straight/white/cis") women are responsible for a problem in fandom, nay, all problems in fandom? have you made up a guy based on a single post that annoyed you and extrapolated to say that all (appended signifier to make it ok) women in fandom are like that? do you see women as uniquely fetishizing, uniquely stupid about politics or social issues, uniquely annoying to talk to? do you assume when there's an issue, even a real one and not the fake ones james made up, that a woman is probably at the root of it?

all of this still applies to you if you're a woman. it also applies if you're gay or a person of color or trans. being an oppressed group doesn't mean you are immune from sexism, and sexism is still rampant in everyday life for pretty much everyone.

your shipping and fandom discourse isn't immune from this. no, I'm not talking about how not enough people like yuri. I'm talking about how women who like "bad" ships like r*ylo or whatever are seen as open targets for harassment. how women who are into "bad/problematic" fandoms are seen as idiots and enablers who deserve what they get. how there's an attitude that women who like shitty bad porn must think it's good, must be too stupid to know better, and must need to be handheld and taught about good, acceptable fiction. I've already talked a lot about tumblr's complete refusal to admit that fujoshi wasn't a term coined by delicate japanese mlm to complain about evil women (and I wonder if james contributed to that idiotic concept), but the way I've seen people assert that women into m/m must be straight, must be stupid, must be lying about their identities, must be hurting gay men in real life in addition to wanting some anime boys to kiss ...

I've seen how some of you people talk about amb*r h*ard, is all I'm saying, and I've seen what you've tried to do to dozens of female creatives that, for some reason, you've decided deserve to be taken down or taught a lesson. I've seen the descriptions you use. shrieking, bitchy, whiny, uppity, shrewish, karen (don't get me started on how karen has been turned into an easy excuse for misogyny). you're not bystanders to what james did and is doing, you're a part of it. sure, you might not have the nazi fetish, but you've said things about women that put somerton to shame.

just a thing to keep in mind while the plagiarism discourse is ongoing. somerton is a shithead for many reasons but this is one that's important to remember because I think people often treat misogyny like a lesser crime, a smaller concern, and it's not. just think of what laws are passing and what views popular movements have of women and then, for one moment, consider that maybe your reflexive need to blame women or pick them apart might have been influenced by the Society In Which We Live.

#james somerton #hbomberguy

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decolonize-the-left · 2 months

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I said this in the comments of one of my posts earlier but it deserves to be seen and have its own post cuz this logic here is completely absent.

White women have an extensive history of weaponizing misogyny to harm MoC.

This is a fact that we can agree on considering Karens and BBQ Becky, yes?

And it never occurred to anybody that the weaponization of their white privilege and role as Victims in the patriarchy should mean that they no longer have a right to talk about misogyny. Right?

By that I mean there wasn't a campaign of Black and brown women commenting, "White women can't talk about misogyny until they stop being racist. Besides what they have to say about their experience as women is no different from my experience. And if anything it's less valuable than what I have to say anyway cuz their views on gender are inherently racist. Listening to white women is a waste of time when you could listen to Black and brown women."

Literally nobody did this, right?

So how are y'all using the same exact logic to say that transmen can't talk about transandrophobia? "Their experiences are different from ours but they shouldn't talk about them cuz we're the ones doing the worthwhile work of dismantling transphobia with our more valuable experiences as the Hated Gender."

Because respectfully if that's the logic we as a queer community are gonna start using then that logic eventually says that the Only people with a right to speak on Anything in Any community Ever... are Black women.

"If Black women were free, it would mean that everyone else would have to be free since our freedom would necessitate the destruction of all the systems of oppression."

Now ask yourself why this campaign against WW doesn't exist. Ask yourself why you stopped at telling transmen to shut up, but didn't follow that logic all the way to it's conclusion.

Now ask yourself if that changes your right to speak on your own experiences with people like you when you ALL could be speaking out of ignorance. What changes? Why or why not?

How do you feel right now?

Do you feel closer to your community? Do you feel spoken for or heard? Do you feel like your experiences matter to the people who it should matter the most to when I say your experiences are less relevant to our movement than someone else's?

Yeah. I didn't think so.

#see this is why intersectionality matters #this is why solidarity is more important than our differences #i think about this all the time #either we're going all the way with this or youre gonna have to start interacting with this concept with WAY more critical thought #transandrophobia #trans #transgender #transmasc #transman #IM 2SPIRIT FULL DISCLOSURE #queer #lgbt

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redditreceipts · 29 days

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so this is a kinda interesting post, because it seems to be an honest attempt at answering the question "What is a woman" in a non-circular and trans-inclusive way:

So OP says that this definition gets rid of the circularity, and he's right in that. Saying that a woman is "someone who identifies as female" is better than saying that a woman is "someone who identifies as a woman". But what he's kinda missing here is that the "circularity"-criticism of the standard definition is only one of the many criticisms we have. I mean, a definition not being circular is kinda the basic requirement that every definition should fulfill. But there are more criticisms that I have with the definition proposed by OP:

This definition doesn't help us to make sense of the world. If we want understand workplace discrimination, for example, it doesn't help us to ask "do you identify as female"? A person presenting as a man but identifying as a woman would not experience misogyny, but a person identifying as male and presenting as a woman would experience misogyny. We could not understand discrimination, because there is nothing that would connect women other than their female identity. It has close to no analytical value, and is therefore a bad choice in sociological discussions.

It leaves out a ton of trans people who recognise their biological sex. If you scroll my blog just a little bit, there is a ton of trans people telling me that they understand themselves as a "female man" or "male woman", and that they still recognise their biological sex and that it's important for their identity. A large percentage of trans people don't identify with the sex they are transitioning towards, and they would be excluded from your definition.

A large percentage of women don't identify with their sex any more than they identify with their hair color or their height. These people would be excluded from your definition. I, for example, don't really identify with my sex and I couldn't care less whether I was born male or female. Being female is not a part of my identity.

There are people who, due to illness or disability, don't identify as a certain sex. If I was for example in a coma, I wouldn't think anything and therefore not identify as any sex. Would I be agender for the time I'm in a coma? Or what if I'm dreaming and in my dream, I'm male? Would I be then a man for the time? Or would my dream-me be a man and the sleeping body still be a woman? Or do I have to be of sound mind for my identity to be valid? What about very dysphoric people? Would they be of a sound mind? And what about people with a severe disability, who can't move or speak? It is possible that they don't identify with any sex, maybe they don't even really understand the categories of "male" and "female". Would a thirty-year old biological female who has such a severe disability that she has never spoken nor reacted to a spoken word, and can't control her limbs to move, be considered a woman if we don't even know that she knows what the differences between the sexes are?

How can we call anyone a man or a woman if they never expressed an identification with any sex? For example, I don't know whether my great-grandmother has ever said that she identifies as a woman. Should I therefore not consider her to be a woman? What about Ötzi, the frozen man from the stone age that was found thousands of years later? We don't know what he identified as. How can we then refer to him?

How does the definition "a woman is someone who identifies as female" improve our understanding of the world in comparison to the former definition of "adult human female"? It has a lot of downsides, for sure.

