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hollygoeslightly · 10 days

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A defense of Eloise Bridgerton and her friendship with Penelope Featherington

I should probably start this post by pointing out the fact that I’m not the biggest Eloise fan out there. In fact Eloise has consistently annoyed me for two seasons straight with her I’m “not like other girls” shtick and the writers using her as a prop for modern feminist talking points.

Mostly what I disliked about Eloise was the bluntness and lack of charm used to put across the themes of women’s role in recency society and the lack of options for girls not interested in playing the marriage mart mind games.

Jane Austen, for example, makes many of the same points regarding women in her novels but instead of beating us over the head with it, she uses wit, eloquence and wisdom to get her points across.

But, above all, I disliked just how self involved Eloise was, what a major chip on her shoulder she had. She’s a privileged girl from an immensely powerful and rich family that spends her days whining and being dismissive of everyone around her.

She spends most of season 1 picking fights with Daphne for no reason and the second season making fun of Colin and running around town like a chicken without a head not so much because she wants to find out who Lady Whistledown is but because she’s bored and wants something to do (something other than talking to men potentially interested in marrying her because she’s gay she’s not like other girls).

Even as I’m writing this, I’m questioning whether I’m even the right person to defend Eloise because, as you can clearly tell, I don’t much care for her. But I do think Polin and Penelope fans are really misjudging Eloise and wanting to make her the villain of season 3 due to her resentment towards Penelope and her anger at the Polin engagement.

So I guess I have to be the hero without a cape in this instance.

Here it goes …

It’s very easy to look at the friendship between Eloise and Penelope in season 1 and 2 and conclude that Eloise has always been a bad friend to Penelope. After all, almost every scene they have together is about Eloise, her interests and passions, her frustrations at the ton and the marriage mart, her inability to fit in with societal expectations, her quest to find out the identity of Lady Whistledown etc, etc. There’s almost never room for Penelope to even get a word in because Eloise talks and talks and keeps on talking.

But I’d like to put forth another interpretation and say that perhaps this dynamic in the relationship isn’t all on Eloise. That it’s Penelope herself that prefers it that way. That she’d much rather talk about Eloise and her issues than to reveal anything truly meaningful or vulnerable about herself.

A scene that supports this theory is the scene they have in season 2, episode 1:

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This is about as open and vulnerable Penelope ever is with Eloise and in this scene we can observe several things:

Despite her being more open than usual, Penelope is still lying to Eloise. She talks about how she enjoys being a wallflower because she can have all the fun without the pressure that comes with being in the spotlight. In reality we know Penelope would love to be in the spotlight but is frightened of being rejected. She’s not having fun hugging the wall at all and yet she’s unable to share that with her friend.

As soon as Penelope opens up, albeit only partially, Eloise is quick to notice that, despite pretending not to enjoy the balls and the marriage mart, Penelope actually likes all of these things. This shows not only that she knows Penelope pretty well (as well as Penelope herself will allow Eloise to know her) but that, despite disagreeing on the topic, she’s supportive of Penelope and listens to her.

It’s also worth comparing the way Eloise behaves with Penelope vs. the way she behaves with Cressida in season 3.

Cressida and Eloise’s relationship is much more balanced and equal because Cressida stands up for herself, pushes back at Eloise when she needs to (like explaining why she needs to marry Lord Debling despite not being compatible) or when Eloise accuses her of telling everyone about Colin helping Penelope find a husband.

And Eloise learns to adjust. She becomes a more supportive friend, sharing her knowledge of birds so that Cressida can impress Lord Debling, making conversation with him when Cressida doesn’t know what to say and coming to her house to visit her and offer support.

My point is: Eloise is not perfect. She’s self involved and dismissive of things she isn’t personally interested in but is willing to put in the work for a friend if said friend is honest with her about what they need from their friendship.

Which leads us back to Penelope. Eloise is the most meaningful relationship in her life (Colin is as well but that’s a much more fraught relationship for Penelope because she wants to be lovers not friends) and yet she refuses to share the two most important aspects of her life with her friend: her love for Colin and her being Lady Whistledown.

Let’s leave Colin to the side for now because Eloise being his sister complicates matters as far as Penelope telling her she’s in love with him.

