If ever a man was deserving of a blow job it’s Joel Miller
A/N: joel x f!reader. blow job duh.
He comes home at odd hours and sometimes he doesn’t come home at all. It’s not even your place–it’s his. His shitty room with four walls and a peach couch sprouting stuffing. It’s not a Joel couch. He probably would have had a La-Z-Boy.
You wait. You wait and listen to the radio. Get really well acquainted with the 80’s catalogue. You're his ears when he’s gone. It really isn’t a job, but it’s the small things you can do for him.
***
“Move over,” he mutters in a low voice. It’s the middle of the night, his hands are cold as he pushes you to the edge of the mattress. You’re an inch from rolling off before his strong arms wrap around your waist and haul you back to his chest.
“How was today?”
“Shitty.”
“Did you eat?”
He mumbles something noncommital into your hair and squeezes you, sealing you to his front to leach your warmth.
You trace his scars that drag across his forearm. You prod the dry skin, sunspots and freckles. His mouth is nearly latched to the nape of your neck, his breath puffing evenly. He’s exhausted, which isn’t a surprise. He works day in and day out in addition to all the illegal shit he’s running.
He’s always running.
***
In the morning, you push him onto his back. The sun filters through his windows, spouting through moth-eaten curtains. There are dust motes in the air. The smell of dirt and Joel, which is something like sawdust and gunpowder. Wood finish. The interior of an old car. He grunts when you slide between his legs, docile because he's still threaded with grogginess. He slept in his clothes, and you take care as you gingerly remove them.
He does peek one eye at you to make sure you aren’t some creep who’s slipped into his room to take advantage.
"It's me," you grin, and he blinks before shutting his eyes again. Typical.
You like to study him like this. He’s ruddy and baked from the sun. He’s all scrapes and silver-dark hair and his middle is soft from age. He's unnaturally strong, but some parts of him just don't tighten anymore.
Your gaze flickers from his face to the sparse hairs at his chest and then to his groin. You touch his cock, skating your nails over the shaft. It twitches, hardens almost immediately. You lower your head and take him into your mouth.
Joel stiffens, jerks a little as his knees come up and his hand flies to your scalp. “What’re you–”
You release him for a moment. “Relax, baby. Let me do this for you.”
His eyes are still foggy and unfocused, his brow furrowed so deep it might crack his skin. He’s so serious all the fucking time and you’d wish he’d just unknot himself for once. Loose the strings that bind him so painfully to his past.
You settle onto your knees before you wrap your lips around his cock, swallowing him down until the head hits the back of your throat. You gag, drool bunching around your gums as you clench the inner walls of your mouth.
He does not expect that because he arches.
“Fuck,” he growls. “Jesus–honey–”
You place one hand on his belly and the other at his balls. You tug them, massage their weight just as you draw back enough to dip your tongue into the slit at the tip of his cock. A rumble burns through his chest. The hand on your head tightens.
You hollow your cheeks and utilize a deliberate suction. After fucking Joel for months, you understand the things he likes: roughness, a dash of pain, and the promise of filth. You ease off before you return with a vengeance. You gently scrape your teeth along the frenulum, soothing the graze with a lick. It’s a sloppy blow job for sure, but that’s what he needs. His brown eyes stay locked on your own, his pink tongue sweeps over his lower lip as his hips buck against your chin. A muscle in his jaw spasms and his heels are digging into the mattress. He looks incredibly young as if you're seeing a Joel invigorated with his old youth because you're sucking him off like a porn star.
“You’re fucked,” he groans, head tipping back as he shudders through another round of you playing with his balls while deep throating him. “You’re so so fucked, sweetheart.”
You watch his belly tense, the tendons in his arms and throat snap to attention as you escalate the pressure, gag a little louder, stroke him faster while he stares at you with incredulity.
You? This? Where the fuck did you learn how to suck dick like that?
“Shit,” he hisses as you feel him swell, his cock is pulsing in your mouth and against your palm like a living thing. His fingernails are scratching beneath your hair. He’s breaking….
And then he does.
He goes all stiff and hot before you feel the warm rush of his spend salt your tongue and throat. You nearly choke on it before you pull away, hand subtly pressed to your lips. You try and leave the bed, but he's already sitting up on his knees. His cock red and hanging between his legs, all flushed and wet with your spit.
“You’re dead, girl,” he husks as he beckons you toward him. “Get back on here and turn the fuck around.”