I'm of course open for discussion! Tell me what you think :)

#radblr #radical feminism #radical feminists do interact #radical feminists please touch #gender critical #feminism #gc feminism #gc feminist #gender abolition #radfems please touch #radfems please interact #radfem safe #philosophy #definition of woman

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odiesdayoff · 2 months

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The Winner Is...

pair: Robert Fischer x fem!reader

summary: Robert Fischer's stuck judging this year's Miss America Pageant. That doesn't mean he can't use his position to his advantage.

warnings: extremely dubious consent!! (heed the warnings!); mean/condescending Robert Fischer; anal; blowjobs; deepthroating; unprotected sex; a bit of misogyny; power imbalance

made reader from Georgia because I've been watching a lot of Kim of Queens. I've never written a lot of this before so I hope you can enjoy <3 this is also on Ao3 so yea... feedback always appreciated!

but also your consumption is your fault so if you don't like the content well then you should not have skipped/ignored the warnings

ALSO happy valentine's day from me :)

“In your opinion, what is a way that young women can lead successful lives in traditionally male-dominated professions?” Miss America from 2003 spoke clearly into the microphone. She wore her winning sash across her chest and a sparkling dress.

On her left, a former professional basketball player crossed her arms and sat back. She won the finals for her team two years in a row and now she was stuck judging brainless, but beautiful women being asked sexist questions in the veil of feminism and the uplifting of women. It didn’t matter, though. She was getting paid.

On the right of Miss America 2003, Robert Fischer leaned on the judge’s table with his hands folded. Ever since he fumbled the business deal with Eclipse Solutions, Maurice thought that the best form of punishment was to take his spot as a judge in this competition. Initially, Robert thought that it wasn’t much of a punishment, but after a long week of nonstop noise and hearing these women yap about how they were going to change the world, he understood why his father made him.

The hard-on he was sporting towards the beginning of the competition was long gone. He couldn’t bear to look at any of them anymore. Even during the swimsuit portion, for God’s sake.

Your smile never fell. The swimsuit you chose emphasized your breasts and slimmed your waist. Saying that you chose it was an exaggeration, your coach said that if you could catch the eyes of Fischer and Johnson, who your coach was convinced was a lesbian, you would have it in the bag. You still weren’t too sure about it. Knowing that your body was getting exposed to millions of people over the television was enough to raise your anxiety.

Attempting to not look like a total fool, you took a deep breath and nodded in response to her question. “Well, as someone who is in the career path of accounting, I have faced a lot of adversarial coworkers and peers. I believe that the best way that young women can gain success is to keep their self-confidence and never stop allowing themselves to learn and grow both professionally and personally. The best way to prove your doubters wrong is to excel in the path that you choose.” You weren’t exactly sure what you were saying, but you had hoped that it came across as something really intelligent to the judges. This was a question you had practiced for so long with your coach, but your mind drew a blank.

Robert held back a laugh or at least a scoff. There’s no way he would hire you. With a face like that and the way you spoke, there’s no way that you knew how to do anything within the range of taxes or money. Probably a case of affirmative action, he was sure. Either that or you sucked the right man’s dick to get to where you were now.

Miss America 2003 grinned. “Thank you, Miss Georgia. What a lovely way of thinking. I wish you the best of luck! Mr. Fischer, do you have a question?”

Robert’s bright blue eyes pierced into yours, despite the fair amount of distance from each other. He leaned into his mic. “Do you believe that you get respected more or less because of your appearance?”

The question felt like a double-edged sword. The last thing the general public wanted to hear was that you thought you were beautiful. It weirded people out to acknowledge your beauty, according to your coach.

“While I do think that appearance does affect the way that strangers treat others, it’s in your personality and how you treat others that matters. For me, it doesn’t matter what someone looks like for me to respect them. People that base how they treat others based on looks aren’t worth your time.” You had only hoped that the foundation you had on was holding back the sweat threatening to fall down your forehead. Robert Fischer had been asking the most condescending and borderline rude questions to everyone. It was bound to happen to you, too.

“Mm. Thank you.” He didn’t look amused.

Music began to play and the audience cheered. You smiled again at the judges' table before leaving the stage in the T walk. Once you were off stage and out of sight of both the judges and the audience, you let out a sigh and released the way that you were sucking in your stomach. You had been doing pageants like this ever since you were a little girl and now, your dream of being in this competition was real. Why did it feel so humiliating?

There was only one final day. It was the evening gown portion and the announcement of Miss America for the year. After that, you could finally relax. That is, unless you won and would immediately have to start your training for Miss Universe. Maybe you didn’t want to relax, after all.

By the time the sun fell, most of the contestants were either spending their last night together in their hotel rooms and doing spa nights while the rest decided to go out to the clubs. You were advised not to befriend any of them by your coach to avoid feeling guilty when you eventually won and they lost. Now, you were alone at a nearby bar nursing a beer and listening to the band playing. It was a cover band of The Killers. Mr. Brightside was the current song getting butchered by the young singer.

It was freeing to be out of dresses and swimsuits and finally not showing off your body. You wore loose jeans and a top with a jacket over it. If they didn’t know you, nobody would even know that you were who you were.

You felt someone sit next to you. In a bar of several open seats, of course, they chose the one basically on top of you. They waved the bartender down and ordered a whiskey. The voice was familiar, one that was ringing in your head all day. You faced him to confirm your suspicions. Robert fucking Fischer.

The drink in your hand was what you tried to focus on. “Not very talkative off stage, huh?” It would be rude to ignore him, you knew that.

You shrugged. “My social battery is drained.” While it was partially the truth, he was the last person you wanted to be speaking to.

“You know,” he swirled the whiskey in his glass, “it’s between you and Miss California.” He took a generous sip of his drink as he let the information sink in.

Excitement and guilt mixed in your stomach. “You shouldn’t say that. We shouldn’t even be speaking, Mr. Fischer.” You finished your drink and stood from the barstool. His hand wrapped around your wrist and stopped you from taking a step away.

“You wanna win, don’t you?” You sat back down, mostly involuntarily, and met his eyes with your own again. They were almost hypnotizing. “I can make that happen.”

“What do you mean?” Questions ran through your head. Was he asking for a bribe? Maybe he had some sort of bet running on you winning.

He smirked at the sight of your intrigue. “This whole competition’s about who’s the best woman, right? They’re still forgetting about the most important thing that makes a woman.” He leaned in closer to you, his hot breath against your skin. “How well they can fuck.”

You waited a moment to make sure that he was being serious, hoping that he wasn’t. The lustful look in his eyes didn’t tell you that he was joking at all. “You’re disgusting.”

“Even if I am, I’m the deciding factor on whether you go down in history as a winner or as nobody at all.” He finished his drink and stood up, fixing his tie. “Johnson likes you. Miss 2003 wants California. It’s all up to me.”

If he was lying, rejecting him wouldn’t mean much in the long run. If he wasn’t, you probably would’ve spent the rest of your life regretting taking him to bed. “Someone will see us going to the hotel together.”

He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed you one of his room keys. “Room 704. Wait ten minutes and then come up.” Without saying another word, he dropped some cash on the bar for his drink and left.

The room key felt heavy in your hand. Was winning worth anything if it wasn’t honest? He better have a decent-sized dick if you were really going to do this.

You felt a hand tap your shoulder. “Y/n L/n? Oh my god, I’m such a big fan! I’ve been watching the whole pageant with my daughter, she loves you!” A woman shook your hand, feeling a bit too formal. The guilt grew in your stomach. How could you be a role model for little girls like this? “Can I have a picture?”

Despite your appearance, you nodded. The room key burned a hole in your pocket as you fixed your hair and took a picture with the woman. Hopefully, the dim light of the bar made you look better than you felt.

It had already been fifteen minutes since Robert had left. You finally paid for your drink and headed for the hotel. With each step, your anxiety grew. The elevator rose to the seventh floor and you stopped in front of 704. Instead of knocking, you pulled the room key out and inserted it into the door. The light flashed green and you pushed it open.