But why doesn’t she tell Eloise about Lady Whistledown? Particularly in season 1, when she’s just starting to write the scandal sheet. She has no idea where Lady Whistledown will even lead, if she’ll keep going etc. She’s basically doing it because she’s a writer and she wants to have fun talking about the society she knows so well.

So why not share the fun with her friend? It’s pretty clear Eloise doesn’t even know Penelope is a writer and hasn’t seen anything she ever wrote before Lady Whistledown because, otherwise, she’d know it was Penelope doing it.

Also let’s not forget that, in season 1, Eloise was Lady Whitledown’s number 1 fan. She can’t stop talking about how amazing and brilliant she is.

And yet Penelope says nothing. She’d rather grin proudly behind Eloise’s back than go: “Actually this woman you like so much … I am she. She is me.”

She again fails to do it in season 2, despite knowing that Eloise helped her in escaping the queen’s men at the end of season 1.

And then the worst part of their friendship begins as the pressure from the queen mounts and Eloise is more and more determined to find out the identity of Lady Whistledown. Penelope chooses to gaslight and manipulate Eloise for weeks.

It’s not just Eloise’s relationship with Theo and her attending political meetings that put her in harm’s way and eventually forces Lady Whistledown to write about her in order for the Queen to stop suspecting Eloise. It’s Penelope’s refusal to be honest with her friend.

Penelope is so determined to keep Eloise in the dark that even at the end of season 2, when she walks into her bedroom and sees Eloise, she still tries to gaslight her one last time.

Penelope: You’ve been reading too much Whistledown. Her voice is echoing in your head.

Penelope is stuck in a pattern of toxic behavior because that’s what she’s learned to do from her family. She cannot be honest about Lady Whistledown or anything truly meaningful, despite how hard it is for her to remain isolated and in the shadows:

Penelope: You have no idea how horrible it has felt to keep this from you! From everyone! For so long.

It’s no wonder that, in their fight scene, Eloise tells her:

Eloise: I do not even know you.

That’s because Penelope herself has made it so that the people closest to her, Eloise and Colin, don’t actually know the real her. She’s given each of them what she thought they wanted and needed (she’s very similar to Colin in that way) but not enough of the real her.

So when the Lady Whistledown revelation happens, there’s nothing for Eloise to fall back on in order to try and understand Penelope.

All of a sudden her best friend feels like a stranger. A stranger that has exposed her intimate affairs to the whole world and who tells her this:

Penelope: At least I did something. All you ever do is talk about doing something. You have all of these great ambitions, these great plans but I am the one who actually did something great and you can’t stand it, can you?

Now, because we, as the audience, are privy to Penelope’s inner world and we know just how riddled with low self-esteem she is and how she’s used to those closest to her being dismissive of her or her achievements, it’s easy for us to see that Penelope tells Eloise this in anger. Particularly after Eloise tells her:

Eloise: I look at you now and all I feel is pity for you. Sequestered here, in this very room, writing your secret little scandal sheet, tarnishing everyone in town all because you are too afraid to stand up for yourself in reality. You are something else, Penelope. An insipid wallflower, indeed.

Eloise’s words hit too close to home. Too close to the reality of Penelope’s isolation and fear of being alone and abandoned so she hurts Eloise back the only way she can. By pointing to the fact that despite talking and talking endlessly about all the great things women, and she in particular, could be doing, Eloise isn’t actually doing anything.

Basically, these two manage to hurt each other worse than anyone else could because they’re best friends, because they know each other and what makes the other one tick.

But from Eloise’s perspective? In this moment, where she’s been betrayed by her best friend? Well, Penelope doesn’t feel like a friend at all. She feels like someone who got close to her only to exploit her so she could write a scandal sheet and make money off of her misery:

Eloise: This was personal.

Penelope: Eloise, I’m so sorry. I was only trying to protect you.

Eloise: Is that what you were doing? By writing about me in your latest sheet? By telling the entire world about things I trusted you with? [...] The only person you were interested in saving was yourself. All so you could keep making money at the cost to everyone else. At a cost to Miss Thompson. To my brother. To my entire family. To your entire family. [...] All because of your self serving manipulations.