He’s kind of smiling.
Abu al-Faraj al-Isfahani’s Kitab al-Aghani records the lives of a number of individuals including one named Tuways who lived during the last years of Muhammad and the reigns of the early Muslim dynasties. Tuways was mukhannathun: those who were born as men, but who presented as female. They are described by al-Isfahani as wearing bangles, decorating their hands with henna, and wearing feminine clothing. One mukhannathun, Hit, was even in the household of the Prophet Muhammad. Tuways earned a reputation as a musician, performing for clients and even for Muslim rulers. When Yahya ibn al-Hakam was appointed as governor, Tuways joined in the celebration wearing ostentatious garb and cosmetics. When asked by the governor if he were Muslim Tuways affirmed his belief, proclaiming the declaration of faith and saying that he observes the fast of Ramadan and the five daily prayers. In other words, al-Isfahani, who recorded the life of a number of mukhannathun like Tuways, saw no contradiction between his gender expression and his Muslimness. From al-Isfahani we read of al-Dalal, ibn Surayj, and al-Gharid—all mukhannathun—who lived rich lives in early Muslim societies. Notably absent from al-Isfahani’s records is any state-sanctioned persecution. Instead, the mukhannathun are an accepted part of society.
...
Far from isolated cases, across Islamic history—from North Africa to South Asia—we see widespread acceptance of gender nonconforming and queer individuals. - Later in the Ottoman Empire, there were the köçek who were men who wore women’s clothing and performed at festivals. Formally trained in dance and percussion instruments, the köçek were an important part of social functions. A similar practice was found in Egypt. The khawal were male dancers who presented as female, wearing dresses, make up, and henna. Like their Ottoman counterparts, they performed at social events.
- In South Asia, the hijra were and are third-sex individuals. The term is used for intersex people as well as transgender women. Hijra are attested to among the earliest Muslim societies of South Asia where, according to Nalini Iyer, they were often guardians of the household and even held office as advisors.
- In Iraq, the mustarjil are born female, but present as men. In Wilfred Thesiger’s The Marsh Arabs the guide, Amara explains, “A mustarjil is born a woman. She cannot help that; but she has the heart of a man, so she lives like a man.” When asked if the mustarjil are accepted, Amara replies “Certainly. We eat with her and she may sit in the mudhif.” Amara goes on to describe how mustarjil have sex with women.
...
Historian Indira Gesink analyzed 41 medical and juristic sources between the 8th and 18th centuries and discovered that the discourse of a “binary sex” was an anachronistic projection backwards. Gesink points out in one of the earliest lexicography by the 8th century al-Khalil ibn Ahmad that he suggests addressing a male-presenting intersex person as ya khunathu and a female-presenting intersex person as ya khanathi while addressing an effeminate man as ya khunathatu. This suggests a clear recognition of a spectrum of sex and gender expression and a desire to address someone respectfully based on how they presented.
Tolerance of gender ambiguity and non-conformity in Islamic cultures went hand-in-hand with broader acceptance of homoeroticism. Texts like Ali ibn Nasir al-Katib’s Jawami al-Ladhdha, Abu al-Faraj al-Isfahani’s Kitab al-Aghani, and the Tunisian, Ahmad al-Tifashi’s Nuz’ha al-‘Albab attest to the widespread acceptance of same-sex desire as natural. Homoeroticism is a common element in much of Persian and Arabic poetry where youthful males are often the object of desire. From Abu Nuwas to Rumi, from ibn Ammar to Amir Khusraw, some of the Islamic world’s greatest poets were composing verses for their male lovers. Queer love was openly vaunted by poets. One, Ibn Nasr, immortalizes the love between two Arab lesbians Hind al Nu’man and al-Zarqa by writing:
“Oh Hind, you are truer to your word than men. Oh, the differences between your loyalty and theirs.”
...
Acceptance of same-sex desire and gender non-conformity was the hallmark of Islamic societies to such a degree that European travelers consistently remarked derisively on it. In the 19th century, Edward Lane wrote of the khawal: “They are Muslims and natives of Egypt. As they personate women, their dances are exactly of the same description as those of the ghawazee; and are, in like manner, accompanied by the sound of castanets.”
A similarly scandalized CS Sonnini writes of Muslim homoerotic culture:
“The inconceivable appetite which dishonored the Greeks and the Persians of antiquity, constitute the delight, or to use a juster term, the infamy of the Egyptians. It is not for women that their ditties are composed: it is not on them that tender caresses are lavished; far different objects inflame them.”