Robert was sitting at the edge of the bed without his clothes, stroking himself and staring at the door until you finally walked in. “You’re late.” You kept your eyes around his, trying to prevent yourself from looking any lower.

“I got caught up with something.” You took your jacket off and laid it on the office chair. Given his state of undress, you weren’t entirely sure whether or not you should strip now or wait for his instruction. He seemed like the type who was obsessed with control, especially in the bedroom. The last thing you needed was for him to get angry with you over something so trivial and ruin your chances.

He rolled his eyes. “Sounds like you don’t really want this, don’t you? To win?”

Frantically, you shook your head. “I want it.”

He pointed to the floor right in front of him and spread his knees further apart. You didn’t respond, knowing it was most likely for nothing, and knelt in front of him. For the way that he acted, you would assume it was because he was overcompensating. God, you were wrong.

His free hand grabbed hold of your hair and pushed your head closer to his aching cock. He leaned back. “You’re not gonna win just by looking at it.” You held back from commenting on his attitude and kissed the blushing red tip, the same color as his lips.

You flattened your tongue against the underside of his head, allowing his precum and your saliva to mix. After hearing the slightest moan of pleasure from him, which was an exhale at best, you took a few inches of him into your mouth. His hand in your hair guided you back and forth along his length.

“That’s all you’re gonna take? I think you could do much better than that.” He taunted, not pushing you down and wanting you to do it voluntarily. “Or, I could just call down Miss California. She’d love to deepthroat me.”

You tried to relax your throat and took him deeper. He was big, much bigger than what you were used to, but you could take him. You inched deeper until your nose pressed against his lower stomach and your breathing was constricted. “Atta girl.” He smelled like the generic body soap the hotel offered with a mix of his cologne. If you could focus on breathing through your nose and sucking him off the best you could, this would be over quickly.

Hearing his heavy breathing and attempts to hide his whimpers sent shockwaves down your spine. You felt the warmth growing in between your legs the more you pleasured him. “I’m about to cum. You’ll swallow, right?”

While you couldn’t answer, you made a sound of agreement that vibrated down your throat. You’d need to do some vocal treatment and tea tonight so you still could speak tomorrow. “Fuck.” He gripped your hair tighter as he came, ropes of cum shooting down your throat.

He finally pulled out once he had fully finished. You wiped a trail of cum and spit from your lips and looked up to him. “Not bad. Though, I’ve had much better. I guess I overestimated you. Take off the rest of your clothes.”

“What does that mean?” You cocked a brow. It felt even more humiliating considering your position in front of him and the way that you could still taste the remnants of his semen coating your throat.

“Oh, come on. You get a high-paying job straight out of college at a Big 4? You’re either a genius, which I doubt considering half of the answers you’ve given so far, or you’ve slept your way into the job. Now, strip for me.” He spoke matter-of-factly. It was like he’d already convinced himself of his theories, even though they were far from the truth. Couldn’t imagine that a woman like you could make her way up the corporate ladder without the help of rich and successful parents.

There was no use in arguing, you told yourself and took your clothes off until you were standing naked in front of him. “How exactly is the winner chosen? Aren’t there scoresheets? You’re making it sound like it’s entirely based on personal preference.”

He laughed, this time, a genuine one. “Scoresheets are arbitrary. We make those up to align with who we like the best.” He gestured to the bed behind him with his head as he stood. You followed his order and sat on the edge where he had previously been. His tongue flicked around his lips as he got a good look at you, sitting there so obediently for him. “Didn’t even touch you yet and you’re already dripping.”

You gave him your best version of doe eyes that you could, following the instruction of your coach. She always said that facial expressions were the most important aspect of impressing someone. If you could read the person and make yourself into their ideal partner, they’d be putty in your hands. Robert seems to like to be in charge and superior, but there was an underlying hint of something you couldn’t put your finger on. Maybe it was the desire to be nurtured?

“Can’t imagine you’ll feel that good. Not as tight as you used to be, hm?” He took hold of your knees and separated them enough for his hips to fit. He was slowly getting harder again and you felt his tip nudge your clit before gathering your arousal on himself. “How do you think we can remedy that?”

He jerked himself off using your slick, then moved the tip to settle against your ass. You immediately stiffened against him and put your hands against his chest. “No. I don’t do that.”

He groaned and took a step away from you. “Little Miss Georgia Peach is too good to take it up the ass? I’m trying to help you win, but I guess you don’t care.” He picked up your discarded clothes and tossed them to you.

Your eyes followed him as he walked to the hotel phone and began to dial a number. He checked his watch. The person he was dialing answered. “Yeah, hi. Annie? I need you to do something for me. If you could-” You almost leaped towards the phone and pressed the button, ending the call. Annie was Miss California, he didn’t even need to continue the call for you to understand what he was doing.

“I’ll let you!” You were nearly out of breath, your voice hoarse.

He had to hide his smile from his plan working. “No, sweetheart. You have to ask me for it. Specifically.”

“I want you to fuck my ass, Robert.” You gulped. If this wasn’t your dream, you wouldn’t be begging him like this.

“Turn around.” Once you turned, his hands were on your waist and his tip rested against your ass. He slipped two fingers into your pussy, gathering arousal, and then re-lubed his cock. You’d done this before, but it wasn’t something you necessarily enjoyed. The pain outweighed the pleasure. You just needed to breathe through it.

Your hands gripped the sheets below once his head was inside your tight hole. He slowly pushed further inside until he bottomed out. The white, hot pain was rippling through your body. You focused on inhaling and exhaling and continuing to hold tightly to the bedsheets.

He offered you some mercy, moving only after about ten seconds of being inside. After that, he fucked you as he pleased, entirely ignoring how you might’ve been feeling. You were gonna be sore tomorrow. “Fuck, this is how Miss America should feel.”

He pushed your face into the bed so that he could get a better angle and began to fuck into you roughly, rutting into you like he’d die if he didn’t cum within the next few minutes.

Confusion surrounded you when he pulled out and you felt a sudden emptiness. Not that you were complaining. He flipped you to your back and you could barely process what he was doing before his hot cum was spurting onto your breasts and stomach.

He pushed his hair back and caught his breath, taking a step away from you. “Get dressed and leave. I’ve got some calls to make.”

You couldn’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach at his confirmation of your win. Maybe it was the orgasm that had never reached climax. Either way, you couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

Pins pricked against your soft skin as they held parts of your evening gown together. Lights glare on you and your competitors on the stage. It took a lot of your might to not show the extreme soreness that you felt between your legs. You knew that if you were to touch your breasts or tighten the dress a bit more, you’d only be pushing further against the bruises Robert had given you.

The man in question sat in his chair with the other two judges, arms crossed as usual. He barely gave you a passing glance, instead, he focused on discussing things with the judges or looking at the other contestants. Maybe it was just a ploy to not make it seem like he already knew who was going to win. Certainly, that was it.

The announcer walked on the stage from the judge’s panel with an envelope in his hand. That envelope had your name on it, you knew. He was an irrelevant game show host that you remembered watching when you were home sick from school as a child. Whatever paid the bills.

You kept your award-winning smile on while the announcer took his microphone and began to speak about how the competition was the opposite of what most people thought when it came to beauty pageants. Mostly pandering and filibustering so that the program would be able to run another round of advertisements when they played it on cable.

“Well, I have in my hand the name of Miss America of this year. Without further ado, why don’t I open it and save these women some anxiety?” He laughed at his own joke while the audience cheered.

Miss California stood next to you on your left and Miss Connecticut on your right. As per tradition, you held hands with them while the announcer opened the envelope of the winner. You almost felt bad for them, knowing that they were going to lose.