Which brings us to Eloise’s reaction to the closeness between Colin and Penelope and the announcement of their engagement.

To Eloise’s credit, since their fight, she’s tried her hardest to be an adult and not punish Penelope more than she needs to. She’s very hurt by what her friend did and she can’t trust her but she also doesn’t want to hurt Pen.

She’s kept the Lady Whistledown secret and refuses to tell Colin why their friendship fell apart because she doesn’t want Penelope to lose the one friend she still has.

She also misses Penelope which is why she ends up telling Cressida about Colin helping her find a husband. She’s trying to figure out what’s going on with her friend and the only way Eloise knows how to figure stuff out is by talking … and talking … and talking … in full earshot of everyone at the ball.

But despite all of this, as far as she knows, Penelope is still the girl that divulged her secrets, ruined Marina Thompson’s reputation and hurt Colin, not only by revealing Marina’s pregnancy but by taking cheap shots at him only weeks before her brother waltzes into the Bridgerton drawing room to announce he’s engaged to Penelope Featherington.

What kind of sister would Eloise be if she wasn’t angry at Penelope for that? If she didn’t want Colin to find out the truth as soon as possible?

Personally, I think she’s showing real restraint. She cares so much about Penelope that she’s not dragging her brother into the study the moment she hears the engagement news to tell him that he’s about to marry the dreaded Lady Whistledown.

Which brings us back to my earlier point: Penelope never trusted Eloise enough to tell her she was in love with Colin. Maybe if Eloise knew that Penelope has had a crush on Colin since she was 10 years old, she might be able to understand this engagement better.

But from her viewpoint, all she’s likely to see is that Colin is an impulsive romantic who once again has gotten engaged to a girl who is lying to him and using him to avoid social ostracization.

I know that by the end of the season Eloise and Penelope will have mended their relationship and they will go back to being the besties we know they are.

But what I would love to see in part 2 of the season is Penelope actually being brave and honest with the two people that she loves most in the world. Not just about her being Lady Whistledown but about the reasons why she became Lady Whistledown. It’s only by her decision to be vulnerable and open that she can actually mend her relationship with Eloise.

Friendships aren’t just about being there for your friend, about listening and giving them what you think they need but also about allowing your friend to be there for you. To allow them to truly know you: your fears, your sadness, your hopes and dreams. That’s the only way for a friendship to thrive.

#absolutely spot fucking on #bridgerton #bridgerton meta

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hollygoeslightly · 4 months

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Steve Harrington x shy fem!reader [4.7K] no one's ever gone down on you before and you're feeling a little shy about it. luckily, boyfriend steve is happy to show you what it's like. 18+

“I’ve never—” you swallowed, unsure of your words, hardly able to make sense of them when Steve Harrington was on his knees in front of you. “I mean, no one’s ever done this to me before.”

Steve Harrington. The Steve Harrington - as if he hadn’t officially been your boyfriend for almost two months now. Sometimes it was difficult to remind yourself of that, that the prettiest boy in town was all yours.

He’d changed since high school, was a little softer around the edges now, if you had the patience to look for the signs. Less cocky, still confident, but he’d dropped the title of ‘King’ like it stung him, taking on a gentlemanly demeanour that was much more princely. His hair wasn’t as styled, he didn’t care whatever other people said - not as much, anyway.

It suited him, this smaller crown. Less showy but still just as golden.

“Oh,” Steve replied, eyes wide with surprise but not judgement. “Shit, honey— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… assume.”

Steve took his hands from your bare knees like he’d been burned, his cheeks heated and his gaze apologetic. You couldn’t say anything in response fast enough before the boy was pushing himself up from the footwell of the BMW and back onto the seat with you. He looked panicked, like he’d done something wrong, like he’d done something terrible.