In his travels in the 19th century, James Silk Buckingham encounters an Afghan dervish shedding tears for parting with his male lover. The dervish, Ismael, is astonished to find how rare same-sex love was in Europe. Buckingham reports the deep love between Ismael and his lover quoting, “though they were still two bodies, they became one soul.”
...
Today, vocal Muslim critics of LGBTQ+ rights often accuse gay and queer people of imposing a “Western” concept or forcing Islam to adjust to “Western values” failing to grasp the irony of the claim: the shift in the 19th and 20th century was precisely an alignment with colonial values over older Islamic ones, all of which led to legal criminalization. In fact, the common feature among nations with anti-LGBTQ+ legislation isn’t Islam, but rather colonial law.
Don't talk to me I'm weeping. I'm not Muslim, but the grief of colonization runs in the blood of every Global South person. Dicovering these is like finding our lost treasures among plundered ruins.
Queer folk have always, always been here; we have always been inextricable, shining golden threads in the tapestry of human history. To erase and condemn us is to continue using the scalpel of colonizers in the mutilation and betrayal of our own heritage.
this is SOSOSOSOSOSOOS GOOOOOODDDDDDD
CAM GIRL
pairing: modern!ellie x camgirl!reader
a/n: so nervous to post this. i didn't want to write a full fic, so this hc kinda thing happened. anyways, lmk what you think...
warnings: smut. mdni. -> sex work via live cam/stream. onlyfans/patreon/etc - no site is stated specifically, stripping, toys, masturbation (reader & ellie), exhibitionism, toys, toy riding (reader), strap-on use, dirty talk, hints of dom!reader, even smaller hints of dom!ellie
[dialogue = purple for ellie, blue for reader]
—★•°°•☆°••°★•°°•☆°••°★—
thinking about ellie dating a girl who cams...
—
"ellie, i wanna be really clear with you about what i do before we... you know?" "date?" "yeah. i just don't want any secrets where my job is concerned."
imagine her reaction when you first tell her. the way her eyes were half intrigue, half envy. on one hand, she thought it was incredible; the confidence you had in your own body and what to do with it. on the other hand, the confession from you caused her to grow more possessive. she felt almost sick, knowing that people all over the world were logging in to their profiles with only you in mind.
but that was at the beginning. after several months, pride swelled within her. you were making a lot of money through your sessions online, made clear by the fancy clothing, lingerie, even the apartment you'd bought for yourself. she could also tell that you enjoyed what you did. it made you feel confident and beautiful, and those feelings bled through to your sex life with ellie.
"fuck, i love your tits so much. love seein'm all beg to touch." "but only you can, els. c'mere and get them all wet with your pretty mouth."
"mm, babe, you like watching my ass when i fuck my toys, don't you?"
sometimes she worried about 'trolls', but you reassured her that you had a few moderators who would bat away any unsavoury comments before you could see them.
"see? if anyone says anything overly disgusting or offensive, it gets removed." "ever had to report or block anyone?" "mm, only a handful of creeps have made my blacklist."
then it was a couple of years into your relationship, and nine out of ten times when you were cam-ing, ellie would come over, either by yours or her own invitation.
"i'm live in 20, you can come over if you're quiet." "and what happens if i'm not?" "you wanna find out?"
"hey, i'm bored, you live? can i watch;)"
she loved to watch you, and you absolutely revelled in it. even your regular viewers had started noticing how you seemed to be even more enthusiastic than before. you wanted to impress ellie, despite already knowing how much she desired you.
when ellie came over during a cam session, you would make sure to put in the most effort with your look for the night. you would wear ellie's favourite colours, slap on a little extra makeup, and put on your best show.
"you were on fire tonight, princess."
"do you have glitter in your cleavage!?"
"you should do the war paint more often. it's hot."
"fake tattoos tonight?" "yeah, it was a request from a my best tipper... you like?" "hurry up and i'll show you how much i do."
ellie would be just out of shot, laying back against the pillows on your bed, one leg crossed over the other. she could never take her eyes off of you. she adored how you changed your voice just slightly on camera; still confident, but with an edge of shyness.