The envelope was open. The announcer leaned into the microphone. “And the new Miss America is…Miss California!”

It was as if you were seeing things in black and white. Confetti fell from the ceiling and Miss California dropped your hand to receive her flowers and sash. You knew that crying would make you look bad, like a sore loser, but that’s the only thing that you felt like doing. You forced a smile and clapped for her.

Robert clapped for the winner, though his cold stare was on you. What you’d never forget was the smile plastered on his face.

He had won.

#inception #robert fischer x reader #cillian murphy x reader #robert fischer #odiesdayoff #cillian murphy

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doberbutts · 2 months

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Vent/rant but I hate it when people go "well transandrophobia is just a word for misogyny that trans men experience (because trans men are female so it's misogyny!1!1!), it doesn't mean that androphobia exists"

Because, it does, men are also oppressed under the patriarchy and that carries over to trans men as well, and the intersection of this is trans men not being seen as "real men" (transphobia), men being seen as inherently bad/predatory (androphobia)

Honestly I think a significant amount of the problem is that trans men begin to transition having internalized the concept of men being treated better and having privilege, experience what it's like to be treated as a man, and go "hey uh. This also sucks." Especially trans men who are under multiple marginalizations- race, ability status, religion...

I've said it before many times but it bears repeating: almost all of the trans guys I know will acknowledge they have "listened to more at work" privilege and "not catcalled" privilege. But they also begin being affected by things that didn't affect them as much when they were read as women, and that makes it so the grass doesn't feel many shades greener on the other side.

I noticed a distinct change in the way coworkers and strangers and especially police began treating me as I pass more and more frequently with less and less effort. I'm passing like 90% of the time at this point and I can tell you it is an incredibly noticeable difference. I'm not saying it was safe to exist as a black GNC woman. I *am* saying that existing as a black man is also pretty unsafe.

#it doesn't help that I talk about this with black friends and family and they know exactly what I'm talking about #but I say it on tumblr and 99% of the negative responses come from nonblack and normally white people #inch resting indeed...

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kcrabb88 · 4 months

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ok I'll bite. what are your thoughts on stewjoni biology?

Been waiting for a time when my frustration at the use of this trope (more than the existence of the trope) built up enough to be brave enough to answer. The usual disclaimer applies: people can write what they want. I'm not an anti. This is not a moral debate. People can have whatever kinks they want in fic. It's just my observations on how I'm seeing queer characters written in Star Wars fandom and how gender roles is being put into things based on what parts people have. Which, I thought we were not doing that anymore?

For the uninitiated, Stewjoni biology is a fanon concept where Obi-Wan is dual sex (he has a penis and a vagina and associated internal workings). The concept on it's own is fine. It's Star Wars! There is probably all kinds of biology and coming up with something for a planet with like, zero lore cause it was made up on the fly by George Lucas is creative! However. It's the execution and sameness of this concept that has started to uh, get under my skin.

So, I have a lot of thoughts on this, and they are two-fold and related. I think, likely without meaning to do so consciously, people are starting to assign personality traits to certain genitalia, and, in larger ways (due to other trends in Star Wars fandom) are re-inventing gender roles under the guise of queerness (which is, you know, kind of the opposite of the point of queerness!) Most fics I see with this concept (I said most, not all) simply ... have it there. There's not really an exploration of it so much from an intersex and/or trans point of view. How does this impact Obi-Wan's love life? Does it at all? How does it impact his life generally? What are his thoughts on his gender? Are dual sex people discriminated against in any way? I'm sure that is in some fics! But a lot of the time it pretty much goes down to "oh look he has a cunt!" Which I mean, that's not a mortal sin! I just think there could be things that are explored with it that aren't being explored. It's largely there to simply be another place for Obi-Wan to be penetrated.

The second, and likely more controversial part of my thought process, is that I find it. Kind of odd that it's Obi-Wan in particular this has been assigned to. Obi-Wan has what society might consider as more "feminine" traits. He's kind and he's patient and he prefers diplomacy over fighting. Now, this is not inherent to women, but society (and socialization) assigns these traits to women. So, I see a fic. It has this dual sex trope. Said dual sex trope LARGELY focuses on the fact that Obi-Wan, has a vagina. These fics are usually smut fics. Obi-Wan is usually a submissive in them (the conflation of "prefers to bottom" with submissive is a whole other rant and so is my Obi-Wan is sexually versatile agenda). Usually the other characters are, most of the time, a bit Super Masculine. The Super Masculine Man has a penis. The Less Masculine Man, Obi-Wan has a penis too but that's in the background. The focus is on the vagina. So it comes across as These Traits Are Assigned to These Genitals. It comes across as gender roles 2.0. The "feminine" one is the one who's submissive and has the genitals that are associated with cis women. He's the one who "takes it" as I've seen it phrased one too many times. Dirty talk in fic is fine! But the constant emphasis on that kind of phrasing in this situation has kind of off-putting implications as far as writing queer men goes, and kind of has some accidental misogyny in it to boot.

I will express again, these are deeply my opinions. No one who does this is bad or wrong and I have fic writers whose work I enjoy that use this trope. I just think that sometimes fandom picks A Thing To Do and then doesn't do it differently from each other, or take a step back and be like, huh, maybe we could examine this. I think it's one of those things that started off interesting and got flat over time. I'd love to see this concept explored! I'd love to see more trans Obi-Wan stuff! I just am not a fan of how this concept has been executed.

#I fear answering this but I'm going to #Asks #KCrabb rambles #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Star Wars tag

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fairytsuk1 · 4 months

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how’d alex react if anyone tried messing with his girl?

dating a protective alex

ok well first off i'm sorry but he really is not letting anyone get close to you like that LMFAO like he genuinely cares for you so much he'd lose his shit if you were actually being accosted by someone annoying as hell

i can already see his face, emotional and screwed up as he assesses the uncomfortableness of the situation, "something up, honey?"

alex normally doesn't even call you 'honey,' but he could already tell the streamer chatting you up was full of nothing but clout-chasing and misogyny. he's used to meeting some of these less-than-savory people, but he never really has to do anything because you can take care of it yourself and he trusts you!

but this guy, this guy? alex hated the way his fingers just barely skimmed your shoulder. you'd encouraged him to mingle, citing you'd be fine at the bar; but clearly, this guy had no issues steamrolling your polite refusals of his promise of something 'more.'

"oh, hey! quackity! hey man, the qsmp is really something else," the man laughs jovially, nearly knocking you off your stool in his drunken stumble, "how much is it to be on it? i mean, i speak spanish! holaaaa~"

you and alex make brief eye-contact, both of you unimpressed (and alex even more so, who did this guy think he is?)

"yeah," he says plainly, "well it is invite-only, so there's that, haha! anyways, what were you over here talking about?"

the man looks at you and winks, nearly making bile rush out your mouth, "oh, we were just chatting! you know, she speaks spanish? damn, you really are a ten, huh?"

"oh really?" he asks, enlightened, "¿entonces sabes que ella es mi novia, si? ¿ya sabes que todos están mirando tus estupideces?"

you chirp from behind, "he said i'm his girlfriend, and you must know how stupid you look, right?"

the man's jaw drops, and a flash on anger rises in his eyes at the humiliating, "i don't take kindly to people like you--"

"people like me? i think it's got more to do with people like you," you've never heard his voice sound so clear, so pointed, "so why don't you get out of here, yeah?"

alex doesn't have height on his side, but you know the man feels the intimidation run down his spine as alex takes a step forward. the man's lip practically quivers as alex says his words so relaxed yet with an angry bite in them.