“Steve—”

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked, I didn’t even think— well, I just thought—”

“It’s not like I’ve not done anything,” you were rambling. Panicked. “I’m not a virgin, I would’ve told you— it’s just, I haven’t— no guy has ever wanted to do that and—“

“No, no, it’s okay!” Steve still looked wide eyed, like you were going to hate him, like you were going to break up with him. “I mean, that part isn’t okay— the guys you’ve been with should’ve definitely wanted to do that for you— but it’s, it’s… just should’ve asked before—”

He hadn’t done anything wrong, you needed him to know that. It had been a typical end to your night, first dates leading to second dates and more - fancy dinners and planned nights to the cinema and turning into comfier and more casual outings as you grew closer. So he’d picked you up after his shift and you clambered into the front seat of his car in a pair of comfy sweats and a t-shirt that was far too old. Steve had driven you both to a burger joint, shared fries and a strawberry milkshake in the front seats of the BMW as the sun went down and before it was time to go home, he parked up somewhere quiet enough for talking to turn into kissing.

He was always sweet about it, letting you call the shots and set the pace and you’d grown bolder, learned what he’d liked — learned what you’d liked.

But it had stayed relatively tame, a few hickeys and Steve’s hair a mess but nothing too below the waistline, not yet.

It was why he’d been so surprised when you’d pushed him back into the seat, his head falling back in shock onto the headrest, the back windows already steaming up from the heat of it all. Steve’s lips had parted when you’d swung a leg over his lap, dropping yourself on top of him with a held breath, your chest tight enough to burn. And without any other preamble, you’d launched yourself forward again, sweet and teasing kisses turning into something hotter, more desperate, now that you could feel the hard length of him pressed against the cotton of your underwear.

His hands had flown to your bare thighs, gripping you there as you licked over his tongue and when you let out a quiet moan, Steve felt like he was going to lose it. His hands wandered higher, skimming along bare skin and underneath your skirt until his palms found purchase on your ass, squeezing at the fat there, helping your hips move against him until you were panting into his mouth and he thought he’d died and gone to heaven.

Everything he’d done wrong in his life, everything he’d tried to right, everything he’d tried to fix - you were his reward, he just knew it.

He got ahead of himself then, panicked at the feeling of you rutting along his cock, the length of it pressed under his jeans and you. He could feel how warm you were, the beginnings of a wet spot on the front of your underwear and you were holding his face in your hands as you kissed him like you were scared he’d stop.

It was enough to make his dick jump, twitching and leaking at every pretty sound you made, every graze of your teeth over his bottom lip as you kissed him more and more feverishly.

He was going to come, he could feel it. He knew it. The warm, tightening sensation at the base of his spine was blooming, his cheeks turning pink, his hips bucking into yours helplessly. He wasn’t going to come in his pants, not in the backseat of his car, not like this, not with you. You deserved more than that.

That’s when he nudged you back onto the bench and dropped to his knees between the seats, crammed down into the footwell but your legs were spread and he could see that little damp spot on the crotch of your underwear.

He wanted to lick over the cotton, tease himself as much as you before peeling the underwear down your legs and pocketing the material.

And then you’d stopped him.

“I want to,” you told him earnestly, your voice a nervous whisper. He watched you lick your bottom lips, eyes wide and trained on his. “I do. I wanna do everything with you,” you admitted shyly.

You paused and Steve waited, kneeling up between your legs so his attention wasn’t as trained on the space between your thighs anymore. He leaned in, hands pushing at your cheeks, your jaw, fingers skimming soothingly over the skin there.

“It’s okay,” Steve assured you, his voice just as soft. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, nose bumping yours as he dropped another to the opposite side. “It’s okay to wait. I don’t mind-- at all, actually. You’re in charge here, okay?”

You leaned into him in lieu of an answer, lips searching for his and brows knitted together because he was just too fucking sweet to handle. Embarrassment still bloomed in your chest at the situation, at your own admission and you wanted to hide your face against Steve’s but the boy wasn’t having any of it.

He pulled away, chin tilting up to where you couldn’t quite reach him and he frowned at your saddened expression.

“Hey,” Steve tsked softly. “C’mon, you’re in charge, yeah?” He waited, looking at you with earnest, expectant eyes.

You nodded and cleared your throat, nerves and embarrassment swallowed with it because this was Steve. Your Steve. And he was looking at you like he’d give you the sun.

“Yeah,” you agreed and Steve smiled so you did too. “I’m in charge.”

It was only then that the boy leaned back into you, letting you press your lips to his for a kiss. He made it soft and sweet, languid and still tasting like the cherry you’d gifted him from the top of your strawberry shake.