"y'all like the lace tonight, hm? i'm not quite sure if it suits me... tell me what you think, should i keep it or..."
her eyes travelled all over your body as you danced along to the beat of whatever song was playing gently in the background. and then, when it had been a few minutes into your show, and dollar signs started popping up on your screen, you reached for whatever item of clothing you were going to slowly, torturously remove. from that moment on, she was locked on you, following every glide of your fingertips over the straps of you bra, the soft material of your panties, or the thin lace stockings.
ellie always praised you for a good show when it was over. and whenever toys were used, she'd clean them for you, and on the occasion that you actually came for real after using said toys, she would offer to clean you up too. she'd bring you warm pyjamas and a hot drink and mentally congratulate herself for pushing away the urge to jump you after what felt like hours of teasing.
"god, that was so hot."
"you need water? your favourite snacks are on the side over there, too."
"els, help me up out of this mess, please. ugh, the fake spunk is so sticky." "wanna take a shower? maybe create some real mess?"
sometimes, she couldn't hold back, though. on most cam nights, she would be clenching her thighs and biting her lip, watching you with a wetness forming on her boxers. but she couldn't always hold back from touching herself. she'd watch you lifting your tits into full view of the camera, squeezing them and giggling at the comments that followed. then you'd push them together, wait a moment for more tips and then start to pinch at your hard nipples.
"mm, yeah, feels so good. should i pinch harder? want me to lick them for you darlings?"
eventually, inevitably, she'd end up sliding one hand into her underwear, the other fisting the sheets. as you bounced up and down on one of your silicone cocks, moaning out appreciations for the tips that flooded in on the screen, she'd reach her throbbing clit. her gaze would be glued to your slick hole that wept around the toy as you moved, and she'd match your rhythm on the toy with the circles she traced on herself.
when you first saw her doing this, you weren't surprised at all. in fact, it made you that much more smug and turned on, resulting in less of a need to fake your arousal for the people watching. you'd pretended to the camera that you were turning your head to bite your own shoulder, but in fact you were mouthing encouragements for her to fuck herself faster over a wink and a smirk.
"faster, babe. just like that."
"edge yourself, el. better not come until i'm done here."
then there was this one particular night. ellie had two of her fingers deep in her cunt, while you rode a thick, veiny fake cock that took several pumps of lube to sink down onto.
you'd bought it with only your girlfriend in mind. though, of course your viewers were impressed with it, too.
"ooh-oh-oh, i need it f-faster. you want me to go faster... huh loves? gonna need your help then."
it was her favourite colour, and you'd made sure it attached pefectly onto your shared strap harness. it also came with a companion toy that was a little smaller, but could also attach to the harness, so that ellie could have her own pussy stuffed as she - hopefully, if your little scenario panned out - pounded into you once the camera was off.
of course, this is exactly what happened. you couldn't stop trying to get a look at ellie as you heard her little pants. she was trying to stay as quiet as possible, and watching her slap a hand over her own mouth, muffling her pleasure as she got off to you, only made things worse. you sped up your movements for a few seconds, opening your mouth and letting out an exaggarated moan. you then licked your lips, smiling at the camera as floods of tips came in, a bunch of water emojis flickering on and off. you bid everyone goodnight, promising to be back again the night after next, then ended the session.
"fuuuuuuck yes! mmmm!"
"fucked me so good. thank you, sweethearts. go grab yourselves some water and i'll see you next time. buh-bye, huns. mm."
then you turned to ellie, her hand stilled in her boxers. you slowly pulled out the toy and then pushed it all the way back in with a groan. you watched ellie's eyes flash at the obscene wet sounds your pussy made. once more you pull the glistening toy out, so slowly that it draws out impatient whines from the both of you. you rub the head of the toy around your folds, spreading the glistening wetness all around your waiting entrance.
"did you come, babe?" "uh uh, saving it all for you tonight, love."
"want you to fuck me so hard that i won't be able to move." "fuckin' hell. come here, now!" "need one more thing."
you reach down to your 'cam box' and take out two things. you first toss ellie the harness, which has the smaller cock attached, something you'd gotten ready earlier. then, you crawl between her already spread legs, and make a show of attaching the still-wet toy, your pussy clenching at the sight, greedy for it to be back inside you.
"put it on."
"was thinking about you filling me up the whole time tonight. need it now." "gonna do it. gonna make it so you can't stand."
several times after that night, you'd jokingly discussed ellie joining you on your site.