"¿necesito decirlo en español? deberías irte."

the man turns to you and you smirk, "you should probably go."

the man leaves hastily, cheeks burning and moves uncoordinated. alex is back to normal, smiling cheekily at you as he smooths a thumb over your knee, "doing okay?"

"yeah, yeah i am."

you recount the story to your friends later, and all they can ask is when you're finally going to be adorned by a silvery diamond ring banded around your finger.

"well, obviously i wanna marry him!"

alex hears your giggles walking by, noting your words to himself.

#quackity imagine #quackity scenario #quackity x reader #quackity x y/n #quackity x you

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atthebell-moved · 7 months

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People calling q!Bagi, played by a BISEXUAL WOMAN, a lesbian is annoying me so much. Like I hope this doesn't come off wrong because I don't hate lesbians or headcanoning characters as lesbians but the irl creator is bi?? Let's not erase that she is bi???? Idk it just leaves a bad taste in my mouth when people treat bi as discount lesbian or discount straight and like women who express attraction towards any ONE gender means they are ONLY attracted to that gender

yeah no it annoys me whenever people do this with bi characters/characters portrayed by bi ccs like. it's very obvious people don't care about bisexuals and also its usually in service of avoiding shipping women and men together, so typical fandom misogyny. and bagi can be a bisexual woman and still date women, first of all, as is the case for all bisexuals, and secondly if she decides to start a relationship with a man on the server it does not make her or him any less queer, nor does it mean she's getting in the middle of m/m ships. bi people exist! we are queer no matter who we're dating! in fact most queer people are bi! (60%!) we are not discount straight nor discount queers, like you said, and portraying a character as attracted to one gender does not preclude them being attracted to other genders.

it's so frustrating, and its difficult because i don't want to tell anyone off for headcanons, but people so often treat their headcanons like they're facts and also i prefer my headcanons actually have some basis in canon and that they don't override a real creator's marginalized identity. bi women especially get so little rep in mcrp that i really wish people would knock it off with this stuff

anyway bi ppl i love you and i love bi bagi everyone should love bi bagi

#asks #anons #discourse #time to make a new pfp actually brb

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ineffectualdemon · 4 months

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I get so angry about the reframing of late early 2000s and 2010s feminism as fake or lesser because it leaned into girl power and women embracing their sexuality and dressing "for themselves" not for men even if matched stereotypes of feminine fashion

Because it often comes with the insinuation or outright saying that these women were conned by men who tricked them into thinking things they were being subversive when they were in actuality "giving in to the patriarchy"

Which is completely revisionist because misogynistic men fucking hated it

There was such an emphasis on negging by pick up artists and proto incels at the time because the patriarchy doesn't want women who are confident in their bodies and sexuality

Yes they want women to be sexually available but on their terms

A woman who dresses for herself, even if it's what's considered conventionally attractive, does not care if a man compliments her or says he approves OR disapproves

A woman who is comfortable and confident in herself and her sexuality and knows what she wants when it comes to sex is in a position to reject men easily

That wasn't useless feminism

It was feminism that said "I can like these typically girly things and still be strong and confident and in control of myself. I shouldn't be looked down on even if I like things that are stereotypical to my gender"

And to be honest as someone who is genderqueer and leans towards more masculine presentation that helped me a lot with unpacking my internalised misogyny

And I realised as I realised my gender and what I felt comfortable with I didn't have to wholesale reject feminity to embrace masculinity

And you know what was the clincher for me?

I shit you not it was Rarity from MLP:FIM

(my kid was super into it)

She used fashion as an art form, was very stereotypically feminine but kind and strong and not in spite of her interests and personality but because of them

Yes the fashion industry and makeup industry are fucking corrupt and shitty as are most industries but that doesn't mean fashion or makeup as concepts are evil or inherently antifeminist and if your feminism doesn't include people who are into things that are stereotypically feminine then you're alienating people

Idk. For something that helped me be less judgemental of women as a whole and unpack internalised misogny to be treated as "useless feminism" pisses me off

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lord-luminous · 22 days

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Okay so I don't go here, but 911 girlies I need you to hear me out because I'm about to mean and your cognitive dissonance might make you plug your ears.

And Buddie stans, I'm going to hold your hand for this one, but how yall treat Marisol is not cute. You need to seriously stop saying shit like she's boring or a cardboard cut out. Casual misogyny is not something you should be committing to.

I don't watch this show, so I couldn't tell you if Marisol is actually has a character, but if she is a flat character, that's not something you should make fun of. You should be upset that the people who write this show are casually being misogynistic by writing women who are with a main character as just a love interest and have nothing else beyond that. It should bother you that they decided a main character needs a relationship and not extrapolate anything interesting about said love interest's life.

And I get it, it's annoying that the writers are straight blocking your gay ship. I get it. Trust me. I know how that feels. However in the same vein that Destiel fans do not get to treat Lisa like garbage, Buddie fans should not casually disrespect any girlfriend of Eddie/Buck's.

I saw your posts about respecting Buck exploring himself with Tommy and respecting their relationship - a thing I agree this. I saw how you all loved that they gave Tommy a personality and made a great character out of him. Where is this energy for Marisol? Tommy has been in this show for less time (correct me if I'm wrong), but he got the dignity of having a character and personality, and Marisol didn't? That doesn't upset some of you?

I understand that some characters exist to push certain stories or characters forward. That's pretty normal. Some characters are not meant to be main characters. There's probably no doubt among the fanbase that Eddie and Marisol's relationship won't last. Same with Buck and Tommy. But could you atleast be respectful? Could you not contribute to random misogyny?

Again, I dont even watch this show, i just came here to like your posts and be happy for your Bi Buck win. But it annoys me how much more they've done for Tommy than they did Marisol. Like Marisol doesn't even have a last name. Not even the bare minimum. (I googled, and didn't find it, correct me if I'm wrong)

Anyways... Writers of 911 ABC, stop treating Marisol like shit, please and thank you.

EDIT: If your criticism of Marisol has something to do with the actress playing her being a bigot, then this post is not really about you. It's not great when the person playing a character is an asshole. I can understand apphrension for that then.

#911 #911 abc #911 spoilers #911 season 7 #eddie diaz #evan buckley #evan buck buckley #tommy kinard #911 marisol #buddie #bucktommy #tuck #maybe its wrong of me to go to someone elses house to complain #but i keep seeing the hate women for straight blocking your gay ship and i hate that energy #911 fandom crit

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 1 year

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𝐌𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - Ettore

ah...um...i have no excuse for this one, just my mental illness. seriously wanted to name this Dark Matter but I already have a fic named that😭 Happy Valentine's Day💕. Please, please mind the warnings.

Summary: Being forced into deep space as part of some twisted experiment, tensions rise with a fellow inmate.

Warnings: DARK (no really, dead dove: do not eat), minor spoilers for High Life, serial killer!reader (also a bit of a psychopath), nihilism, brief mentions of witnessing CSA, graphic descriptions of murder, mentions of The Box™, Ettore being a creep obvi, mild vore if ya squint? (does it count if said voreist doesn't swallow?), sexual violence, Reader and Ettore takes every chance to beat each other up honestly, SMUT (MINORS DNI), switches between con/noncon, hatefucking (they will try to kill each other), choking (but like, actually almost to death), slapping, punching, degradation, some misogyny, blood kink, pain kink

word count | 5.1k🤙🏻

You were a dangerous killer, but you knew you didn’t belong here.