——————

It took a few weeks to end back up in the same situation, this time in Steve’s bed.

There’d been a movie, you think, something that was supposed to be new and funny but you barely made it past the opening scene before you kicked away the remote control and moved into the boy. On your knees, weight pressed into the mattress and your mouth pushed to Steve’s because ever since that night in the back of his car, the sight of him on his knees for you hadn’t left your mind.

If Steve had been surprised at your sudden attack, he didn’t say. In fact, he welcomed it greedily, just as starved for you as you were for him and he pulled you down to meet him without much fanfare.

It was easier now, you were less shy, more willing to show your boyfriend how much you wanted him too. You showed him with greedy kisses, feverish and desperate, your hands sinking into his hair as Steve coaxed you onto his waiting lap, his hands skimming over your waist and your hips and the swell of your ass. You pushed him into his pillows without much thought, Steve’s hands taking you with him, lips never parting as he groaned into your open mouth and your tongue traced over his.

He was already hard, you’d noticed, the feeling of him in his sweats pressed between your thighs sparking the similar feeling in your tummy, the one you always seemed to get the minute the boy got his hands on you. Steve never seemed embarrassed either, always eager to show you exactly what you did to him and apart from a few fumbles in the dark, Steve’s hands slipping under your shirt to flirt with your pebbled nipples over your bra, there hadn’t been much else but kissing.

Tonight felt different.

You wanted tonight to be different.

So you did as you’d done on the car the week before, rolling your hips over Steve’s as you kissed him harder, nose pressed to his cheek as you pulled at his hair and hoped he’d fall apart for you. He did, or almost did, groaning louder than before and gripping your waist almost too tightly as he tried not to jerk up into you.

He lost it a little, hands slipping to your ass to palm at the bare skin peeking out from beneath your shorts, blunt nails scratching nicely over your upper thighs. Steve heaved out a breath, pulling back just enough to look up at you. He was all pink, flushed cheeks and messy hair pushed to his pillows, lips shiny from your kisses as he tried to slow his breathing.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he rasped, trying to sound authoritative but his fingers were trailing inside the legs of your shorts to play with the elastic edge of your underwear and he couldn’t take his eyes off of your heaving chest. “I swear, you’re actually trying to kill me.”

You grinned, still shy, still a little embarrassed at the effect Steve had on you, the effect you seemed to have on him. But despite your boyfriend’s suggestive touch, he didn’t stray any further. You remembered what he’d told you that night, eyes locked on yours, filled with sincerity.

‘You’re in charge.’

You swallowed, throat tight, trying your best to conjure up some bravery from the pit of your stomach. “Hey, Steve?”

Steve was busying himself at your neck, lips pressing kisses to the sensitive skin underneath your jaw and chin. He hummed, a silent question, a barely there answer and you almost forgot what you wanted to say when he nipped at your neck.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Remember— remember the other night? When you said… that I was in charge?” You asked quietly, head ripping back to let Steve do what he wanted, his lips still on your throat. “When you were gonna— uh, gonna go down on me?”

Steve paused but only for a second, seemingly deciding that reacting too strongly to your words would be a bad move. So he placed one last kiss underneath your jaw and then pulled back to meet your gaze. He was soft and warm, his eyes searching yours to make sure you were comfortable and when he found what he was looking for, he nodded.

“Yeah, yeah I remember.” He pushed you from his lap and back onto the bed, gentle and soft with it, easing you back into the pillows so he could lean over you and place a reassuring hand on your waist. “You been thinkin’ about that?”

You were grateful to be off of him, too pent up with being on top and feeling how hard you’d made Steve, finding it easier now to look up at him, your hands playing with the hem of his t-shirt. “A little,” you murmured. And then you corrected yourself. “A lot.”

Steve grinned, unable to help it and you were adorably shy even when talking about him putting his mouth on you but it just made him all the more wild at the thought. He moved his hand to your tummy, fingers moving over the soft pudge of it, his thumb stroking close to the waistband of your shorts.

“Yeah?” He asked again, sounding eager now, sounding hopeful. “What about it, babe? Steve watched you stall, lips moving without words coming out and he smiled, making it easier for you when he said, “you wanna try it?”