"if you made me gush like that on live, we'd make so much, d'yuh know that?" "maybe, but i don't want anyone else seeing you like that. all fucked out and dribbling from you gorgeous little pussy. no, baby. that's a show only i get to watch."
—★•°°•☆°••°★•°°•☆°••°★—
if you're after more modern!ellie x cam girl!reader ->
CAM GIRL DRABBLE (ellie helps you film)
CAM GIRL: SPECIAL GUEST (part 2)
the thing about when zionists ask you if "israel has a right to defend itself" is it's no different from someone asking "did you stop beating your wife yet" or the schoolyard bully asking "does your mom know you're gay". to answer yes OR no is to accept a false premise. asking if israel has the right to self defense is like asking if it has the right to time travel or the right to breed unicorns. in all three cases you're being asked about something that doesn't exist
if i break into your house and say it's mine now, and beat you up and lock you in a closet, do i have the right to "defend myself" against you fighting back? the answer is that nothing i do constitutes self-defense by definition. israel is the attacker, it is the invader, it is on the offensive, and anything it does to the palestinian people is part of that offensive. invaders always try to cry self-defense against the resistance to the invasion, but the only party in this situation whose actions can possibly be self-defense is palestine
When you tell Nanami on the second to last day that you're staying with your grandparents overseas for the summer, he doesn't have much of a reaction. You thought the two of you had bonded quite a bit since Haibara introduced you at the beginning of the term. Nanami was always quieter, more reserved compared to his best friend, but you gradually began to pick up on his little mannerisms and subtle cues. The way he slows his pace to match yours while you eat lunch, even though Haibara always inhales his food at warp speed. Whenever you walk beside each other, whether in the hallway or on the way home, Nanami switches which arm he holds his bag so that it doesn't hit you. Your favorite is when he shares his headphones with you to listen to a song he thinks you'd like, and you always do. But maybe that's because you get to listen to it with him.
When he doesn't say much about your plans for the summer, you can't help but feel disappointed. You thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd miss you just as much as you'd miss him. It's always been wishful thinking, though. This is what you get for having a silly little unrequited crush.
The last day ends as usual, with the three of you walking home together. Haibara always leaves first as he lives the closest to the campus. He says his cheerful goodbyes and promises to keep in touch the next few weeks, leaving you and Nanami alone. You've grown used to the comfortable silence that sometimes surrounds you two. That's just one of the many things you like about him; you never feel like you need to fill the space with useless chatter. The two of you can just be happy together, like this. This is good enough for you.
You arrive to your house, ready to say farewell. "I hope you have a good summer, Nanami," you smile at him. "I'll see you in the fall."
He stands awkwardly, avoiding your gaze, fidgeting in his bag for something. When he retrieves it, he hands it over, still not looking at you. "I made this. For you."
Your heart starts to race in your chest as you reach for it, grazing his fingers. It's a CD case with a list of songs displayed on the cover. You recognize all of them, the same ones he played for you, listened with you. You hold it in your hands like a precious treasure. "For me?"
"Yeah. Something that reminds you of me. Of us." His cheeks are flushed, clearly embarrassed. But he lifts his head to meet your gaze, smiling softly at you. "Just in case you miss me just as much as I'll miss you."
If oscar hit me with this open-mouthed goldfish kiss, I'd be bricked in two seconds.
imma be SO inappropriate rn
You can trust him, he's a good guy...
Monster fucker this, monster fucker that. What if I want a monster RELATIONSHIP huh?! Monster HAND HOLDING, monster INTIMATE CONVERSATIONS, monster COMFORTABLE SILENCE??
Platonic....pussy eating....Yeah I buy that but still goddamn-
🏃🏽♀️🏃🏽♀️🏃🏽♀️
whatever they said 😫
against a mirror, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, prone bone, full nelson, outside, in the rooftop, in the train, on a plane, on the bed, on the couch, bent over the kitchen counter, by the fireplace, against the wall, in the shower, on the floor, in the basement, against the window, in the car
t-the vest, t-t-the tousled hair hfhdbffncnfjfjfhffffhhnnnnffffffhhfhnnffhfnnfffh my mouf on da floor like hxxncncbxshdjffhnfffhffnf
oh my god.
“oh i’m a feminist. i wanna put a woman on top. and on the back, on her knees”
(๑>•̀๑) {Blue/Blu} {20} {she/her} ‼️MDNI‼️ age in blog b4 following me or *get fucking nuked* 🙄
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