You never could’ve fathomed how brutally cold and dark being in deep space truly was. Even inside the ship, no one could ever really escape the constant chill. At first, you thought this was the obvious option, joining this experiment. It was either this, or death row. But this was death row, in its own way. No one believed they’d come out of this mission alive. But you supposed dying in a black hole was more interesting than being pumped full of poison. Less boring. Now, you would’ve preferred death row on Earth. At least that would guarantee you a painless death. Welp, too late now.

At least you weren’t completely alone, if you prefer being in the company of other dangerous and evil people rather than isolation. You’d rather have to constantly look over your shoulder than go mad with loneliness. The crew was an eccentric bunch, as you could imagine. All of them are some type of murderer, like you. Some of them had good reasons, but most of them didn’t. What was more distressing was the fact that the doctor, Dibs, frightened you the most out of them all, but it was mostly due to the fact that the witch was on a personal mission to get one of the females pregnant even though the fetus would die from radiation. Even though she was here because she killed her own children. She was the biggest hypocrite of them all, though you had no room to talk, having a bit of a god complex made you one just as much as she was.

You knew you were different from other people, even at an early age. You didn’t see the world like others did, you never could find the beauty in anything. The first blossoms of spring, the sun rising over the horizon, the miracle of life, the kindness of strangers; you didn’t see any of it. All you could focus on was the evils in the world and you found that the world was overrun with it. Children starving, needless wars, homelessness, animals being tortured and killed for entertainment; it was all there was, it was wrong. It was all wrong.

Your parents had taken you to therapy multiple times, but nothing ever seemed to work. You were diagnosed as depressed and they hopped you up on all kinds of medication, but you weren’t depressed, not really. Just because you saw the world for how it really was didn’t automatically mean you were depressed, you just refused to be ignorant of it. You didn’t see the point of being a cooperative member of society when it wouldn’t take care of you. It had nothing to offer you, so you just refused to play along. The first anyone noticed something was truly wrong was the first day of kindergarten. You had beaten a boy near half to death because you saw him pushing another kid around. They weren’t fighting back, so you did it for them. Your parents had to pay the brat’s hospital bills. You didn’t understand why the doctors helped save the life of a kid who’d grow up to be an even bigger bully. A waste of oxygen, you thought. You barely paid attention to the severe scolding your parents gave you about how “violence was never the answer.” Bullshit, you knew that, even your parents knew that, they just wanted to follow the so-called moral rules to be accepted. But that wasn’t you, you didn’t need social acceptance. Not by anyone, not even your own family. But there wasn’t much you could do about it at the time.

You grew into your teenage years without so much of a punch to anyone, not even to defend yourself. You were beaten up by so many of your fellow students, you could’ve gotten a punch card for every time you had to be sent to the nurse’s office. You just bottled up everything.

The first time you ever felt a semblance of love was when your little sister was born. As soon as your mother placed her in your arms at the hospital, you knew you had to protect her. You never wanted her to be like you, you didn’t want her to end up like you, ostracized and bullied. You’d lay down your life and kill for her if need be. You made that promise to yourself. So, when you walked in on your father with his hand down her pants, you had no idea how to react. Fathers weren’t supposed to touch their children that way. He had all but flung her off his lap once he saw you, claiming that they were just playing a game. But you weren’t a naive child anymore, you knew what he was doing.

Before you could think on it any further, you ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife, but your father was close behind to stop you. He had wrestled you to the ground, trying to take the knife away, but you blindly thrusted the blade upwards, hearing a sickening squelch before something wet hitting your face. The world seemed to go dark for a brief moment, before coming back into view and seeing your father’s horrified face. You followed your arm to the blade in your hand, your heart leaping out of your chest. You had aimed for your father above you, but your sister must’ve followed you and tried to stop the fight. Tears filled your eyes as you saw your knife stuck in your little sister’s chin, her tiny body going limp and crumbling to the floor, your arm frozen in place allowing the blade to come free as she fell.

Your father screamed and screamed at you as he wailed with his baby girl in his arms, trying to stop the blood copiously flowing from her neck and making a red sticky puddle on the tiles. But it was too late, the life had already drained from her once bright innocent eyes. You didn’t mean to…it was an accident…but you knew your father would spin the story in his favor. So, you did what you only thought you could.

You buried your blood coated knife into your father’s back, hearing him exhale a choked breath in shock. The blade was long, so the one hit wasn’t enough. So you did it again. And again. And Again. And again. Again until he fell to the floor, unable to yell or cry as you kept stabbing. You couldn’t count how many times you dug the blade into his chest, enough until you couldn’t tell what was his shirt or his skin. You were drenched at this point. You knew you had to leave. You threw up, thick tears and painful sobs escaping your throat as you looked upon your mistakes.

You showered, rubbing your skin raw and hastily packing a bag and running from your childhood home. You didn’t want to think about the look on your mother’s face when she ultimately got home from work, calling out for her husband and two precious children whom she loved dearly. She wouldn’t know that he was a predator or that he preyed on his own daughter. She wouldn’t know why she walked onto a bloodbath in the kitchen, you nowhere to be found. She wouldn’t believe the police when they say you should be considered a suspect. You were odd and violent when you were little, yes, but you could never kill your own family. She saw your face of awe when you looked down at your newborn sister in your arms. She’d never believe you to be the culprit, until the DNA came back matching yours. You weren’t her daughter anymore. She wasn’t a wife or a mother anymore. She was nothing, much like you.

You didn’t bother to control yourself anymore. You had nothing to live for. You were nothing. You weren’t a protector, now that you had nobody to protect. But you soon realized that wasn’t necessarily true. There were other kids in similar situations, you could try to protect them. Like a light bulb when off in your head, you suddenly had a purpose once again. Like your father, you’d find and punish those who’d hurt their children. And that’s exactly what you did, until you got caught of course. But you had a good run, ridding the world of some of the filth it had to offer. You were bloodthirst, you craved to see the looks of horror on these men’s faces as they knew they would be punished for their misdeeds. If you had time, you’d torture them. But you rarely had that luxury of taking your time, but you still felt better knowing one less evil person was in the world. It was ironic that you were now on a crew full of evil people.

Monte didn’t seem all that bad, a bit temperamental. He didn’t hesitate to knock your lights out if you pissed him off, you learned that firsthand. Well, most of the inmates did that. Ettore though, was one you had trouble figuring out. He was quiet, observant, not particularly violent though like the other inmates. He was a pervert though, hypersexual. It definitely put off all of you. He used the Box every day, but that wasn’t unusual. You were instructed to never talk about why you were here, but gossip was like breathing, you couldn’t go without it. You learned he killed someone in a particularly violent way when he was a teenager, much like you. He was a minor but was charged as an adult, got the same ultimatum like the rest of you; death row or deep space.

You’d honestly thought he’d try to talk to you, given that you both were around the same age and the “babies” of the crew, but he never did. But maybe that was for the better, attracting the attention of another inmate didn’t seem like the best move. For the most part, you just kept to yourself, trying not to bother anyone. But the witch doctor seemed to have it out for you, she hated you, but you knew that was because you couldn’t participate in her own experiments. You knew you never wanted to have kids, so you gave yourself an injury that made it so that you were barren. You almost died then, but you figured it was worth it since you didn’t have to be seen as just a walking womb to be played with.