You could feel yourself burning, a little in embarrassment but mostly at the idea of it. You’d spent many nights since it was first brought up lying in bed and picturing your boyfriend between your legs. You’d thought about his hands on your thighs, pushing them apart so he could lean in and press his lips to you. You wondered what his tongue would feel like there, if he’d be soft, if you’d like it hard, slow, gentle, teasing. Would he use his fingers? Would he look up at you while he did it? Would he make the same noises he did when you kissed him? When you rocked your hips over his lap and grinded against him?

You nodded, the breath sucked from your lungs. Suddenly, the room was too warm and it only got hotter when Steve grinned and moved to kiss you, peppering little touches of his lips over your cheeks, your nose and jaw.

“You gotta tell me then, honey, yeah?” Steve murmured softly. “Just so I know you’re okay with it. I don’t want to make you feel like it’s something you have to do—”

“I know,” you interrupted. You sat up a little, back to Steve’s headboard as you made sure to keep eye contact with him. He needed to know how okay with it you were. “You’re not making me do anything, I promise. I want to. I really want to.” You smiled then, nervous and excited and with your skin rippling with anticipation.

“Okay,” Steve smiled back. “You’ll tell me if you don’t like it? We can stop whenever you want, alright?”

You nodded again and before Steve needed to prompt you once more, you promised him, “I will, I swear.” Your cheeks warmed again at the memory of your nightly scenarios. “I think I’ll like it though.”

Steve laughed then, not at all meanly. “Yeah? Well, that’s a good start.” He caught your wrist with his hand, pressed a kiss to your palm like a promise. “I’ll try my best, yeah? We can find out what you like together.”

And didn’t that sound really fucking nice?

His hand moved to your waistband again, fingers skimming over the denim before finding the button and zip. Steve tapped it, eyes on yours. He raised his brows and asked, “can I?”

You answered by lifting your hips, falling back into his pillows once more as you sucked in a breath, buzzing with anticipation. Steve fumbled with the metal once, twice, before it popped open and he took his time tugging the denim from your hips. You panicked a little as you tried to remember what underwear you were wearing but you didn’t have much time to dwell on the thought before your shorts were at your ankles and then on Steve’s bedroom floor.

He smiled at your cotton boy shorts, plain and white. Nothing sexy but certainly nothing embarrassing either. But then he was moving, just like you’d imagined, up onto his knees before laying down between your own on his stomach.

“You okay for me to be like this?” Steve asked you quietly, a reassuring hand squeezing at the outside of one thigh.

Your brows rose at that and you suddenly felt horribly naive. “There’s other ways to do it?”

Steve laughed again, soothing away the sting of his amusement by kissing your knee. “Well, yeah, babe. Loads of ways.” His voice lowered a little, his hands trailing upupup until they were close to the elastic edge of your underwear. “I could have you on your hands and knees for me. Could bend you over, y’know?”

Your body lit up, flames licking at the inside of your stomach until they were crawling past your ribs. The idea of it made you squirm, hips twitching under Steve’s touch and he looked delighted at your reaction.

“Or I could get you to sit on my face,” another kiss, this time on the inside of your thigh as he moved closer, your legs over his shoulders. The tip of his nose pushed at the edge of your underwear and your toes curled into the sheets. “Really let you take charge. Would you like that? Wanna ride my face, honey?”

“I—” you didn’t know what to say to that and Steve buried his smile in the side of your thigh.

“S’okay,” he whispered. “We’ll work up to that, yeah? How ‘bout for now, I just—” Steve pressed a kiss just under your belly button, lips flirting lower until you felt his mouth just above your folds. Something in your stomach flipped. “—find out what you like best, hm?”

And he did.

You were surprised when he didn’t immediately pull off your underwear and the noise that came from your mouth when he put his lips on you was unintelligible. Steve pressed a kiss to the front of your underwear, nose nudging at your folds under the cotton. You let out a gasp, breathy and high, hips twitching up until you were pushing yourself to Steve’s mouth and you could feel his smile.

“Hey, hey, s’alright, honey,” Steve assured you. “Gonna take my time with you.”

Another kiss, and then another, tiny touches pressed over the front of your underwear before you felt the heat from this mouth opening, his tongue tracing the line of your folds. The cotton grew even more damp as Steve licked at you, pushing his tongue into your pussy, the material moving under his touch, moulding to your skin.

You were gripping the sheets now, knees falling open on each side of Steve’s face and you didn’t dare look down, not yet. Your eyes shut on their own accord, stars and colours blinking behind your lids and everything felt warm, everything felt fuzzy, like you had cotton balls stuffed in your ears and you were being pulled underwater.

Except there was a live wire in the pool with you, zaps racing through the current to make your entire body buzz, little electrical shocks every time Steve licked at you. His tongue moved deliberately slow, his eyes watching your face, your body, your chest, your mouth for every reaction you gave him.

You liked this teasing, this slow build, this lazy burn that was getting hotter and hotter. So Steve kept at it, pressing his mouth to your cunt, open and with his tongue pushed to you, doing his best to find your clit through your underwear and when he finally pulled back, he groaned at the sight. The white fabric had turned a little see through, translucent in the low bedroom light and Steve could see every part of you with your legs spread so obscenely.

It was a dirty, dirty sight. Something right out of his porno magazines he kept hidden under his bed. The material was stuck to you, showing off your parted folds, the bump of your clit, your little hole, wetter than any other part of you.

“Oh, honey,” Steve moaned, his voice a broken rasp. You looked down at him then, messy haired and pink cheeked and framed by your thighs. He was staring at your cunt, heavy lidded and with red, pouty lips that were already shining from his hard work. “Wish you could see yourself, you’re so fucking hot.”

You whined, embarrassed but not daring to hide your face from him - to hide Steve from you. He looked up at you then, smiling - no, smirking - looking too pleased with himself and he took his pointer finger and stroked it through your folds. You jumped, an immediate response that Steve cooed at and he didn’t stop until his finger was resting on your clit. It was already throbbing, a hot pulse under his touch and he circled it carefully, slow and gentle and giving it pretty, little nudges.

Steve watched it move under his finger, watched it become more obvious through the fabric and his lips parted as he looked at you. He couldn’t stay away for too long, moving his face back to you to press a kiss to it.

“Good?” He asked you, checking in with a kiss to your thigh as well. “You doin’ okay?”

You groaned your answer, your ‘yes’ coming out high and needy. But that’s all Steve needed to hear before he let his tongue drag across you again, the flat of it pushing against your clit, his fingers pulling at the waistband of your underwear so the fabric was pulled even tighter against your pussy. He moaned into you when you whined, nose buried in your folds as he pursed his lips around your clit and sucked a little.

Again, he moved away, leaving you panting, gasping, his hands tugging at your underwear again, his eyes lighting up at the way the fabric stretched over you. He swore, voice low and dirty. “Fuck, baby, I can see you clenching down for me. That feels good, huh? Getting those cute, little panties soaked for me.”

You weren’t sure where your sweet, soft boyfriend had gone, but you certainly didn’t mind this replacement. Steve looked wild, drunk on the sight of you and you were more than happy to lay back and let him toy with you, his fingers and tongue winding you tight like screw top, ready to be sent spinning.

Your hands went from the sheets to Steve’s hair, grabbing at the beats strands, in desperate need to anchor yourself to him. You almost wanted to pull him up your body, having him crawl back up to you so you could claim him for a kiss. The need to have him closer was burning. But then Steve took pity, fingers curling into the sides of your now soaked underwear and you didn’t hesitate to lift your hips for him.

They were pulled down quickly and they soon joined your shorts on the floor and before the boy could ask, your legs fell open once more, shyness gone in the heady need for the pleasure the boy was giving you. Steve beamed, lying back between your thighs and his eyes greedy, taking in all your slick, bare skin.

“Oh, there’s a good girl,” he hummed, his hand smoothing up each side of your waist, taking your shirt with it. “Play with your tits, honey, lemme see them, yeah?”

You did as you were told, face burning as you pushed up your t-shirt and wrestled the cups of your bra out of the way, tits spilling out of them. Your hands shook a little as you pressed them together, hard nipples peeking through your fingertips and it was all filth, a lewd, pornographic scene that you wanted to give Steve.