Over time, you got yourself into a bit of a messy schedule. Not having a schedule was just something else that would make you go crazy. There wasn’t much to do in this space prison, but there was a rec room with games and books. You had exhausted all those resources pretty quickly. A rubik’s cube you were fond of was what you chose to be part of your schedule. Every day cycle, you’d try to solve that cube before going to sleep. It was one of the only things that helped you relax, besides the Box. But similarly to Monte, you didn’t really indulge all that often. The Box, even when you needed it, almost always left you numb. You weren’t one for human touch, but you weren’t immune to craving that intimacy. So the rubik's cube it was. You hogged it constantly, but that only got you a broken nose from Boyse due to it being one of her favorites too. But it didn’t matter. You claimed it for yourself, and nobody else cared enough to fight you on it.

Months into the mission, you started to notice Ettore around you more often. Most of the time, he’d just…stare at you. Openly. You’d never gotten attention from him before, so this sudden display startled you, but not enough to do something about it. It was only until he started to purposely bump into you in the halls did you start to worry. He was already a creep, but he only got creepier as he started to catch your gaze just to smile at you. Smiling didn’t suit his character, no matter how pretty it was. His lips were one of the first things you noticed when you met him, how soft and plump they looked. But a smile on them just looked out of place for the likes of a murderer. You certainly never smiled, you never had anything to smile about. You knew you’d get some odd looks if you were to suddenly flash your teeth.

You were just so on edge one day, the rubik’s cube wasn’t helping, so you went down to the Box. It was just a quick and easy session, just to relieve some tension. And it worked, until you ran into Ettore as you came out of the machine. You watched his already dark eyes darken even more as he saw the state of you. Sweaty, breathless, disarray. He looked like a wolf ready to pounce on you, but it was only the rules that held him back. No inmate was allowed to have sex with each other, hence the reason for the Box.

Ettore hummed as he placed a stray piece of hair behind your ear, letting his touch linger until you pushed him away roughly, but it only made him smirk and push you up against the cold wall of the Box. You glared as you felt his hard on pressing against your thigh, his hands keeping you firmly in place. “I bet your pussy would feel so good around my cock.” He almost moaned at the thought, biting his bottom lip. “If it weren’t for that cockblocking witch, I’d have you on every surface of this fuckin’ ship.”

You hated how your recently stimulated clit throbbed at his words, your body betraying you for the most primitive urges. Much like how good it felt to take a life, you knew it would feel good to fuck your fellow inmate. You wanted to tell yourself that he was a perverted murderer, you should not want to fuck him. But you were no better than him, no better than anyone here. But you pushed him off anyway, punching him in the gut and casually walking back to the ladder. “Enjoy the Box.” You spoke before climbing up, leaving the young man aching and angry.

You tried avoiding Ettore after that encounter, but of course that’s hard to do when you’re on a small ship with nowhere else to go. He didn’t hide the glares directed at you and he always seemed like he was about to do something, but never did. He was unpredictable, and you hated that. Everything about this mission was unpredictable, but you did have some control over what happened to you, Ettore was just another variable that you couldn’t control. You wanted him dead, but you didn’t know how you could get your way without ending up dead yourself.

Wandering the halls with nothing to do, you found yourself on the bridge looking up at the stars. The view always freaked you out, the sight of stars moving backwards even though the ship was moving forwards. It made you nauseous and a panic attack not too far behind. But you kept looking up through the large windows anyway. At least it made you feel something. Feelings tended to be sparse in deep space. You often wondered what it would be like to be stretched and compressed by a black hole. How badly would it hurt? Would you feel anything at all? Would it last for a second or an eternity? No one knows, and no one who finds out would be able to tell since they’d be reduced to atoms. Black holes are probably where Hell is located, you figured, if the theory that you’d be in unimaginable pain for all eternity is correct. You wanted to stop thinking about it, but you couldn’t. Not until you felt a warm presence come up behind you.

You didn’t have to guess who it was, by the stiff length that was pressing against your ass, you could already tell it was Ettore. The young blonde couldn’t take a hint, could he? You didn’t move away, for some reason that was unknown to you. Even as you felt his hands traveled around your waist, holding onto your hips with a bruising grip, you didn’t push him away. He took deep inhales of the scent of your hair, his hands traveling up to grope at your breasts as you continued watching the stars. You started to think about your sister, how she might react to the stars. You remembered the first time you pointed out a constellation you knew, teaching her about various different ones, knowing she was too young to remember. But it was one of your only fond memories. You held onto it, remembering her toothless grin as she got excited about learning something new.

You gasped as Ettore’s hand brushed against your clothed core, cupping it roughly until you winced. “Why waste time looking at these stars when I can make you see much prettier ones, hm?” He hummed in your ear, licking up the side of your neck, unwanted goosebumps rising all over your body.

“No.” You scoffed, pushing him off you, but he stopped you from walking away by grabbing your wrist.

“You want to.” He smirked smugly.

“No, I really don’t.” You tried pulling away, but his grip only tightened.

“Liar.”

“Fuck off!” You yelled, wringing your arm back and swiftly connecting your balled up fist to his nose. You grinned when he stumbled back, holding his hand to his face but seeing his blood flow through his fingers. He looked back up at you with a glare before leaping at you, tackling you to the floor, one hand around your throat and the other wailing on your face with his fist. Your ears rung as his fist landed right in front on your ear and feeling your nose and mouth fill with blood as he punched you. You spit your blood back in his face when you sensed a pause in his beating, leaning your head down as much as possible to bite his forearm of the hand that was grabbing your throat. You bit hard and didn’t let go until he recoiled with a shout, cradling his arm that now had a bloody teeth indent and a small chunk of flesh missing. You could still see the outline of his cock stressing against his orange jumpsuit. You could’ve laughed, the bastard was still turned on.

“Cunt!” He growled, but all you did was spit out the skin you took from his arm. “You can’t deny me forever.”

You raised your brows unimpressively, standing up while wiping the blood off your face with your sleeve. “Watch me.”

You stormed up with an aching face yet again, but you didn’t bother to visit Dibs, you didn’t feel like being scolded for defending yourself. But you ended up getting yelled at anyway for biting Ettore the way you did, your dose of medicine only being increased as a punishment. Seeing the bloody bandage around his arm almost made it worth it though.

The next few day cycles were a blur, the drugs making you sluggish and tired all the time. You didn’t even try to hide your disdain for Ettore every time you had to be around him and it made everyone feel tense, like they were waiting for a bomb to explode. You knew you couldn’t avoid him forever, but you sure did try. It was only a week later until that bomb finally exploded.

You had gone to the rec room before bed like you’d always done to try and solve that damned rubik's cube. You were so close, almost having solved all sides. But looking around the room, you couldn’t find it. You felt a panic attack start to bubble up in your chest, frantically searching everywhere around the room until you heard someone clear their throat.

“Lookin’ for something?” You frowned as Ettore came into view, him casually leaning against the doorframe, holding the small colorful box in his hand.

“Give it back.” You growled, your skin flushing with anger.

He only smirked, which made you ball your fists and stomp towards him. “No, I don’t think I will.” He chuckled when you tried to grab it from his hands, but he was taller than you and held it up where you couldn’t reach. You tried to repress a shiver when he ran one of his hands up your side where your shirt had ridden up, but you instantly pushed him away.

“Dick!” You seethed, the urge to punch his stupid face getting stronger and stronger.

He smiled softly. “I know. But if you give me what I want, I’ll give this back.” He juggled the cube back and forth between his hands, giving you an expectant look.

You stood as close as possible to him without touching, getting right in his face, not missing the way his eyes trailed down to your lips. “You can go fuck yourself.”