“Ohh,” the boy moaned in appreciation, the sound rumbling in his chest and he rutted down into the mattress, seeking relief on his hard cock that was straining between his waistband and his stomach. “Look at you, Christ. You’re so damn pretty, you know that? Gonna let me make you feel good, baby?”

You nodded, whining until your words were just noise but they all sounded very much agreeable. So Steve ducked his head back down and used one of his hands to pull your leg out further, spreading you wide as he kissed a line from your entrance to your clit. And just when you thought he’d suck the little bundle past his lip, he let it go in favour of licking over your folds, left and the right - and the right up the centre of you with a wide, flat tongue.

“Steve, Jesus fucking Christ,” you moaned loudly, jaw unhinged and head hanging back on his pillow even when your back arched for him. “That’s— fuck! Don’t stop.”

Steve soothed you with gentle hands on your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles into the fat there and he hushed you. “M’not gonna stop, honey, don’t worry,” he spoke into you, lips pushing against your pussy with every word and you wanted to cry, you wanted to beg. “You wanna come already?”

It should’ve been a mocking thing to ask, the ‘already,’ holding so much amusement but you didn’t care. You couldn’t. Not when the boy was letting the soft tip of his tongue circle lazily around your clit, dragging it down to your neglected hole until he groaned when it clenched around him, his own hips bucking once more.

“She’s so needy,” he whispered, in awe. “And so damn wet, Christ baby, you feel good?”

You nodded, head bobbing exuberantly as you propped yourself on your elbows to get a better look. Steve grinned up at you and he nuzzled closer before bringing his hands to your cunt, thumbs spreading you open as he ordered, “keep your legs open, yeah? Good girl.”

And then he was closing his mouth around you, his tongue flattened against you as he sucked gently, the pressure of your clit being pulled into his mouth too much to handle. You keened, a high gasp that left your jaw hanging, eyes clenched shut in euphoria. The colours behind your eyelids turned to explosions, glitter in the air as Steve licked and sucked at you, the same pattern over and over again until you were pressing your heels into the bed and pushing back up to meet his tongue.

“I’m— Steve? Steve, I’m gonna come—”

His answering groan was almost as loud as you, his hands leaving your folds so they could grab at your ass instead, fingers pressing almost bruisingly into each cheek so he could hold your squirming hips against him. He didn’t let up as you chanted his name, knees locking around his head like a vice and when you let out a high pitched wail, pushing at his forehead, he pulled back with a disbelieving laugh, a half gasp.

“Holy shit,” he groaned, eyes roaming over how soaked you were, the way your chest heaved, how your heavy lidded eyes were set only on him. “That was so fucking hot, honey, like Jesus Christ—”

He didn’t get to finish as you grabbed him by the collar of his t-shirt, hauling him up until he was frantically crawling over your body, his hands braced on the mattress as you pushed yourself up to meet him. You were both breathing heavily but you stole a kiss anyway, his lips slick and shiny and tasting like you.

You found you didn’t mind at all, your body burning at the reminder of what he’d just done, the taste of yourself on his tongue and yours, the thrumming pulse of your orgasm still simmering through you.

“Good?” Steve was grinning into the kiss, grunting and gasping when your teeth nipped at him, your tongue tracing the line of his cupid's bow, chasing your taste. “Fuck, baby—”

You nodded, nose bumping against his and you wanted to sob at how good he’d made you feel. Words didn’t seem enough to be able to express it. “Yeah, yeah, oh my god-- yeah, it was good.”

Steve was still beaming, more happy than smug, because you were elated, glowing from the high of it all and he’d done that for you. But before he could soothe you back down to earth with more kisses and soft hands, you were pushing him off of you and down onto the mattress. His cock was still throbbing and the taste of you still coated his tongue as you straddled him, your shirt falling back down to cover your pretty tits but he could see the shiny slick from your pussy peek out from under the hem of it as you sat on his lap.

He didn’t get a chance to question you.

“I wanna return the favour,” you said quietly. Soft but determined. “Show me how.”

#jesus #steve harrington #stranger things #fanfic #fic rec

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