Ettore surged forward, roughly pressing his lips against yours with a growl, the sound going straight to your core; but you wouldn’t tolerate his behavior. You pulled yourself away and threw your fist against his face, then wound up to hit him again but he caught it this time. He grabbed your wrist tightly and pulled you to his chest, disregarding the rubik’s cube. “I’m getting fuckin’ sick of you hitting me.”

“Then stop acting like someone who deserves to be hit.” He cut you off by slapping you, grabbing onto your neck before kissing you again. You bit his bottom lip, hearing him let out a pained groan as your teeth cut into his sensitive flesh. “Let me go, or I’ll scream.” You demanded.

Ettore grinned evilly. “Go ahead. Scream. It’ll make it better for me.” You struggled as hard as you could against his hold on you, dragging your feet as he pulled you further into the room after shutting the door.

“I’ll fucking gut you, you piece of shit!” You yelled, clawing and kicking until he kneed you in the stomach, knowing the breath out of your lungs until you were wheezing. “Fuck…you…” You coughed, crumpling to the floor.

Ettore kneeled with you, powerless to stop him from removing your shirt, exposing your breasts to the cool air. You winced as he groped them roughly, forcing you on your back with one hand while the other ripped your pants and underwear off. Unwanted tears sprang to your eyes as you fought, just recovered enough from the blow to your stomach to scratch his face, droplets of blood pooling to the surface of his cheek. “Cunt.” He slapped you again, straddling your hips as he removed his own shirt but only unbuttoning his trousers.

“You disgust me.” You spat, glaring up at him.

You let out a yelp as Ettore shoved two of his long fingers inside you with no warning, his smirk making you feel more uncomfortable than the digits stretching your walls. “Really? Why is your pussy so wet then, eh?”

“Knowing that I hurt you gives me more satisfaction than that fuckin’ Box.” You hissed as he pinched your clit with a sadistic chuckle. He forced your legs apart, kneeling in between that as he took his hardened cock out of his pants, lining himself up with your entrance but with a great struggle since you didn’t stop wiggling around. Your head jerked to the side as he punched you a couple times, making you unresisting enough that he could fully sheathe himself inside of you. You let out a cry as he hit the ends of you, your walls clamping down on him, trying to expel the intrusion.

“Fuck!” Ettore groaned. “So much better than that Box. So warm. So tight.” He stuttered, moving his hips back and forth without giving you time to accommodate. The stretch burned and you couldn’t keep in your painful whimpers. Your cries only seemed to spur him on further, thrusting his hips at a faster pace, way too fast so early.

“Stop!” You cried, beating your fists against his chest erratically.

“Nah. You’re gonna take it. You’re gonna take it until I say we’re done.” He laughed, speeding up his thrusts to purposely make it even more painful for you. But instead of it hurting more, it had the opposite effect. His cock started to brush up against that sensitive spot inside you, eliciting a whine from your lips.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ die!” You growled angrily, baring your teeth like a cornered animal.

“Yeah?” He mocked, giving your cheek another slap just for good measure before continuing his brutal pace.

Eventually, your cunt produced so much slick, it was soaking his cock and your inner thighs, his pelvis shimmering in the dull fluorescent lighting of the ship. Lewd noises coming from your intimate union forced heat to spread across your cheeks, the wet suction echoing off the walls with every jolt of Ettore’s hips made an unwanted pang of pleasure shoot through your body, making goosebumps rise along your skin.

You hated that you were feeling pleasure from this. You were so ashamed, but god, it felt so much better than the pain of his cock splitting you open over and over again.

You felt so hot, a thin layer of sweat covering your entire body. Ettore on top of you made it even worse, his sweat coated body pressing up against yours, your breasts being squished under the weight of his chest. You were breathless as his dick kept brushing against your g-spot as he kept moving in and out of you rapidly, feeling your slick dripping off the curve of your ass and pooling onto a puddle on the cold floor. You couldn’t keep your moans in and against your hatred for the man, you allowed your body to relax and indulge in the euphoric sensations. Ettore’s smug smirk made it difficult however.

You looked to your right, seeing the discarded rubik’s cube sitting idly on the floor next to you. You didn’t hesitate to grab onto it tightly, hitting Ettore over the head with it again and again until he was weak enough to push him off of you. But instead of running like you should’ve done, you straddled him, pushing his cock back inside you and riding him, chasing that release that had already begun building in your core.

Ettore groaned with a smirk, looking up at you in a pleasured haze (and possible concussion). “I knew you wanted to fuck me.” You replied by punching him square in the jaw, busting his lip open deep enough that a small trail of blood slid down the side of his face. You shocked him by leaning down and licking the red substance, the metallic bitter taste coating your tongue and making you move your hips faster. His furrowed brows from the pleasure and pain spurred you on further, raking your nails down his chest hard enough until little droplets of blood beaded on his pale skin, his groan filling your ears and making your clit throb.

You placed both your hands around Ettore’s neck as you continued to thrust against him, squeezing harder and harder the closer you got to your climax. You smiled with a loud moan as you heard his choked gasps, his face getting red as he attempted and failed to breathe in the recycled oxygen. The sight of him struggling to breathe edged you closer and closer. But eventually, he started to fight against you, grabbing onto your hands to try and pry you off. You tried to dig your fingers tighter against his skin, determined to make him pass out at least, but he knocked you off him with a single strong punch to your cheek. “You can’t kill me that easily.” Ettore coughed out hoarsely, his near death experience not even being enough to take a break from fucking you. He took a deep breath and resumed plowing into you like you didn’t just almost kill him. “God, you’re so pretty beaten and bloody like this.” He moaned, grabbing onto your neck and squeezing like you had down previously, though not enough that’d you pass out. The lack of oxygen made the pleasure all the more intense, your walls clamping down on his cock as your release was right there. “Such a fuckin’ whore, aren’t you? I bet you’ve wanted this all along. You just needed to be put in your place, right? Don’t worry, I’ll never let you forget where you belong, what you’re good for. You’re just a pretty little toy whose only purpose is to be fucked and filled.”

You moaned as his words finally made that wave of ecstasy wash over you like a tsunami, powerful and unforgiving as it destroyed you, making your mind go blank as the only thing you could feel was that throbbing pleasure that knocked the breath out of you. Ettore groaned as your walls seemed to pull him in deeper, pulsing rhythmically as you rode out your high with shuddering high pitched moans and trembling limbs. It didn’t take long at all for him to reach his climax as well, pumping you full of his cum with a load strained groan, sweat dripping down the side of his face and mixing with his blood as he slumped against you to try and catch his breath.

You came out of your daze enough to feel him against you, hearing and feeling his deep breaths fan against your skin, making you panic and quickly push him off you; there was nothing he could do about it since he was so weak from his orgasm. You sat up with a huff, dressing yourself frantically, refusing to look at Ettore.

“I bet you’ve never come that hard before.” He voiced arrogantly, making you roll your eyes.

“I have.”

“Liar.”

You turned back around to glare at him. “If you try this shit again, I’ll kill you. That’s a promise.”

Ettore, still naked, stood up and pulled you to him by your waist with a smirk. “Forgive me if I doubt that. You sure seemed to enjoy yourself, slut. I wouldn't be surprised if you came crawling back for more soon.”

You scowled, unable to voice any retort like you usually did. You blamed your post orgasm haze. Ettore only hummed, dressing himself and walking past you, bumping your shoulder. You bit your lip hard until you tasted blood, hating yourself and him.

“Well, whenever you feel like you wanna be filled with a real cock again, you know where to find me.”

don't know where this came from honestly😬

#high life #high life 2018 #ettore #ettore smut #ettore x f!reader #ettore x fem!reader #ettore imagine #i don't know how to tag this honestly #dark

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